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royalcordelia · 5 years ago

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Tell Me About Purple Sunrises (1/1)

Merry Christmas @ladytharen! I was your Secret Santa this year! I played substitute santa for a few people, but you were the one I was actually assigned to from day 1. It’s been such a pleasure to get to know you a little better and to write this story for you. Here’s a lil snowed in + bedsharing for you, kindred spirit!♥ Sorry I’m posting this with 8 min left in christmas.

Summary: Anne can't make it back to Avonlea for Christmas Eve because of record breaking snow and temperatures, but to her delight, neither can Gilbert. (spoilers for awae s3!)

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It was evenings like this when Anne could turn her face toward the warm candlelight and pretend she was a princess locked up in a tower. The nightgown Aunt Jo had loaned her was soft like rose petals and trimmed with lace as intricate as snowflakes, exactly what Cordelia would have worn as she combed her hair by moonlight. Sitting so close to the bay window, Anne could feel a frosty chill emanate from the pane. She shut her eyes and she imagined that the blizzard raging outside was the icy breath of a winter dragon blowing over the entire kingdom. If she wasn’t afraid of her fingers turning to icicles, she would have gone out and bested the beast herself.

Anne of the present was more than pleased to remain inside and warm.

“I’ve sent all the attendants home a day early to be with their families before the storm grows too strong.” Aunt Jo announced, sweeping into the room with a wool blanket wrapped around her frail shoulders. “Anne, you did right by coming here. Christmas Eve is meant to be spent with those you love. If I heard you planned to wait out this storm entirely alone in that boarding house, I would’ve marched through the tundra myself to procure you!”

“No marching through the tundra for you. Remember, it’s the coldest night on record!” Anne replied, meeting Aunt Jo to wrap the blanket more tightly around the older woman’s shoulders. “Still, I’m grateful for your hospitality. I really thought we’d be able to make it back to Avonlea before the storm got too bad.” She plucked a browning petal from the poinsettia flowers on the parlor table with a small smile. “You know, when I have a home of my own, I hope to have ever so many flowers upon every surface. Our gate latch will be forever open to you, of course.”

“That won’t be for a while yet I hope,” Jo teased lightly, though Anne could hear the truth in the words.

“Not for a long, long while. Everything with Gilbert is so new that we’ve barely even mentioned the future. All I can say of Gilbert’s plans for the future, aside from his medical aspirations, is that he’d like for me to be there. I can say the same of him in my own plans. Right now, I’m more than content with such hazy views into our crystal ball.”

“That is quite the way it should be, I think,” Jo agreed. “If you plot out every point in life, how can it take you on a wild adventure? Simple - it cannot. Many people are subjected to a lifetime of miserable mundanity because of it.”

Outside, a gust of wind struck the house with a fury, rattling the old walls with creaks and moans. Anne peeled the curtain away from the window once more, finding a hint of lavender light igniting a break in the clouds somewhere in the distance. She wondered where that little speck of land was where there would be no snow, just a royal hint of dusk on the crystal ground.

“How blessed I am to be awake to all the colors of life,” she breathed. Then, drawing the curtains back closed, Anne spun on her heel. “Enough of my poetical indulgences. We have yet to decide how we want to spend our evening snowed in. Is there, perhaps, a trio of Bronte sisters in our future?”

Aunt Jo was halfway through a hearty assent when an odd sound came from the front hallway. Anne’s laughter froze in her throat as she listened again. Silence fell over the house for another moment before being shattered by an insistent knock at the door.

Grabbing her robe from the edge of the couch, Anne covered herself and crept toward the door. When she pulled it open, a flurry of snow swept into the foyer like a broken snow globe. A young man stood shivering, half an inch of snow blanketing his person. A scarf wrapped around his face shielded his cheeks, but Anne would have recognized those warm eyes anywhere.

“Gilbert ? What are you - oh my goodness, you’re freezing. Get in here!”

Before he could say a word, Gilbert was being dragged into the manse and pulled into Anne’s frantic embrace. She immediately recoiled away from all the snow on coat, and began unwrapping the scarf from his face. He was smiling underneath so tenderly that Anne’s hand froze midair as she moved to grab his hat. The apples of his cheeks were rosy from the cold and some snowflakes still hung from his dark lashes. She sighed, suddenly more lovesick than she ever remembered being.

“I really missed you,” she whispered truthfully.

Gilbert, still gently shivering from the cold, shucked off his coat and wrapped Anne in a tight embrace. Anne’s arms were around him immediately, rubbing warmth into his back in gentle circles. Resting his cold cheek against her shoulder, Gilbert heaved a sigh of relief. Her touch felt like fire light, incandescently warm and soft around the edges.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, digging his face closer to her loose hair. Anne could feel him grinning against her shoulder. “You smell nice.”

Anne hummed in response. She wondered if it would be alright to tell him that he smelled nice too. Even though the scent of winter air stuck on his clothes, he still carried his usual essence of honey sweetness and cologne. But she couldn’t tell him that. It probably wouldn’t be alright, either, to tell him that his shoulders still felt strong, and that she liked the way he’d grown his hair out. Instead, she settled on, “Are you feeling any warmer?”

Gilbert nodded, pulling back when he caught sight of Aunt Jo standing in the doorway.

“Much, thank you,” he murmured shyly. He couldn’t help how one of his hands had stayed at her waist, nor did he notice. It felt so natural to stay connected to her, and in person, he didn’t have to hide his connection to her anymore.

“Not that I’m not effervescent with happiness to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you were arriving to Avonlea tomorrow.” Anne’s hand came up to his cheek as she spoke, wiping away a drop of melted snow that had fallen from his hair.

“I thought I’d surprise you a day early, but then the storm rolled in. Apparently the tracks are all ice, so the last train to Carmody has been cancelled. I, uh..” He glanced up at Aunt Jo. “I didn’t bring enough money to stay anywhere because I was planning on making it home. The only place I could think of was here.”

“Ah, you came seeking refuge,” Aunt Jo chimed in. Gilbert blushed. He wasn’t one to ask for help, but apparently had the capacity to do it when the threat of frostbite loomed. It was a smart move, Anne had to admit, and a brave one. He’d never even met Aunt Jo before.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He straightened his shoulders under Aunt Jo’s appraising gaze. If Anne didn’t know any better, she’d say Aunt Jo delighted in making the poor boy squirm.

“You’ve come to the right place,” she said finally, and Gilbert inhaled a sharp sigh of relief. Then, remembering the manners his father taught him, he peeled off a glove and stuck his hand out.

“Gilbert Blythe, ma’am. It’s an honor to meet you. I apologize for inviting myself on such short notice.”

“Our paths were bound to cross at one point or another. You cannot thwart destiny where kindred spirits are involved, and my door is always open to kindred spirits.” Aunt Jo shook Gilbert’s hand with as much regality as he expected, then straightened the blanket on her shoulders. “Well, Anne-girl, I think the Bronte sisters will just have to wait for another night.”

“I don’t want to interfere with an evening with your beloved Charlotte,” Gilbert rushed to say, but Anne waved him away.

“I’ve read Jane Eyre dozens of times already, yet I’ve only spent a handful of minutes with you. And while I love both of those things, there’s just one I love much more than the other.”

Gilbert had to bite back the grin that threatened to take over his lips. With a glint in his eye, he reached for his hat and scarf.

“How presumptuous of me to assume I could compete with Charlotte Bronte. I’ll just be heading back into the blizzard, then. Fare thee well. Tell Jane Eyre I concede.”

Before Gilbert could even think about reaching for the door, Anne interrupted his dramatic speech by grabbing his hand and pulling him to her side. Aunt Jo found the whole display rather amusing, much to Gilbert’s delight. At his side, Anne found herself nearly holding herself back when his face was so close and rosy, practically begging to be kissed.

“I think I ought to let you two become acquainted while I reacquaint myself with Mr. Dickens and his ghost tales,” Aunt Jo said, darting a glance between them. “Gilbert, I’m sure you and I will have plenty of time to exchange stories on the train ride to Avonlea in the morning.”

It took a split second to realize exactly what Josephine was doing. She was leaving them alone in a house, unchaperoned, with only trust assuring her that nothing too immoral would occur.

“Oh! Well, I look forward to it. I hear you’ve lived an adventurous life.”

“Funny, I hear the same of you. In fact, I hear a great many things about you on a daily basis,” she replied slyly, lifting a brow at Anne.

“Goodnight, Aunt Jo,” Anne hissed between her teeth. “There’ll be plenty of time to tease me in the morning.”

Aunt Jo gave one last appraising look at Gilbert, apparently approving of what she saw, before kissing the crown of Anne’s head. Her careful footsteps up the stairs left silence behind them, and suddenly Anne was entirely too aware of Gilbert’s presence beside her. His gentle fingers moved to hold hers, fitting together even better than she remembered. She peered down at their entwined hands in bewilderment. Was he truly here?

The quiet was comfortable, giving Anne proper room to eat her heart out over her beloved with as many longing looks as she pleased. Through the thrumming of her heart and the haziness of her focus on him, she was only half aware of his arms wrapping around her waist.

“So, Anne-girl, huh?”

Anne bit her lip to force back a smile, watching his lips with keen interest.

“I like it when you say it,” she admitted with a smile.

For a moment, she wondered what exactly was appropriate for this moment. She knew what she wanted to do, but how could she know if it aligned with what she should do. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to wrap her arms around his neck and catch his next words with her lips. Perhaps he’d think her strange if she placed her hand above his heart to feel it beating, or if she kissed the line where his jaw met his throat. It was a good thing he was holding her because she was melting. In a few more seconds, she’d dissolve into a puddle right in the middle of the foyer.

Then again, he only spurred her demise by leaning his cheek against hers. Anne shivered. His skin was still frigid to the touch, but she kissed the icy spot before pulling away.

“You’re still so cold. Come on,” she said, pulling him by his hand into the parlor.

Heat hit them like a wall, blazing comfortably from the hearthfire. Gilbert’s gaze was just as warm as he watched Anne lay out a blanket and some pillows in front of the fire. She settled on one of the cushions, then reached her hand toward him. He as at her side in an instant, his hand finding her cheek.

“It doesn’t seem real that you should be here,” Anne said dreamily.

“Me? You’re the ethereal creature that saved me from a frozen death. I really had no idea you’d be here. I was certain you’d have made it back to Avonlea hours ago.”

“I tried, but the trains started getting canceled nearly as soon as the storm began. We’re supposed to experience record breaking temperatures tonight, and I knew that if I tried to keep warm all by myself in the boarding house, I’d only make an icicle of myself. So I came here.”

Gilbert nodded in understanding, eyes wandering to the rest of the room. It seemed he was only just realizing how grand the manse was, especially when the lights were dimmed. It also seemed to occur to him that they were completely, utterly alone.

“Cole has gone to bed for the night?” he asked carefully.

“Cole actually is spending Christmas with a friend of ours. They’re going to see some museums in Montreal. You actually might remember Roy from my letters.”

Gilbert scowled. “That English major that thought he could convince you to court him instead of me? Yes, I remember.”

“Fortunately, my convincing abilities are far better than his. Once I assured him that I would never leave you, he quit all of his advances. Besides, I have it on good authority that his affections lay heartily elsewhere.”

His jaw caught shadows as he nodded. “So, we’re alone?”

Anne smiled coyly, causing Gilbert to swallow. There was so much overwhelming him all at once - the possibility to have a conversation without any interruptions for hours and hours, the porcelain skin above the lace of her dress where freckles traced a trail up her throat, and the incessant need to kiss her for as long as she would allow him. He feared he would confess these incoherent longings, so he remained silent after she said, “Yes, love, we’re alone.”

At his speechlessness, Anne situated herself closer before him, grabbing his hands that rested on his knees. Of course she could read his mind, he thought to himself. Either that, or she was feeling the exact same thing. Maybe both?

“I’m not entirely sure how to go about this,” Anne admitted. “You know I haven’t courted anyone before.”

Gilbert realized a shaky breath, kneeling before her to bring her as close as possible.

“This sort of thing shouldn’t have rules or guidelines,” he whispered. Her cheeks took on a strawberry hue when he leaned closer to her. “I don’t want to worry about what hours people say I can see you or how other people think I should or shouldn’t touch you. I want you to tell me when you want to see me.”

Anne grasped his hand tighter, grounding herself.

“And how I want you to touch me?” The words almost knocked the air from his lungs. He nodded slowly. “Then can we just stop dancing around each other?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Instead of answering, Anne surged forward and captured her lips against his. He tasted like freshly fallen snow looks, sweet and smooth. Suddenly, they were transported back to a moment on the front lawn of her boarding house where kissing her seemed to make every mystery of the world fall into place. One of his hands held desperately to her waist, the other pressed against the floor to hold them up. All bets were off, though, when she buried her hands into the hair she loved so much and pressed him against her chest. The arm so steadily holding them upright went slack and they fell to the side, almost bumping foreheads. Laughter erupted out of them like champagne bubbles.

“ Shhh! She’ll hear us!” Anne whispered with a smile, settling on her back to face him. Hovering over her, Gilbert smiled as he watched the firelight flicker over her freckles. He released a shuddering sigh over her lips before running a finger down her face. Would he ever grow accustomed to being with this woman? To holding her? To seeing her grey eyes turn into lightning storms at his touch?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he stay in this moment, right here. Anne’s hands found his cheeks, pulling him down with reverence and kissing him with a tenderness he’d always known she possessed. Lowering himself from his hands to his elbows, Gilbert shuddered into her touch.

The only thing that could’ve broken the moment for them echoed down the foyer staircase. Thankfully Aunt Jo spared them the embarrassment of coming all the way downstairs.

“Anne! Make sure you feed that man of yours. I’m sure he’s hungry!”

Breaking away from Gilbert with a jolt, Anne pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing again.

“Alright! Thank you!” she called back. Then, glancing up at the man above her, she ran her thumb over his lower lip. “Are you hungry?”

Gilbert collapsed at her side with a sigh.

“A bit. I haven’t eaten since I left Toronto.”

“Gilbert!” Anne admonished. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just...forgot I was hungry.”

“Let me make you something to eat. You can tell me all about your trip.”

Some time later, there was a warm plate in front of Gilbert that he demolished on like a man who’d never had a meal in his life. Anne rested her head on her palm and a little more color return to his face. They talked about everything they could think of - odd students in their classes, old memories from their school days, news from their friends. The one topic they hadn’t broached was that of the “follow up questions” they’d saved for when they reunited in person. That is, until a distracted expression came over Gilbert’s face as he rolled a potato around his plate.

“Can I ask you something, Anne?”

“Always,” was her immediate response.

“You mentioned in your letter that you saw Winifred in town the day that I came and saw you, but you never told me what she said.”

“She told me you’d decided not to propose,” Anne said easily.

“No, I mean, I knew that. But what did she say?”

Anne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She knew that no matter the answer she gave, it wouldn’t change anything that had happened.

“At first she thought I was there to gloat. She must’ve assumed that you’d gotten right off the train and broken her trust right away. I’m surprised she didn’t know you well enough to know you’d never do that.” And expected you to marry her, was what Anne wanted to say, but bit back.

Gilbert kept his eyes glued to the wood grain of the table.

“But I did break her trust,” he admitted. “That letter I wrote you revealed everything I promised I’d wait to say. But I couldn’t, and-”

“Hey,” Anne interrupted, reaching across the table for his hand. “I would’ve done the same thing. Besides, even if I had read the letter you wrote, I would have never judged her or told anyone else. I believe it all happened the way it was supposed to.”

He still wouldn’t meet her eyes, but nodded.

“What else did she say?”

Anne took a deep breath. “Once she realized that I really didn’t know anything that happened, she said this to me: ‘He couldn’t marry me because his unrequited love for you isn’t ever going away .’ I think she figured out right away though that you were mistaken when you told her your feelings were unrequited.” She paused. “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity, mostly. But I also worried that because I’d left her heartbroken, she’d be cruel to you. I’m glad she wasn’t, but the thought of anyone behaving hateful to you because of me makes me feel sick.”

“Gilbert, there is nothing hateful or cruel about you. No one could ever be anything but good on your behalf.” She smirked. “Besides, I have thick skin and a smart head on my shoulders.”

A heavy sigh left Gilbert, releasing a heavy burden from his shoulders that he didn’t know he’d been carrying. Anne wiggled his fingers with a smile.

“It all makes for a good story to tell the kids,” she teased, but they both knew what she was suggesting.

Gilbert’s throat grew thick. With the burden of his guilt alleviated and the promise of the future resting in the air, his heart grew light with affection.

“I want that too,” he managed to say sincerely. Anne returned his smile with so much love laced in it that Gilbert’s heart jumped in his chest.

Later that night, Anne leaned against the doorframe of one of the guest rooms while Gilbert appraised the space with amazement.

“I don’t know if you brought nightclothes, but Cole is only a little bit taller than you. I’m sure he has some in his room you could borrow. If you get hungry again, the kitchen is well stocked.”

“You’re wonderful, Anne, but I promise I’m all set.”

She nodded, not moving a muscle.

“Alright, then. Goodnight,” she said evenly, a playful glint in flickering in her eyes. Gilbert knew a hint when he saw one. He crossed the length of the room and cupped her face the way he so loved to. Anne had already closed her own in blissful acceptance of the kiss, sighing when it came with tender sweetness.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

When Anne closed her own door behind her, she pressed her back up against it and released a shaky breath. Marilla had told her being with the person you love was worth sacrifice, heartache, and all the tribulations of life, but Anne never shared the perspective until then. The trials of the world didn’t seem so insurmountable now, with the promise of Gilbert at her side.

Alone in her room, Anne became aware of all the things she’d been distracted from wrapped in Gilbert’s warm embrace. The first, of course, was that it was freezing. No matter how many blankets she threw on top of the bed or how many pairs of socks she borrowed from the guest dresser, she felt the chill from her fingers all through her body. She tried to focus on the hollowing of the wintry wind outside her window, but it seemed to keep her up even more. How had she been content and warm by the fire only a few hours ago? Certainly by now, the fire had gone out and there would be no warming up.

Finally, Anne firmly made up her mind that enough was enough. Slipping out of bed, her cold toes met an even colder ground. She slipped one of the wool blankets from her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders to guard her from the hallway’s cold breezes. With astounding stealth, Anne crept down the hallway without creaking any old boards or startling any mice. When she made it to Gilbert’s guest room, she drew in a breath and knocked on the door.

No answer. Anne sighed. The poor boy was probably exhausted from his traveling, fast asleep. Fortunately, he left the door unlocked, allowing Anne to sneak in before anyone was the wiser. Tightening the blanket around her shoulders, she called out in a strong whisper.

“Gilbert?”

Even though he seemed fast asleep, her voice was enough to stir him out of his dream. Hair wild and eyes groggy, he propped himself up on an arm.

“Anne?” he croaked, voice rough from sleep. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

Suddenly uncertain, she shifted her weight.

“I’m so cold, I can’t sleep,” she admitted miserably.

Without hesitating, Gilbert reached for her, opening his own covers up when she was close enough to slide in. He made room for her without complaint, smiling at the relief that washed over her. When she laid down completely, she was right in the warm spot he’d just been in. So comfortable and warm, Anne wondered how they were even in the same house.

“Better?” he whispered, eyes heavy.

“Almost.” She reached for him, pulling him so that he was close enough to bury her face into the soft fabric of his shirt. At Gilbert’s hesitation to overstep any boundaries, she pulled his arm to wrap on her waist. Still, it rested there too loosely, as if he was scared to tighten his grip. Moonlight bathed his cheeks when she met his eyes. “Gilbert, you said you wanted to know what I want. I’d like it if you held me. That is, if you’re comfortable.”

He did not have to be told twice. Suddenly the arm on her waist snaked around even further, and the other one wrapped beneath her, pulling her close to his chest. Anne returned the favor as she ran her hand up and down his back.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect,” she breathed. Focusing on the sound of his breath, she leaned forward and kissed where his heart was slowing to a sleeping pace in his chest. The cold which seemed so unavoidable before was completely forgotten. In its place was a clear view of the future as crisp as the stars above the storm clouds.

In the morning, Anne would take one glance at the sleeping boy in her arms and another out the window, and wonder why she’d thought winter sunrises were always purple. In his sleep, Gilbert would tighten his hold on her, and the dawn would turn into every color her eyes could see. And when he woke up, Gilbert would see them too.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert fic #tessa writes #annesecretsanta #catch this on ao3 where the formatting isn't wack!#merry christmas everyone! ♥

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naancypants · 5 years ago

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Reparations

(Ao3) | 1,528 words

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Things for the Claw Crew have been less than ideal lately. The Marvin Empire is pulling Bess farther and farther down an uncharacteristic road of ladder-climbing and cold, uncaring business deals. George & Nick are on the outs because of an ongoing emotional disagreement. Now, to top it all off, an angry spirit named Camila Carmody is vowing to make good on George’s old blood bucket curse by claiming her life before midnight.

Enacting a ritual to capture Camila’s vengeful spirit for good is the only way to ensure that she will never terrorize another soul in Horseshoe Bay again. Nancy and her friends are all stationed at different areas of an abandoned hospital by the ocean, preparing to do just that.

As soon as Ace shuts the slotted storage room door behind them, Nancy sinks to the ground with a pointed heaviness. “Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse - here I am! Hiding in a closet because we’re going to kill an angry sea ghost that’s after.. my friend’s.. blood.”

The way her tone quiets down at the end of her sentence reveals to Ace that there is more beneath the surface she wants to say. He drops to the floor next to her and patiently waits to hear what she is thinking.

“First my dad got arrested. Then my dad wasn’t my dad. Then my dad was Ryan Hudson... and then my boyfriend died. And now that I’ve finally had enough time to process everything, I thought it would start to feel better and yet it doesn’t. I have no idea what I’m doing wrong. What am I doing wrong?”

“...Do you want me to answer that question?”

Nancy lets out an incredulous huff, causing her strawberry blonde curls to bounce a little with the movement of her shoulders. “At this point, I’m open to suggestions.”

Ace takes a moment to decide how best to put what it is he wants to say, then states in a soft tone of voice, “I think you’re bein’ too hard on your dad.”

Without missing a beat Nancy breathes out a sardonic, “Which one?”

“Both.”

Another silence envelops the small room.

“...But especially Mr. D.” Their eyes meet, and Ace is struck by her surprisingly calm demeanor; one that quietly urges him to elaborate.

“You know he raised you. He took you in when he didn’t even have to. All that means nothing now that he kept one secret from you?”

“Yeah, well it’s one hell of a secret.”

“You keep secrets, too.”

“None like that! I mean that’s - that’s my entire life.” There’s a certain quiver to her voice, a fleeting break in her usual stoicism that Ace can only imagine she hates to hear from herself. Without giving much thought to the action, he places a comforting hand on her knee.

“Everything he does is for you, Nancy.”

He looks over at her with as relaxed a face as ever. The next words fall lithely out of his lips, “People are gonna disappoint you. Don’t hold it against them.”

An unsettled feeling begins to claw at her conscience. She knows who she is - strong-willed, determined, and stubborn as an ox when it comes to admitting her pride - but she also knows who Carson Drew is. Kind, compassionate, and far more forgiving than she could ever deserve.

So then why does she still feel so indignant, as though she has been wronged and betrayed by the one person she had always trusted the most? No, she isn’t ready to forgive him.

But when will she ever be?

While Ace is looking away she examines the vaguely-lit angles of his face, contemplating. She breaks the tension with a lighthearted quip. “Well you never seem to disappoint me, Ace.”

A small grin forms on his face as he glances back at her, this time holding her gaze for more than a few seconds.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie in Ace’s back pocket crackles to life, and this time, the glance they exchange is out of mutual understanding that it’s time to take action.

------------------------

Hours after a successful mission, the crew is gathered at the Claw as per their usual habit of unwinding after a day full of chaos; the clock, however, is going on 11PM and everyone - especially poor George - is exhausted. Nancy watches with wistful eyes as Nick slides George’s arm across his muscled shoulders, acting as her literal and metaphorical rock in spite of everything they’ve been through. They amble their way out the back door as Bess exits through the front, Ace having silently taken on the task of finishing up the closing process for the Claw.

As the only other remaining soul on site, Nancy slides into a bar stool with hands folded in front of her. “Hey. I, uh, didn’t get to say it before, so thank you. For listening.”

Ace glances up only briefly as he finishes loading a storage cart with wine glasses, “Yeah, no problem.”

Her eyes follow his frame as he places the cart on top of another inside a lower cabinet. He slides the door shut with a single swift motion and wipes his hands on a dish towel. The quiet atmosphere is rather nice, Nancy finds. Peaceful - but she knows that its existence is only temporary, at least until she crafts another sentence to fill it with.

“I know I have a tendency to get stuck in my head,” she starts, “And I know how much it... pushes people away. I’m just having a hard time reconciling who I thought Carson was with who he turned out to be,” she observes Ace’s soft expression as he steps up to her spot at the counter before bitterly finishing, “A liar.”

The silence that follows would have been bearable if not for the fact that her words cause him to be noticeably disappointed in her, as evidenced by the way he shifts uncomfortably when sliding his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. He pouts his lips for a moment and looks down at the counter. “I don’t really think that’s fair.”

She starts to protest, but decides against it. Her mouth closes and she lowers her face, trying in desperation to ignore Ace’s gaze boring right through her.

“Your father’s a good man. He deserves to hear it from you.” Ace says simply. The words are so haunting that the same unsettled feeling from before returns in full swing, this time leaving an icy chill in its wake.

All she can do is stare at him in awe, though it’s a sentiment she manages to keep blanketed under an impenetrable facade.

His eyes only linger for a moment before he turns and disappears into the kitchen, from where Nancy eventually hears the back door.

She sits unmoving in the dim restaurant for longer than is perhaps necessary.

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At some point she picks up her keys and closes the Claw behind her. On the drive home, Nancy begins to wonder what her friends are doing at that moment - how they are coping.

George is wrapped up in a blanket, safe and secure at home. Nick has still not left her side, offering up a hot herbal tea from Victoria’s recipe book and sitting with her in front of the fire. He drapes a gentle arm around her shoulders, relieved to finally have all worries of danger and arguments forgotten & behind them - for the time being, at least.

Sitting at her vanity table at Aunt Diana’s, Bess numbly traces a finger down the multiple scars she acquired tonight and inadvertently smears blood along with the removal of her makeup. Bess’s internal struggle has only been worsening; that inevitable divide between the family she has always dreamed of and the cold, steely disposition that comes with being one of them.

At last, breaking through her thoughts, Nancy arrives home.

As she steps into the entryway the first thing she sees is Carson Drew dropping a stack of papers onto the dinner table. In addition to a teal button-down, he also wears the same resigned, dejected expression that has become his default since the truth about Nancy’s parentage came to light. Carson has more or less bound himself to a vow of silence so as to maintain the fragile peace between them. Watching her dad move so lifelessly, with Ace’s words echoing in her head, it dawns on Nancy how completely and unacceptably unfair that is to him.

When he takes notice of his daughter’s presence across the hall, he is able to identify the prick of tears in her eyes, but says nothing.

Neither does she.

Rather than exchanging words, Nancy feels safer exchanging an embrace. In an instant she has closed the distance between them, arms wrapping around his midsection as though her very life depended on it. It surprises her how quickly he manages to reciprocate the action, despite being caught off guard by it, gripping her tightly with an overwhelming abundance of love and affection that surpasses any mistake she could ever possibly make.

#nancy x ace #nace #cw nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy drew #my writing #PLEASE #I NEED ace to be the catalyst for getting her to forgive carson #I NEED IT LIKE THE AIR I BREATHE #THANK YOU BECCA FOR PROOFREADING AND OFFERING YOUR AMAZING SUGGESTIONS

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laylacooke · 4 years ago

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The Cat’s Meow (Pt. 2) || Regan & Layla

timing: Mid August (before Cabin Trip) [continued from here.] parties: @kadavernagh & @laylacooke summary: Meow?

Layla’s heart was beating fiercely in her small compacted chest. Orange fur heaved up and down as she finally stopped running and had made her escape from Luna and Indy. But confusion still hung heavy over her mind, along with no immediate ideas of how she was going to get out of the situation she was in.

She hadn’t been able to catch a mirror on the way out, but when she had tried to speak Ariana’s name the only thing that came out was a pitiful meow. A meow that had alerted her to more than she had wanted to know in the moment.

It had to be a dream, right? No, more like a nightmare. God, was she stuck inside another nightmare? She had just escaped that reality. But then it hit her like a double headed dildo to the face...Cordy. It was the only possibility, right? She had just seen the woman the day before and pissed her off. Maybe she could go see her and this would all go away. Maybe she would be Layla again. Maybe just maybe - Screeeeeeech! “Watch it you stupid cat!” Eyes wide, the small ginger cat hunkered down in fear realizing she had almost gotten hit by a car. Focus, Layla. Or the next time you’re going to look like Binx from Hocus Pocus.

Quickly escaping from the street, before another car came, Layla realized she needed help.

Remmy? Moose might eat me.

Kaden? Uh-uh. He’s an animal catcher and a hunter for fucks sake.

I’ve got it!

Picking up one paw after the other, the small, furry animal made her way through town as she tried to avoid the temptations that were starting to overwhelm her. Fresh fish. Blagh. A large juicy rat! Oh fuck no. Chasing a bird? Maybe. No, Layla. No. Mind on the mission. Mind. On. The. Mission. It was the small child that was now chasing her screaming ‘kitty’ that put a little extra pep in her step. Stop! No! Bad child! Bad! She let out a horrific meow as the toddler grabbed onto her tail pulling her backwards, and with no choice, she released her claws and swatted at the child. Seeing him tear up broke Layla’s heart, but she couldn’t stop, especially now when his mother was chasing after her and trying to kick her away. I’m sorry!

With a huff, she continued moving forward; little legs growing tired with the occasional breaks scattered throughout, but when she looked up, she realized she had made it.

Waiting for the right moment, Layla weaved her way through the legs of the person entering the building. Maneuvering up the stairs with stealth, she finally arrived. Regan’s apartment. She had saved the medical examiner when the woman was only five inches tall, and now, it was Regan’s turn to save her.

It had become a ritual. Coming home, spreading out the case files from “The Collector’s” victims, and scrutinizing the images and autopsy reports until her eyes felt numb. Regan was thumbing through them again when she heard an insistent meow outside of her door. For a moment, she wondered if it had been a hallucination. She wasn’t sure she’d ever hallucinated a cat before, though. Maybe it was best to check. Reluctantly, she shuffled over to the door, opening it to see -- “How did you get in here?” Regan frowned down at the animal. Did Nadia get another cat? Or did Ms. Carmody? The old woman always seemed a little pleased when there were cat carcasses on the lawn; maybe she had a soft spot for them. Before she could close the door on the cat, it slid past her legs into the apartment. “Hey! Stop! Sit!” She tried to command it like she would Abel, but the animal seemed determined to stay inside. Her wings rustled in annoyance. She shut the door, at least for now, lest anyone who wasn’t Nadia walk by. It was just her and the cat, now. She studied its orange fur and bright eyes. The animal looked relatively healthy, as far as she could tell, though she wasn’t exactly a veterinarian. “Fortunately for you, cat, I’m dating someone in Animal Control. He’ll find you a good home. One that isn’t here.”

Regan had taken the bait, and Layla was in. The world, including the M.E’s apartment was so much bigger as a cat. Everything seemed to be duller and her field of vision seemed limited to a degree and made the already drab apartment seem even less exciting. However, that didn’t matter. Trotting over to Regan, the small cat rubbed across her leg continuously, until she mentioned Animal Control. Fucking Kaden. He was going to be the foil in her plot. Hissing at the idea, she left the woman’s side and ran to the nearby couch. Jumping up onto it, she started to pace back and forth, rubbing on the cushions trying to be loving. If she thinks I’m cute, maybe she won’t let Grandpa haul me away. She meowed softly; her big yellow eyes making contact with Regan’s hoping to win her over.

The cat yowled as Regan mentioned Animal Control, like the animal had some idea of what that meant. That wasn’t possible, was it? She didn’t know very much about cats, but dogs could recognize their name and some commands. Did this one actually know what that meant? Kaden surely wouldn’t euthanize the cat; it would be brought to the shelter and adopted out into a home that would be at least adequate. The cat flung itself around the apartment and ended up on the couch, coating it in fur as it rolled around. Regan frowned at it, then looked down at her slacks. Fur clung to her shins where the cat had rubbed. Great. She brushed it off, then took a cautious step toward the animal. She wasn’t keen on touching it. What if it had rabies or something else? It could have been exposed to anything outside. “Cat,” Regan announced, unsure how to address it, “this isn’t going to work. There’s too much screaming and not enough tuna here for you. I don’t know how to take care of a cat! I’ve never had any animal before and half the time I don’t even know if Abel is afraid of me and-- and this is ridiculous. I’m talking to a cat that turned up in my apartment.” She pulled out her Nokia to shoot Kaden a message: How do you catch a cat?

When Regan addressed Layla as Cat, she meowed in response, Yes? However, what the woman had to say wasn’t exactly what Layla wanted to hear. Please don’t let Kaden take me away. Please! Her eyes grew wider as she paced back and forth nervously. Maybe if I lay down and be a good cat, she won’t send me away with Captain Putain. Circling in one spot, Layla found a place to settle into and laid down. Her tail swished back and forth on its own accord as she continued to look at Regan. Meow. It was soft and welcoming. Inviting Regan over to pet her. She could be a good cat. Layla could exist peacefully with Regan, until she could figure out a way to get the woman to help her, so long as Kaden didn’t come with a cage and pole to snag her with.

Was the cat pacing? Was that normal cat behavior, or did it indicate some neurological concern? Regan really needed to get Kaden over here to catch this animal. It probably needed extensive veterinary care. Was it a stray? It stopped walking across the living room after a minute, planting itself in front of her, and all she could do was stare down at those bright eyes. “Do you want something?” She asked it. “Food? Do you want food?” It probably wanted food. What did cats eat? Tuna, of course. Right? She hadn’t purchased any since she realized she couldn’t tolerate fish anymore. Regan walked past the cat into the kitchen to see what she could find. Peanut butter, yogurt, granola, lettuce, sprouts… nothing a cat would be interested in. “Uh, I might need to ask Kaden what cats eat, and then go shopping. Not that you’re staying here. I mean, for long.” She aimed a glance at the animal. “Really, it’s a bad idea. An extremely bad idea.” Was she trying to convince herself, or the cat? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to dwell on it. Sighing, Regan knelt down on the floor to get a closer look at the animal, nearly tripping over her wings. It had healthy, orange fur and seemed bright. For a stray, it was in good condition. She wondered if the cat was microchipped. The vet would be able to figure that out. “Do you have any owner?”

Food had briefly crossed Layla’s mind on the way over, but it was more temptations than anything. However, she was getting hungry. Listening to Regan, she wanted to speak to her badly. Say something other than a variation on the ever so popular meow, but it was useless. Instead, she watched the woman walk to the kitchen and listened as she rambled on about food and why she shouldn’t keep Layla the Cat and what Kaden would suggest. However, what she hadn’t expected was for Regan to come back and kneel down just to further inspect her. With the M.E that close to her face, Layla was at least able to respond to the ‘owner’ question with a swift shake of her head, no, indicating she didn’t have an owner. Did cats shake their head yes and no? Probably not, but she was no ordinary cat and not being able to communicate with words was driving her bananas. When she got out of this, she was going to have some strong words with Cordy...well, if she got out of this.

Did the cat just… did it just shake its head? Regan gawked down at the animal. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way the cat understood the question, right? Which, sure, she felt more than a little ridiculous for asking it in the first place, given that. And she was only going to feel more ridiculous now that she was continuing to verbally engage with a cat. “You don’t have an owner?” She asked cautiously, standing up again. Her wings gave a disgruntled flit and she brought her hand to her forehead. “I’m going insane,” she said simply, “that’s the explanation. And you’re going to get checked for a microchip once I get you to Kaden. But that’s… something I’ll have to do tomorrow.” She looked out the blurry window, noting that the sun was setting. “You can stay here for now, but no sleeping on the bed, and no swatting at me. Understood?”

Layla had found Regan’s reactions amusing to say the least. Erm...meow the least. Letting her golden round hues follow the woman, the cat meowed. You’re not going insane, because if you are then that means I should wake up from this nightmare any moment, but I haven’t yet, so you have to help me find my way out of this situation since Ariana couldn’t! The mews were continuous and full of inflection but resulted in nothing. Well, not what she had wanted, but Regan had given her permission to stay, so at least that was something. Hearing the stipulations, she nodded her head yes. I think I can handle that. No swats, and, fine. No bed, but I bet you’ll come around. If my little cat body is any reflection of my human cuteness, I’m going to win you over like a bettin’ man gettin’ lucky for once. Challenge accepted. She narrowed her eyes for a moment before hopping off the couch and going back over to Regan. Chirping sweetly, she rubbed against her leg hoping to be picked up.

Why was it meowing like that? Was something wrong? Was it supposed to do that? Regan grimaced down at the cat like it was a light she’d just shattered. It wasn’t broken, right? But then it stopped meowing, and-- she jumped as it leapt from the couch, wings taking her a few inches off the floor. That sent another wave of panic through her and she fluttered back away from the animal, dropping back down to the ground. It seemed intent on following her, though, and rubbed against her shin again. Why did it keep doing that? Regan reached down and gave it a quick, cautious stroke on the top of its head, then tore her arm back away from it like it might seize her. “What? I’ll get you food tomorrow. I don’t have anything that I can-- is it water? You want water?” She brought a small bowl full of water from the kitchen and set it down on the floor, hoping to retreat into the bedroom while it was distracted.

Oh, if a cat could laugh! Layla watched as Regan proceeded to freak out. If you could only see the way you’re acting, Dr. B. While getting picked up didn’t work out quite like she planned, the water now sitting in front of her was well appreciated. Moving in, she slowly leaned forward. Seeing her reflection in the water startled Layla, but once she had accepted it, she leaned closer towards the bowl of liquid. Okay, just...you can do this, Layla. Just like...Her tongue easily began lapping up the cool water from the bowl. It was refreshing, to say the least, and while she stood there consumed by the taste of the water in her parched mouth, she hadn’t noticed Regan slip away into the bedroom. By the time she looked up, it was too late. Eyes scanning the room, she let her nose lead her to the door. I hear you in there. Meows rang out sounding closely like the word ‘hello’. Hello? Helloooooo. Hello?

Regan had just brushed her teeth and wiggled into her nightshirt when she heard meowing from the other side of the bedroom door. Her arms sagged with exhaustion and she felt a little bit like screaming. Hadn’t she told the animal she wasn’t allowed on the bed? So much for it being able to understand. Maybe it just wanted to be near her. Domestic animals evolved to be in human proximity, right? She sat down on her bed for a moment, debating. Would it keep meowing out there if she didn’t let it in? Would she be able to get any sleep if she did let it in? Regan groaned, standing up. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She opened the door, standing back as she watched the cat to see what it might do. “Remember, no bed. You can sleep on the floor. And no. Swatting.” Abel had stuck his nose in her wings plenty of times, and she could only imagine what damage a cat might do. Just thinking about the claws made her wince. Regan waggled a finger at the animal before falling back on the bed with a long, drawn out sigh. “Goodnight, cat. Tomorrow, you’re going to the vet.”

Layla continued to say the one word she could as a cat, “hello”, until she heard the door open. With wide innocent eyes, she looked up at Regan. She listened as the woman spouted off the rules again, before she trotted into the bedroom, tail swishing back and forth. There had been nowhere to lay on the floor. And Regan would be warmer than curling up trying to rely on her own body heat for warmth. It had been a long day, and all she wanted was to sleep peacefully, especially knowing she was going to the vet tomorrow; which had caused her anxiety to spike. What would going to a vet be like? She already hated going to the doctor. She would deal with that issue in the morning, but for now, she just wanted to not feel so lonely, and completely ignoring the ‘sleeping on the bed’ rule, the small, orange tabby launched herself up onto the edge of the mattress. Slowly and cautiously walking over the covers, once she reached Regan, she curled up in a ball next to the woman. Snuggled in closely, before the fae could object, she began purring softly and closed her eyes.

Regan flicked off the light and settled in. It was always a struggle trying to get comfortable these days, given the unwelcome wings, but somehow, it was starting to get a little bit easier. She gave the cat one final expectant look that said stay on the floor, then she closed her eyes. Regan didn’t even feel the animal soundlessly jump on the bed, not at first-- but something soft and burning hot curled up next to her, and Regan didn’t have the energy to argue with a cat. Besides… it was like having a tiny campfire right next to her, and was the purring really so bad? She’d wash the sheets tomorrow. Regan draped an arm over the animal, allowing herself to hope, just for a moment, that its presence would lead to a nightmare-less slumber.

#para: the cat's meow #pt. 2 #kadavernagh #saga: a little catty #wickedswriting

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gilbertandanne · 5 years ago

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An (Un)Fortunate Lily Maid

A/N: Still working on the modern AU, but since I’m all up in my feels over season three still, I wanted to write a little post S3 one shot. Takes place four months after the 3.10 finale.

Characters: Anne Shirley Cuthbert; Gilbert Blythe

Relationship: Anne Shirley Cuthbert/Gilbert Blythe

Rating: PG

Word Count: 5,345

Also located on AO3

Nearly four months after she first stepped into the next chapter of her life, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was finally back home. Even though it was only for a few short weeks, she was grateful that would be able to spend more than one or two fleeting nights in her dear gable room. Charlottetown was only a short train ride away, a fact that she was continuously grateful for because whenever missing her dear family simply became too much to bear, she’d use some of her travel fund to return home.

Not that she didn’t love Queen’s and all it afforded her.

In fact, she enjoyed it far more than she imagined she would. Her homesickness was curbed for the most part due to the fact that most of her former classmates were there as well. Most of the time, she could imagine that they were all back in the old schoolhouse, learning about things well outside the standardized curriculum from one of her greatest inspirations: her dear, Miss Stacy.

Inadvertently, she’d be pulled from her reverie by the ramblings of one professor or another. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her teachers. They were all well-esteemed in their own right, but what she wouldn’t give to turn the clock back a year—if only for a day.

The girls had flourished during those first few months in Charlottetown. There had been a few minor tiffs amongst them over the last few months, which was natural given the fact that they were suddenly living with one another. Whenever an argument popped up, Anne found herself grateful that she and Diana had yet to have any sort of conflict. Perhaps their separation last spring afforded them the opportunity to see the bigger picture. Anne was pleasantly surprised that Diana wasn’t bothered at all by her desire to ‘burn the midnight oil’, so to speak. Anne spent most of her nights studying, reading, or—whenever the inspiration struck—writing. Diana told her that she felt an odd sense of comfort in the soft glow of Anne’s lamp.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, being back at Green Gables was strange. She was so used to sharing her room with her best friend that the last few nights without her were a little too quiet. She was used to the girls’ raucous giggling and constant plotting on ways to skirt around Mrs. Blackmore’s rules. To her credit, Anne abstained from most of their antics. She had changed. She wasn’t the same girl who snuck out in the middle of the night to dance around a fire or drink moonshine with the rest of her class. No, she was too preoccupied with making the best marks she could so that, hopefully, she’d earn a scholarship and alleviate the financial burden of her education from her adopted parents.

Not to mention the fact that staying busy also helped her to miss him less.

Toronto wasn’t nearly as far away as Paris, but it might as well have been.

Anne wrote to him nearly every other day and given the frequency of the letters she received from him, she supposed that he had found a way to maintain the same pace. She told him all about her quest to find her lineage and all that she discovered about her biological parents in the book Marilla and Matthew retrieved from Mrs. Thomas. In return, Gilbert told her all about his studies, his new group of friends, and how Dr. Emily Oak had become his mentor. Whenever Anne visited home, she’d report back to Gilbert on how Bash and Delphine were doing—although she was certain that he and Bash frequently wrote to one another. She kept him up to date on all of the misadventures of their friends and assured him that she managed to stay out of mischief—for the most part.

It was almost as if he were there with her, but—she constantly had to remind herself—he wasn’t. In fact, while she still had several follow-up questions from that fateful day outside of her boarding house, she had only ever asked a select few. The most vital ones, the ones that had practically driven her mad, she never inquired about. What if it had all been a dream? She had pinched herself in the midst of it all, but had that been enough to ensure that her imagination hadn't invaded reality? He never once said that he loved her, only that he had feelings for her. Winifred was certain that his feelings for Anne were classified as love—she had even used that exact word in her explanation to Anne—but hearing it from someone else wasn’t the same as hearing it directly from the source. He hadn’t once spoken of his feelings in any of his letters, so Anne held back, took his lead, and kept her correspondence light.

After all, they would be miles apart for God only knew how long. A lot could change in that time.

Perhaps, it already had.

Frustrated with her current train of thought, Anne left the warmth of her dear Green Gables. Maybe the frigid December air would help to clear her mind. Matthew and Marilla had gone to Carmody for the day to run errands. Diana and her family were out of town. Gilbert wouldn’t be home for the holidays and the LaCroix family had gone to Charlottetown for a few days so that Constance and Jocelyn could see Delphine.

A sudden gust of wind immediately sent a chill down her spine; nevertheless, she persisted in her quest to visit her beloved Lake of Shining Waters. The pond belonged to the Barry’s, but Anne often escaped to the pond to seek inspiration and get out of her own mind for a little while. She had hoped Christmas in Avonlea would be so hectic that she wouldn’t have time to miss Gilbert Blythe, but everywhere she went, there he was.

Only, he wasn’t.

She half expected the pond to be frozen over by now but was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by its shimmering waters. She greeted the water with a soft smile. “At least you haven’t changed.” It had been a relatively mild winter thus far. The temperature hadn’t sunk far below freezing until just a few days earlier when the first snow of the season hit her beloved island.

As Anne walked around the pond, she recalled the first time she beheld its beauty. It prompted her to pinch herself for the first of many times that day. She couldn’t believe that she could ever live near such an enchanting place. Even now, as she watched the water shimmer against the snow-covered ground, she stood in awe of this little spot. As she made her way toward the Barry’s small dock, her gaze shifted to the small dory that rested right on the shore. “My one regret,” she sighed as she walked toward it. She was to be Elaine that unfortunate day, but Mrs. Barry stopped them from acting out Tennyson’s tragical tale.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced at the water before looking back at the small boat. Granted, it would be more fun if the girls were with her, but Anne was well aware of the fact that she was only allowed a few more years of adolescent fun before she’d finally be forced to grow up. Even now, she constantly heard that she looked grown up. Sometimes someone would remark that she was grown up. “I’m only 16,” she muttered as she inched closer to the small boat. “Maturation doesn’t happen overnight.” This could very well be the only chance she had to portray the lily maid. No one was there to stop her this time.

Her mind made up, she dusted off the small layer of snow in the boat before she nudged it closer to the water. She shivered as she removed the blanket she had wrapped around herself and laid it down on the boat. She glanced at her coat. Elaine certainly did not float down to Camelot in a coat. “It’ll only be for a few minutes,” she rationalized before she unbuttoned it and sat it on the post next to the dory. She carefully stepped onto the boat and sat at the edge. She pushed herself off of the shore before she laid down, eager to coast along the pond.

The gray sky above her darkened as she stared at the clouds above. It would be dark soon, but the train back from Carmody wouldn’t be at Bright River for a few hours yet.

A few minutes into her trek, she slowly closed her eyes. This was exactly what her soul needed: a moment of peace mixed in with a childish flight of fancy. She smiled softly. Perhaps, she didn’t have to grow up quite yet. Just as she took a breath of that sweet Avonlea air, the boat tilted, and a rush of cold water suddenly splashed her from behind.

Anne’s eyes shot open and she immediately sat upright. Her eyes widened when she realized that the boat must have had a hole in the bottom. The small dory was quickly sinking and she, a mediocre swimmer at best, was in the middle of the pond. The LaCroix’s were gone, the Barry’s were gone, and her adopted parents were out of town. There was no one else around for miles.

She desperately tried to row herself near one of the edges, but she was so anxious that the only oar she had slipped from her nearly frozen fingers and fell to the murky depths below. Without another thought, she tried to row with her hands, to no avail. The boat was simply taking on too much water.

Was this it? Would this be her untimely end—just as she was on the cusp of the rest of her life? She briefly hoped Marilla would remember her request to place pink roses on her grave. She wondered if her loved ones would cry, would remember her fondly in the coming years. She wondered if Gilbert would be able to come to the funeral, or if he’d even want to.

When the boat finally dipped below the water line, Anne began to flail around in the frigid water. As she gasped for air, her thoughts turned to her family. As badly as she wanted to meet her biological parents, she had hoped she’d be able to spend a little more time with her adopted ones first. Then, just before her frozen body succumbed to the pull of the lake she had loved for so long, she heard an all too familiar voice call out to her. She tried to focus her gaze on the rapidly approaching figure, but couldn’t find the energy to. It was all too much. When she heard the sweet sound of her name on the caller’s lips once more, she smiled despite her situation.

At least she got to hear his voice one last time.

~*~

She wasn’t sure how long she had been submerged under the freezing water. It felt like days, but knew it was merely a few seconds before she felt a rush of air fill her lungs once again. She gasped before she began to cough up the water from the pond. She felt herself glide across the water, her frozen limbs securely wrapped around her savior. Her hair was a drenched, a tangled mess that shielded her vision. She focused her attention on breathing, on trying not to choke on the water that she continued to cough up. She couldn’t feel much, only the sharp pang of the freezing water as it pierced her body.

How could she have been so reckless?

By the time she reached the shore, she supposed that at least half of her body had gone completely numb from the water. The other half ached from the battle she nearly lost with the pond she so dearly loved. She couldn’t feel the coldness from the blanket of snow underneath her. She couldn’t feel her fingers at all, but somehow managed to swipe the hair out of her face as she tried to force air through her lungs. She focused her vision on the dark grey sky above. Then, she heard her name once more. She turned her head toward the sound.

Had she actually died?

She wouldn’t be able to feel it even if she possessed the energy to pinch herself, so she merely stared up at the concerned face that hovered over her.

“Anne, Anne, can you hear me? Anne, please…nod if you can understand me.”

She slowly nodded, still unsure if she was in Avonlea or if she had been ushered into the next world. She never thought heaven would look just like Avonlea, but how else would it explain the presence of someone who should be a thousand miles away?

“I’ll be right back,” he assured her before he sprinted away. Anne shifted her attention back up toward the sky as she tried to steady her rapidly beating heart.

By the time he returned, she was able to move her lips. As he wrapped his jacket, as well as a blanket, around her, she tried to focus on her words. “W-W-W-What are y-y-you d-d-d-oing-g-g—”

He gave her a small smile before he slowly helped her up. When she stumbled, he made the decision to pick her up and carry her. “I could ask you the same question,” he answered as he made his way toward the carriage. “You need to get warm before you catch pneumonia.”

“Not at—not at G-G-Green Gables,” she huffed, frustrated that she couldn’t seem to control her stammer at the moment. “I don’t want…Matthew…Marilla.”

Gilbert nodded as he helped her in the buggy. He understood what she meant without needing to explain further. She didn’t want them to see her so disheveled because then she’d be forced to explain how she ended up in the pond in the first place. “We’ll go back to my place then.”

Anne shivered in response.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he responded before he grabbed the reigns and ushered them toward the Blythe-LaCroix farm.

~*~

Anne had regained feeling in most of her fingers and toes by the time they reached Gilbert’s house. She was still freezing and drenched head to toe, but maybe she wouldn’t end up with frost bite.

She managed to get into the house without any assistance from the concerned medical student. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Gilbert hurried toward the fireplace. “We need to get you warm,” he commented before he turned back to look at her. He noticed the state of her clothing and took a deep breath. “You need to change out of those clothes. They’re soaked.”

Anne glanced down at her appearance. “But Matthew and Marilla, I—”

“Just…long enough to dry them off,” he clarified. “Follow me.”

Anne followed him wordlessly up the stairs. She had been in his house dozens of times, but never once had she ventured upstairs. Although she couldn’t be certain, she had a feeling exactly where she was headed. At the mere thought, she shivered.

She lingered in the doorway, even as Gilbert went into—she presumed—his room. She watched curiously as he pulled a few things from a couple of drawers. “These will probably be a little loose,” he began as he gestured to the pants in his hands, “So, you can wear these with them,” he reached for a pair of suspenders. “I…um…if you don’t know how to…” he stopped his movements when he realized just what he was trying to say. Dear God, was he about to suggest that he could help her put his suspenders on? He laughed nervously.

“I know,” she answered just as bashfully. “This wouldn’t…um…this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worn men’s clothes.”

Gilbert’s head snapped up to look at her. “What?”

“Um…it was two years ago…when you came back from Trinidad with Bash and my hair was…” she sighed. “You know what? Long story…it doesn’t matter.”

Gilbert was definitely curious about what sort of adventure led her to wear men’s clothing. To be honest, he wanted to know everything he could about her. He had been curious about the redhead since the day they met, and now, nearly four years later, she still seemed like an enigma most of the time. “Ok. Well, I’ll…leave you...to it…I guess.” He handed her the clothes and gave her a small smile before he walked out of the room and back down the stairs.

Anne looked down at the clothes and sighed. How did she always end up in these predicaments?

~*~

Even though she had never worn suspenders before, she figured out how to attach them very quickly, much to her relief. She simply had no other option. If she couldn’t figure it out, then she would have found something else to cinch the waist of the slightly-too-large-for-her pants. There was no way she’d ask Gilbert to help her put on clothes—even if those clothes were his. ‘Oh, if Marillia saw this,’ she cringed before she looked up at herself in the mirror. She smirked as she slowly examined her appearance. The clothes were too big on her, but still, she couldn’t help but to admire the fashion. Miss Stacy was the only other woman she had seen in suspenders and trousers before and while Anne admired the look, she knew she’d never get away with that—at least, while she was still at Queen’s. Her smile widened as she turned around to get a full look at herself. Miss Jeannie did say that trousers were the ‘it’ fashion in Paris. Perhaps the style would make its way overseas and it wouldn’t be so abnormal for a woman to wear them. Even though she couldn’t forget whose clothes they belonged to, she still found them quite comfortable.

As she helplessly tried to tame her tangled locks into a single loose braid, she wondered how long it would take for her clothes to dry. She wasn’t sure if Matthew and Marilla were back yet. If so, she knew it would still be a little while before they would begin to worry about her. Still, she hadn’t seen Gilbert since that day outside of her boarding house and she wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were anymore when it came to their relationship.

Besides, she hadn’t expected to see him at all until next spring. She thought she still had a few more months of self-doubt to process before she was forced to pretend that she hadn’t thought about those stolen moments every single day since he left. She reached for her wet clothes. If her need for adventure hadn’t gotten in the way, she’d be curled up with a book in the safe confines of her room instead of sporting Gilbert Blythe’s clothes in his bedroom.

‘You’ll learn one day,’ she told herself as she walked toward the door. Before she left, she spun around and took one last look around his room. ‘Yes,’ she concluded, ‘This is exactly how I imagined it.’

She shifted her clothes under her arms as she descended the stairs. When she entered the parlor, she realized that Gilbert’s back was toward her as he stoked the fire. “Thank you.”

At the sound of her voice, Gilbert stood up and turned around. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, could only take in Anne’s appearance. He had thought her beautiful since the day he first saw her, but there was something about the way she looked in that moment—clad in his own clothes, no less—that nearly took his breath away. It was the first moment he allowed himself any amount of time to process the fact that they were sharing the same space for the first time since that frantic day in Charlottetown. He had imagined their reunion going a hundred different ways, but never once had he conjured this up.

He cleared his throat as he forced himself to look down at the clothes in her arms. “I can go…hang those up.”

Anne took one look at her clothes before she shook her head. “No, no…I can do it.”

“Oh, ok. Well, I’m making some tea, so maybe I should go…see if that’s…if that’s ready.”

Anne watched him curiously as he practically stumbled toward the kitchen. It was equal parts amusing and endearing to see Gilbert Blythe quite literally falling over himself. She smirked as her gaze fell back to her clothes. She could get used to seeing him like that.

What she wouldn’t be getting used to any time soon would be Gilbert Blythe seeing her undergarments. She inwardly groaned as she began to hang up her clothes. There was no way around it. She needed to dry her clothes and the quickest way to do that was to hang them by the fire. She tried to hide her corset underneath her dress the best way she could. She wasn’t sure if they were courting, but even if they were, she was certain that he most certainly wasn’t permitted to see her corset, even if she wasn’t wearing it.

Her cheeks reddened at the thought.

Just as she sat her shoes in front of the fireplace, she heard him re-enter the room. She brushed a loose tendril away from her eyes before she took the offered teacup in his hands.

He silently gestured toward the couch, but once Anne sat down, instead of sitting next to her, Gilbert sat on the chair in the corner of the room.

Anne tried to mask her disappointment. Maybe he wasn’t that excited to see her after all? She furrowed her eyebrows as her mind immediately jumped to several different conclusions. Maybe she had over-romanticized what happened between them four months ago? After all, he failed to mention it in any of his letters.

And now she was sitting in in the same room with him—alone—and in his clothes.

Unable to handle her spiraling train of thought for another moment, she looked down at her teacup. “So, why didn’t you tell me that you were going to come back for Christmas?”

He chuckled before he took a sip of his tea. “So, how did you end up in the middle of the pond?”

Anne cringed. She should have known that was coming. Some things never changed. He always found a way to see her at her absolute worst. At the same time, she knew that he was well aware of who she was and the fact that catastrophe seemed to follow her in spades. “A few years ago, Diana, Ruby, Jane, and I were going to re-enact Elaine’s final voyage from ‘Lancelot and Elaine’, but just before we could, Mrs. Barry came out and…we weren’t able to.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “Matthew and Marilla were in Carmody, I knew the Barry’s were out of town and with Bash and Delly being gone, I was…bored. I remembered that I never got to act it out and when I saw that the pond wasn’t frozen over, I decided that…it was now or never.” She turned her attention to the fire in front of her. “There must have been a hole at the bottom.”

“And…it sunk.”

She nodded. “And while Matthew tried to teach me how to swim…once…I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.”

“You can’t expect to be an expert at something after one lesson.”

She chuckled. “Well, you know me…”

He nodded with a smirk before his smile completely melted into a look of concern. “Anne, you could have died out there. If I hadn’t—”

“I know,” she calmly interrupted as she stared at her teacup. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had he not been there. “Thank you…for…for saving me. I had already accepted my fate and…wait.” She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him. “Why were you there?”

“Well, I was…on my way to Green Gables, actually,” was his sheepish reply.

There it was again. That sheepish little smile that immediately sent a thrill down her spine. “I thought you were going to stay in Toronto until the term was over?”

He sighed before he sat his cup down on the end table next to the chair. “That was the plan, initially, but I…” he trailed off.

Anne swallowed as she sat her cup down on the table in front of her. Was this it? Did he come all this way to let her down, to insist that what happened that beautiful day in Charlottetown was merely a flight of fancy and nothing more? “You…” she trailed on in an attempt to prompt his response.

“Thanks to the Barry’s, we had a…fruitful harvest. I was able to use some of the extra money to come back for a few weeks before the spring term begins.”

“That’s great. I mean…I’m sure you missed Bash and Delly.”

He slowly nodded. “But…they weren’t the only ones.” He cut his eyes up to her to gauge her reaction. Four months. Four long months without her. God. How did he ever make it a year?

Anne didn’t need for him to elaborate. The look in his eyes said it all and she was fairly certain that it mirrored that of her own. She, the girl who not a year earlier swore that her destiny was to be the bride of adventure, now saw a completely different future unfolding before her very eyes. Still, he had never been so open with his emotions in any of his letters. She cleared her throat. “Oh?”

Propriety be damned, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up only to move to the couch and sit next to her. He hesitated for a brief moment before he placed his left hand over both of hers, which were neatly folded in her lap. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Anne looked down at their joined hands before she looked back up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I kept…I kept hoping you would, but after a while, I just assumed that we were…that it…that we…weren’t.”

“I had hoped you would, especially after the letter I left in your room…when you didn’t mention it, I thought—”

“What letter?”

“The day before harvest. I stopped by Green Gables, but no one was there, so I…I wrote you a letter. You told me that you got the pen back so I—”

Anne grimaced. “Oh. Well, I…I didn’t read the letter.”

Gilbert took a deep breath. Months. He had spent months worrying about what he had said, if it had been too much too soon, if he scared her away. He well remembered what Diana told him that day on the train, but he had yet to hear it from Anne. What if Diana had been wrong this entire time? What if she didn’t reciprocate the feelings he had for her? Now, to find out that she never read the letter in the first place? It was a lot to take in at once. “Why,” was the only word he was able to utter.

It was Anne’s turn to grow sheepish as she glanced back at the fire. “I…um…I thought you had written it to tell me about your engagement to Winifred and I…I got mad because I thought…I figured with news that big that you would have…told me yourself instead of writing…a letter.” She watched the flames dance along the log and wondered what the contents held. “After I tore it up, I threw it out the window. Then…my curiosity got the better of me and I…I tried to find the pieces. From what I could find and piece back together, I assumed that you…that you two were…and then I bumped into Winifred the day you…and she told me what happened.”

He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. He had been on the receiving end of Anne’s temper on more than one occasion, but never, in all of the days when he tried to rationalize the reason why she never responded, had he imagined that she never read it. “Oh.”

“But…I’m willing to listen if you…if you remember what it said.”

He looked up at her. When he wrote it, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see her again. Now, it was four months later, and there they were. He didn’t want to scare her, especially because he wasn’t certain how she felt. Besides, it’d be years before he could ever offer her anything. He shook his head as a playful smirk crossed his features. “That’ll teach you to rip up my letters.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “Gilbert Blythe! I wasn’t the only one who failed to receive a letter. I wrote you one as well.”

“That I never received,” he argued. “You had mine in your hands.” He waited a beat. Even though he knew more about her letter than she knew about his, he still wanted to hear it from her. “What did yours say?”

She wasn’t sure what Diana told him. Her bosom friend remained tight-lipped about the conversation she had with Gilbert that day, but still, she didn’t want to go back to Queen’s not knowing where she stood with Gilbert Blythe and given the number of people they would see over the coming weeks, she figured this would be their only opportunity to speak so freely. “I…I apologized.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For…for being confused…that night at the ruins. I was just…shocked and…drunk and I couldn’t…think and then the girls pulled me away and I—”

“It’s ok,” he assured her. “My timing wasn’t the best.”

“Mine neither,” she admitted.

“Anything else,” he asked hopefully.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment. She could feel her palms clam up and knew that everything hinged upon his reaction to her next words. “I said that I wasn’t confused anymore and that…that I love you.”

Even though they had kissed, had admitted that they had feelings for one another, had written to one another every other day since their separation, the joy he felt at hearing her say the actual words was indescribable.

Still, she wrote that letter months ago. So much could have changed between then and now. “And…and now?”

Anne searched his eyes for only a moment before she spoke. “I’m still in love with you. More than when I wrote that—” Her words were abruptly cut off as he pressed his lips against hers.

How many times had she thought about this very moment over the last four months? How long had she fretted that it wouldn’t be the same, that the memory couldn’t possibly hold up to reality, but now, after having had a very real brush with death, Anne knew that it was her memory that had completely failed her. This was so much more than she could possibly remember. The way she felt, the surge of electricity that soared through her veins. She could feel herself flush under the intensity.

But still—

As sweet as it felt, and even though it spoke volumes, she needed to hear it. She needed to know. So, she slowly pulled away from him and opened her eyes. She waited until he opened his before she looked down at her hands. “W-What about you?”

He gave her a small smile as he tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. “It’s always been you, Anne…my Anne with an E.”

#anne with an e #awae #shirbert #shirbert fic #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #otp: my anne with an e #one shot #mine #anne/gilbert #anne and gilbert #gilbert and anne #fanfic

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elizascarlet · 5 years ago

Text

Part I- Spring

“Happy Easter!” Anne gave her bosom friend a hug, sitting down beside her in class.

“To you too!” Diana returned.

Anne brandished a posy of wildflowers, giggling. “For your table, Madame.”

“Oh Anne,” Diana breathed. “The trilliums are blooming! I do wish I could go with you to pick more of them, but Mother wants me to come home right after school. We’re going to Carmody tonight to spend it with my cousins.”

Anne’s countenance fell. “You mean, you’re not coming to Easter dinner?”

Diana glanced around and lowered her voice. “No. And you should’ve heard the things Father said. It made me so angry I had to go to my room to scream into my pillow.”

“They won’t allow you to come?”

“No.” Diana sounded so dejected.

“I want this Easter to be perfect for Mary. She’s made Sebastian so happy! I just wish you could make it.”

Diana squeezed Anne’s hand. “Perhaps next year things will be different.”

Miss Stacy called the class to attention and their conversation ended.

Easter morning dawned bright and clear, with the crow of a rooster and the lowing of milk cows. The Snow Queen finally sprang forth her blossoms, showering Anne’s gable room full of starry white petals.

“Happy Easter to you, dear Snow Queen!” Anne called out her window, finishing tying her braids.

Down below she noticed a horse trotting up the drive. It was Gilbert Blythe. Anne took a quiet moment to really assess her rival. He was really quite handsome, having left boyhood behind, and looked all manly at the moment astride his horse.

Gilbert dismounted, and, noticing Anne in her window, waved. Ashamed at being caught, Anne drew back and slammed her window closed.

As she made her way down the stairs she could hear Gilbert’s voice.

“I’m here to retrieve whatever foodstuffs you are providing for Easter dinner.”

Marilla answered him back. “The shepherd’s pie isn’t quite done, so we’ll bring it along when we come over later. Anne,” Marilla said, spotting the latter as she entered the kitchen. “Will you fetch that pie I made last night? And a few of those fruit preserves, please.”

Anne did as she was bid, and quick as naught, had an old sturdy basket filled with food looped over Gilbert’s arm.

“We’ll be over there after church. Now get, get, or you’ll be late!” Marilla shooed Gilbert out the door goodnaturedly. “Are you ready for church, Anne?”

Anne twirled, showing off the new dress Marilla had made her. It was green-- a dark green like an evergreen tree-- with accents of gingham at the wrist, hem, and yoke. “I love it, Marilla.”

“I’m glad.” Marilla sighed, glancing out the window. “There’s Matthew with the buggy now. Let me pull the shepherd’s pie out of the oven and we’ll be off.” Marilla set the dish on the warm stove, covering it with a cloth. “There, that will keep it warm until we return.”

“Is it alright if I go over early to help Mary?” Anne asked.

“After church, mind you. Now grab your coat and let’s be off.”

Anne walked with Gilbert to his home. “Lovely service. I’m sad that Bash and Mary couldn’t make it.”

Gilbert glanced aside at her. “You know that it’s just an excuse, right?”

Anne raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “I remember that first Sunday. I thought the minister would die from apoplexy there on the spot! I think it so shameful that some folks discriminate. And especially a minister who preaches we’re all equal in God’s eyes! Being banned from the church just because the color of their skin... Oh and don’t get me started on Diana’s parents.”

“They sent a note declining Mary’s invitation.” Gilbert added, glowering and shaking his head. “Within all the flourishing and fancy language, it wasn’t hard to detect the real reason. We all know they won’t come because Bash and Mary are black. It’s disgusting.”

Together they trudged through the mud in the path. A silence fell on the pair, but while in the past it would have made Anne uncomfortable, right now she felt at ease. Was their rivalry truly at an end? Could they perhaps, be friends?

Somehow, that word wasn’t adequate enough to describe her relationship with Gilbert. Her and Diana were friends , and her and Ruby were friends as well in a similar way. Same with Cole and Aunt Jo. Kindred Spirits and friends all rolled into one.

She and Gilbert were friends not in that way. They were different but she couldn’t put her finger at how...

Anne, frustrated at how the right word eluded her, wasn’t watching where her footsteps were landing, and she stumbled over a hidden branch.

“Careful,” admonished Gilbert with a little laugh, catching her elbow to steady her.

“Thanks.” He let go and, strangely, Anne mourned the loss of his touch.

Soon, they made it to the Blythe-Lacroix house, which was already a-bustle with activity. Mary met them at the door.

“Gilbert Blythe! You will stay outside. I want no bad luck of yours to interfere with my cooking, you hear me? You take one step inside this kitchen and your curse will rain down and ruin all my hard work. You can clean yourself up in the barn and enter in through the other door.”

“Aye aye ma’am.” Gilbert gave a goofy salute and headed off round the back.

Anne smiled at Mary. “Would you like some help?”

“I believe I’m all about finished, but thank you for your offer. Maybe you could set the table? There’s Marilla and Matthew now. Oh! And the Lyndes right behind them.”

Soon they were all gathered together, and Sebastian said Grace.

Mary cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming. You’ve made my heart good. It’s so nice to cook for a large gathering again.”

“Thank you for having us, Mary.” Marilla smiled over her glass.

“What did you put in your chicken Mary? It is absolutely scrumptious and divine.” Anne sighed, in raptures over the blend of spices on her tongue.

“Let’s see, paprika, cumin, tarragon, pepper, and a hint of lemon. I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? It’s the best chicken I’ve ever tasted!” Anne caught sight of Marilla and hastily amended her statement. “After Marilla’s, of course.”

“Yes, Marilla’s fried chicken is always wonderful,” Rachel Lynde chimed in. “But your chicken, Mary, well, has an… unusual taste, that’s for sure.”

Anne glared at Mrs. Lynde, annoyed.

While the adults changed the subject and chattered about someone’s new cow or other, Gilbert nudged her arm. “Here, you can have more of mine.” He said quietly, gesturing to his plate.

Anne turned the glare on him. “Why? Do you not like it either?” She snarled.

Gilbert raised his hands to ward off her ire. “Relax, Anne. I enjoy Mary’s cooking just swell. But since I’m full and still have some left, perhaps you’d like to finish it, since you seem to like it so much.”

Anne felt chagrined, as though he’d just chastised her. “Sorry. Yes, thank you.”

Gilbert slid what was left of his piece of chicken onto her plate.

Anne quickly bit into it, half moaning at the taste. Finished too fast for her liking, another piece found it’s way into her mouth. This time, she caught Matthew’s eye over the table. He warily shook his head, reaching up and flipping his nose with his index finger, sublty pointing in Mrs. Lynde’s direction

Anne, confused, looked over at the woman.

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Lynde gasped, her hand clasped to her chest, her eyes large with scandal. “I cannot believe such a thing.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Anne. She swallowed quickly, utterly baffled.

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert! I thought you knew better than that!” Marilla admonished, adding her two bits.

“What? It’s just chicken.”

“Yes, but to eat after Gilbert has already partaken of it is such a shameful thing. And you, young man,” She added, turning to Anne’s companion. “You ought to know better as well.”

Anne rose to his defense in indignation. “He offered because I enjoyed Mary’s chicken so much, nothing more. And besides, Matthew shares his food with me all the time. How is this any different?”

“Matthew is your guardian dearest, that’s understandable.” Mrs. Lynde coaxed.”But to share food with a man you’re not related to…” She shuddered, shaking her head.”How utterly shameful.”

Anne narrowed her eyes defiantly and, holding Mrs. Lynde’s gaze, took another bite of chicken.

The entire table erupted.

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla started shouting, Anne glaring while she finished her bite, then stood, hurling words back as good as she got.

Meanwhile, Matthew and Mr. Lynde exchanged looks before escaping out the door, and Mary hurriedly started cleaning up plates. Gilbert, seeing this, seized his chance to escape as well and jumped up to help Mary. Sebastian was frozen in place, his head whipping back and forth between the two opponents as though following a game of shuttlecock.

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal--”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert you will not talk to your elders this way--”

“Teenagers! Didn’t I warn you Marilla that she would be nothing but trouble, her and her red hair--”

“Why are we bringing my hair into this? It’s not like I can change it! Oh wait, I already tried that!--”

“I am not discussing this further. You have behaved rather shamelessly and now--”

“If you had just listened to me, Marilla she would’ve been brought up right but no, you listened to Matthew and now look what’s happened--”

“Nothing happened! I do this all the time! I don’t see what’s shameful about it at all--”

“We’re leaving right this instance--”

“I won’t stand for it--”

“Argh! Enough, fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Mrs. Lynde left in a huff the door slamming shut behind her.

Marilla, cross with Anne, grabbed the girl by her shoulders and planned to march the girl straight to the buggy for an uncomfortable ride home.

Just before crossing the threshold, Anne turned back to Mary.

“I’m ever so sorry I ruined your dinner. It really was lovely.”

Mary shook her head, smiling. “Anne, it was in no way ruined. In fact, there was always a tussle or an argument anytime I held dinner at the Bog. Felt like home.”

Anne smiled and allowed Marilla to steer her outside.

As they descended the steps, they could hear Bash raise his voice. “You know better than to feed a woman off your plate. What were you thinking!?”

“I wasn’t! I was just trying to do something nice for her! I…” The rest of Gilbert's response was muffled and lost to the ears.

Anne smiled a little. At least she wasn’t the only one getting a scolding tonight, that’s for sure.

(Read the whole thing on AO3)

#shirbert #shirbert fics #gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #awae #i'm doing this differently

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arthurjdrake · 5 years ago

Photo

TIMING: The day after this. INVOLVED: @humanmoodring & @cryxmercy PLACE: White Crest ICU SUMMARY: Nadia & Mercy visit Arthur while he’s in hospital. TW: Hospitals, Medical Equipment, Needles, Injury Detail

Two days was enough for the effects of the isolation in the hospital to start showing. Arthur could be patient at the best of times, and while he knew it was completely understandable the concern and wariness the nurses and orderlies were taking regarding what was a very traumatic and serious case… He didn’t like being cooped up with barely any contact with the outside world, it was even worse not knowing where his friends were. Used to being able to solve such issues with just a few tears this was a grating experience to say the least. Eventually, Mercy had shown up looking just as bloodied and tattered as he felt and he felt a little of the knot of tension that had balled itself in his chest ease upon seeing her face. Of course she’d be fine. They hadn’t spoken since the morning after the wraith incident and… that little bombshell that had been dropped. But that hardly mattered in the grander scheme of things. But it just left him to worry about other people. “Think you could ask her to bring my phone and charger? And the bag in the hamper at the end of the bed? There’s a spare key in the birdhouse,” he asked the fury who had thankfully been able to get in contact with Nadia and a few other people to dissuade a little of his concerns.

The nurses had quickly learned that Mercy was an immovable object when it came to making her leave the unit. Though her own bloodied, half patched-up, distraught state - once she got away from the ER doctors that had tried to have her admitted when she’d initially shown up there looking for Arthur - along with her promise not to get in their way had swayed them. She’d looked a fright, she knew, spattered with gore and still in the clothes she’d been wearing when her mime had decided to shoot her. Twice. But she hardly cared about that. The nurses had been kind enough to give her a pair of surgical scrubs to wear when they realized she wasn’t leaving, and that’s what she still wore now, sitting in the chair by Arthur’s bed, texting Nadia.

“I already asked her for the phone and charger,” Mercy confirmed, but made sure to add the rest of what Arthur had asked for. “Got it. She’s also bringing those vials you gave her,” she told him quietly, glancing through the glass cubicle doors and the mostly drawn curtains to the nurse’s station. “Should have you out of here in a few days at most.” They couldn’t do it too fast, no matter how much Arthur wanted to leave, and no matter how much Mercy wanted him out of here as well. Healing too quickly could draw unwanted attention.

Nadia walked quickly into the hospital, bag over her shoulder and determination in her step. In her bag, she had the vials of Arthur’s tears, Arthur’s phone and charger, and a tupperware container with some leftovers of the dinner Ms. Carmody had made her the night before. The chicken parm wasn’t Nadia’s ma’s, but it was still damn good, and she didn’t know if Mercy had eaten. As for Arthur… she didn’t even know if Arthur was going to be awake, what kind of state he might be in, anything. She was worried and concerned and feeling more than a little guilty over all of this mime bullshit. When she told the front desk that she was there to see an Arthur Drake, the nurse looked both expectant and weary of a guest of Arthur’s. Even if she didn’t know her that well, Nadia could only assume that that was Mercy’s doing.

“Fuck,” she breathed out as she got to the room, taking in the battered Arthur and the blonde she would only assume was Mercy. Both of them looked like they’d been through hell and back. These mimes were fucking notes. “Looking good, boss,” she joked, heading over to Arthur’s bed. “Got your phone, and your charger. Cute, uh, tortoises, by the way.”

While Arthur felt as if he’d been steamrolled by a forty tonne truck, the nurses had thankfully decided the tubes were no longer necessary. Though he’d been left with an oxygen mask and a heart-rate monitor clipped to his finger. Occasionally the soft rhythmic beat permeated the otherwise quiet room when he’d slept which was mostly all he’d done for the duration save his brief encounter with Officer Hills. He hadn’t seen the stand-off between the staff and his ex-viking best friend but somehow she’d managed to be allowed to stay where most would’ve been ushered out. Though Arthur knew trying to get Mercy to do anything she didn’t want to do was like pushing a massive boulder uphill - it wasn’t gonna happen and likely would squash you in the process. You were better to let her sit and do her thing. “Alright,” he said with a grimace at the achy pain in his chest that came whenever he inhaled too deeply.

The soft exclamation from the door and greeting remark from Nadia drew forth a chuckle, that fast turned into a harsh cough and resulted in Arthur briefly pulling the mask up to his mouth with a wince in pain. His eyes pressed shut for a moment before he lowered the mask once more. “Look as good as I feel huh…” the fact she’d grabbed his stuff earned a faint smile and offer of his hand towards her own. “Ta, I owe you… They’re good company, and don’t… talk back--” he said with a glance at the other person in the room, but also seemed to remind him of something. “Frey, think you can keep them fed?”

Mercy was a bit sore from being shot - the yellow-purple bruises along her neck and shoulder spoke for themselves where they were visible - and a bit tired, but she’d been worse. The nurses had been kind enough to let her stay, and Mercy had been the picture of charm and helpfulness. Earning her a side-eye here and there from Arthur once he’d woken up. He looked better than he had the first night. The chest tubes were gone, there was no tube down his throat or up his nose. His vitals were in the green most of the time. He looked somewhat like her friend again, but Mercy couldn’t help but worry. Even though she hid it as well as she could. Part of which included trying not to hover. He would hate it, she knew.

But when he started to cough, she sat up a bit straighter, eyes moving to his monitors until they righted themselves. Only then did they drift to the young woman in the doorway who could only be Nadia. Mercy gave her a tired but warm smile, relaxing a bit as she caught up with Arthur. Though she tipped a baleful eyebrow at his comment when he glanced her way. But as for his request… “Are they as picky as you are?” Which meant of course she could.

“Oh, super great,” Nadia said reassuringly. “You look fantastic.” He wasn’t dead, which meant that he definitely looked fantastic. He certainly seemed more than uncomfortable, though. “I also brought you these.” She pulled out the vials of his tears. “I think you need them more than I do, champ.” God, he looked like hell. Worse than like hell; Felix had looked like hell when he’d been dragged off from the explosion, and he hadn’t really suffered any damage. Arthur looked like he’d died a bit and been brought back. Escaping death; he really was a phoenix. “Damn, Arthur. What happened?”

His coughing seemed to cause both her and Mercy to spring into action, alerting Nadia to check his vitals and make sure he was alright. They were still in ICU, after all, and that was never a good thing. Mercy seemed immediately concerned, making Nadia wonder how touch and go this whole situation was. If she was actually Mercy. Arthur had called her Frey, probably short for Freya, maybe? Maybe Mercy wasn’t her name. Nadia wasn’t too sure. She looked between the two of them, feeling Arthur’s discomfort and faint amusement and Mercy’s concern, both of them muted and harder to read than most humans. Well, Arthur wasn’t human at all… At the mention of feeding the tortoises, Nadia remembered the last few items in her bag. “Speaking of food, I know hospitals aren’t, like, the best at five star cuisine, so I brought some chicken parmesan. My, uh, neighbor made it, not me, so that’s how you know it actually taste good and isn’t just edible.”

“Good… GQ are my next visitors,” humour to somewhat mask the pain, as always Arthur found it easier to cope with situations that way. Not liking to worry people over his own well-being. When she offered the vials up he waved his hand a little “just one’ll do, you need them more.” He could make more of his own and he’d rather be secure in the knowledge Nadia had a stash of her own just in case. A small soft puff of air was exhaled as he wondered how best to explain, “uh… My mime-clone went full order 66 on me.” He grew quiet for a moment coughing again but not as severely as earlier though he was still limited to shallow breaths for the moment. “Whassit called?” he glanced over at Mercy “tension… thorax? Uh, some medical bullshit for fucker stabbed me and… uh collapsed my lung.” He didn’t mention the fact multiple people had said he was lucky to even survive it considering it was a time-critical condition the complications including haemodynamic instability, contralateral lung compression and eventual occlusion of the superior vena cava which all ultimately resulted in cardiac arrest. Collapsed lung sounded bad enough as it was.

Hovering would only further wind him up, and Arthur had been enough in his head over this as it was. Their glances didn’t go amiss but eventually the coughing subsided with another look of discomfort. “I hate this, and I’m not picky...” he griped under his breath, never the best patient to be laid up. Though the mention of actual food drew some interest to his expression, “oh you… You’re good. They tried giving me some… heinous stuff called bologna.” This was accompanied by an utterly distressed look, “how that’s a foodstuff I will never know.” So much for glaringly confirming Mercy’s remark about being picky.

“That’s Star Wars for the clownfucker tried to murder him,” Mercy told Nadia in a stage whisper just before Arthur started to cough again. She visibly frowned this time, noting how shallowly he was still breathing. If this kept up, the nurses would be in and they would do more fussing than Mercy had. Which would only irritate him further. “Tension pneumothorax,” Mercy supplied before getting up and casually moving to close the curtains. But not before she answered the nurse’s questioning look with a gesture that indicated Arthur needed a wee… but she would take care of it. They gave her a thumbs up and went back to charting.

Mercy closed the curtain - and the glass doors - before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a prepackaged needle and syringe that she’d nicked from the supply cart the nurses kept at their station. “I know you hate it, Ren,” Mercy said gently, touching his arm. “It won’t be much longer, now that Nadia’s saved the day.” She gave the younger woman a small smile of appreciation. “And you are picky,” she told Arthur. Mercy glanced at Nadia again. “He is.” She held her hand out for the vial of tears. Once it was given over, Mercy made quick work of flicking the roller on the IV line to set Arthur’s fluids moving just a bit faster, opening her needle and syringe - and after asking Arthur what a good starting dose would be - pulled up the tears and slowly injected them into one of the line ports (after sterilizing it with one of the alcohol pads she’d also knicked). She didn’t bother to explain how she knew what to do, which included hitting a button to mute the alarms on the vital sign monitor in case it went crazy, but then again, Mercy rarely explained herself unless asked directly. Sometimes not even then.

When the syringe was empty, Mercy capped the needle and the vial and tucked them safely away in her pocket before moving to stand next to Nadia. “Watch this…” Mercy said in a quiet - almost reverent - voice as the pheonix tears slowly entered Arthur’s bloodstream.

It wasn’t funny, but Nadia laughed a bit, all the same. “Star Wars, huh? Of course you’re into Star Wars, too, Professor Gandalf.” She still found it kind of funny that she’d thought he was a wizard, once upon a time. “I’m hardly running any risk of damage any time soon, Arthur,” she said, looking to Mercy and putting the remaining vials somewhere she knew the other woman could get them. “This is the first time I’ve left my apartment in days. I’ve been a bit… stressed about shit.” She wondered if she should mention the explosion at the restaurant, or the lack thereof, and how she feared that she might be the cause of him ending up in the hospital in the first place. “The mimes are no joke, though. Evil fuckers.”

She raised an eyebrow at Arthur’s bologna comment. “You’ve never eaten bologna? That was, like, a staple food in my house growing up. And peanut butter and jelly. I ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly.” It was funny to think of cultured, incredibly British Arthur Drake eating a bologna sandwich, though. “Well, the nerve of them for bringing you such bad food,” she said teasingly. “I hope you’ll find Ms. Carmody’s cooking a lot better.”

She watched curiously as Mercy went to work, fiddling with the hospital machinery in a way that made absolutely no sense. Then, she went about taking the vial of phoenix tears and injected them into Arthur’s blood. It was different, watching the tears work on someone else, seeing the effects show minutely on Arthur’s body. “I remember the feeling,” she murmured, thinking about the warmth and how the pain had, almost literally, melted away. “He saved my life with them, once.” A million and one years ago, when cursed chests and giant lobsters had been the biggest of her problems. Now, there were giant squids and friends getting possessed by unknown evils and mimes. So many mimes. How did mimes become the biggest evil in her life?

“Right, that.” He leaned back into the pillows that propped him up letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment as he heard Mercy get up, the sshick of the curtains and door shut. However, he opened his eyes after a moment when Nadia spoke “hey now, Star Wars was revolutionary. I was eighty five when the first one came out…” Arthur shook his head regardless, “one’ll do, you keep the rest… Also, don’t say shit like that in this town you’ll jinx it.” Who knew what might happen. Better to know she at least had a few of the vials handy. A small frown appeared on his features as he looked at her more intently, even in hospital Arthur was more worried about other people than himself “what’s been up? Other than…” he gestured in a vague motion that could be interpreted as everything. “You okay? Nothing hurt you right?”

After a moment his eyes returned to Mercy now that she’d come over to his bedside. “You know…” he remarked thoughtfully as Mercy started fiddling with the IV lines “s’about this time in like every TV show that it turns out you were the double agent all along, dramatic reveal level shit that enrages… everyone.” Arthur could have a habit of rambling, which when on drugs was apparently amplified.

But he huffed at talk of bologna, “oh I’ve eaten it. Disgusting stuff. And it’s jam, not jello.” With a resigned shake of his head Arthur’s mild bemusement settled into a softer expression. “But thank you, I appreciate the sentiment.”

It took a few moments for the IV to filter, but gradually Arthur felt the simmering heat seeping into his veins; a warmth that radiated through weary bones and bloomed new life into them like a sun rising over a spring orchid. Ounce by ounce colour began to filter back into his previously pale complexion, and he breathed easier than he had in the last forty-eight hours. It would take time for the full effects to be had but it was better. “Guess that debt’s repaid now, I save your life… You save mine huh?”

Mercy gave a small huff of amusement at the moniker. “You need to up your beard game a bit, Professor.” Her amusement turned to a look that said she agreed totally about the mimes. And that they should all die. Though Mercy wasn’t looking to go out on some headhunt at the moment. Or anytime soon. If she did anything, there would be planning involved. She wasn’t the only one that wanted those fuckers dead. Nadia did. Mercy gave her a surreptitious glance, hoping she wouldn’t mention the explosion to Arthur. And least not yet. Especially as he asked about Nadia’s well-being. Leave it to Arthur to worry more about others than himself. Even from the confines of an ICU cubicle.

His comment earned him a snort of laughter, and a sideways glance beneath a raised eyebrow. “You must’ve watched some really bad cop shows then. And I’ll have you know I haven’t been a double agent since…” Mercy made a thoughtful face. “When did the Cold War start? Meh… I don’t remember,” she shrugged casually, flicking the syringe to get out any air bubbles. “And you should also know that the only thing needed-” She injected the tears slowly. “- to enrage everyone in the room-” She finished and put the needle and vial away. “- is my mere presence. No double-cross needed.”

Her task finished, Mercy moved to stand beside Nadia, giving her a curious look as she mentioned Arthur saving her life. She wanted to ask, but perhaps another time. The tears slowly started to work their magic, and Mercy grew quiet as she watched the healthy pink flush move across Arthur’s skin. It was very much like watching a grey, foggy haze disappear beneath the warming rays of the sun. Mercy breathed easier as well, and some of the tension left her shoulders. She gave Nadia’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she told her quietly just before Arthur spoke again.

“You were eighty-five…” Nadia trailed off, and for a moment, it was real, this thing she was having to wrap her head around. The man before her had lived lives, countless lives, and if Mercy, or Frey, or Frey, was the same or something similar (they both had that mutedness to them, that otherness that made them what Nadia was beginning to recognize as not human). It was weird to think about, to know it was real. She shook her head. “I’m not gonna get into anymore trouble before you get out of the hospital.” She gave Mercy a glance, hoping the other woman knew how serious she was. “Me? I’m all good, boss. Nothing big going on.” She did try to blow up a mime restaurant, but best to save that for when he wasn’t in the ICU. “I’ve just been trying to avoid the bull shit.”

“Cold War,” Nadia murmured. Welp, yep, Mercy was definitely something. She didn’t look like a day over thirty-five, and she was a double-agent in the Cold War? But she couldn’t be a phoenix, or she would have healed Arthur herself. She was something else. Nadia didn’t ask. “Yeah, that’s been over for awhile. I don’t think she qualifies for double-agent status anymore, Arthur. I hate to break it to you.”

Mercy was definitely right about him being picky. “Jelly, not jell o,” Nadia teased. “Trust me, wasn’t good enough to be called jam.”

Watching Arthur grow healthier was an incredible experience. But when he said their debt was repaid, Nadia just shook her head. “Nah, you got me a job, and you and Mercy both helped give me my life back. Which I should… explain to you. Eventually. But I still owe you, Arthur. For a lot of things.” As Mercy squeezed her arm, Nadia gave her a smile. “It’s no problem, seriously.” Quieter, so that Arthur couldn’t hear, she leaned in and said, “Keep the rest of the tears. He can give me more when he’s better.”

"Hey now, last I checked you liked my beard," Arthur muttered with an insolent roll of his eyes as if he couldn't believe what it was he was hearing. But as with everything it was in good humour. Though hearing Nadia trail off he glanced over to her, he'd seen that look before. Multiple times. He lightly nudged Freyja's hand dropping his voice briefly not sure what they could do to help ease the blow that came with really coming to terms that this was real "reality setting in..."

Though he frowned at Nadia's insistence of not getting hurt, "I'll worry if you don't have something. Take one... I won't need all these to get out of here..." his expression grew a tad more serious. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"You're a really bad cop show," he grinched with a side-eye towards her while she worked. Having no qualms about poking the fury's pride just a little. It could be deadly, but Arthur liked to walk the line, always had. "For Odin's sake you two are no fun," his eyes flickered between Nadia and Freyja for a second shaking his head mournfully "what are we gonna do with you both?"

There was nothing quite like phoenix tears when it came to fixing up issues, the molten warmth seeming to melt away any and all pain that might previously have been present. "Like I said before... When you're ready. I'll be here to listen."

“I do like your beard,” Mercy said idly as she worked. She caught Nadia’s eye, giving her a small nod that said she believed her. What reason did Mercy have not to? Though she looked over as Arthur nudged her hand. Her eyebrows raised, and she glanced back at Nadia, who now had The Look. Mercy hummed, giving Arthur a look in return that said the girl was handling it rather well, all things considered.

“Has it been that long?” Mercy asked of the Cold War. “Fuck. It all starts to run together after… well. A few years,” she said, tone full of wry humor.

She was quiet as Arthur and Nadia talked, but snorted again when his comments once again turned to poking fun at her. “And you, sir… are high as a kite right now. So your opinion is null and void. But… I was a very good cop, I’ll have you know.” Mercy gave Nadia a small nudge with her elbow, nodding that she’d hold onto the rest of the tears, before giving her a smirk. “And a very good double agent. So I’m tons of fun.” Mercy moved to perch on the foot of Arthur’s bed. “And something tells me Nadia is too.” The Fury subtly tipped an eyebrow at the younger woman. Because blowing things up was fun, right? Not to mention whatever had caused her to need a new identity. Which Mercy would love to hear about one day. Though she agreed with Arthur that there was no need to tell anyone anything until Nadia was ready.

But until then, since they were all here, perhaps there were things Nadia would like to know. Or even needed to know. “In the consideration of current circumstances, is there anything you’d like to ask? Arthur’s obviously drugged into a talkative mood, and I’ll tell you pretty much anything you wanna know about myself. Unless I don’t want to, of course.” Her tone was mostly full of humor, but she was also serious. If Nadia had questions about Mercy or… anything else… she had earned an honest answer.

“Arthur, really, I’ll be fine,” Nadia said [meta: but she was not fine!]. “Besides, without you around to get me into trouble, I doubt I’ll need the tears,” she joked a bit, even though the reality was she tended to get into far more trouble when Arthur wasn’t around. Half the time, all they did was drink coffee and bemoan how little information there was in town about the town.

Looking between Mercy and Arthur, she had to laugh, just a bit. “I mean, the Cold War ended before I was born, so I’d say it’s definitely been more than a few years.” Her smile grew. “Oh, yeah, I’m tons of fun. Used to be considered the real life of the party. My old Shakespeare professor actually called me a “hoot and a half, possibly even two hoots.’ That’s how you know you’re considered a real party animal.

She turned thoughtful, for just a moment. She looked at Mercy. “You’re not like Arthur, not,” she made sure the curtains stayed closed and no nurses were around but still lowered her voice, “a phoenix. But… you two have known each other a very long time, haven’t you?” She knew, in the end, she’d tell them both about all of it, the possession, the criminal record, the empathy. She owed it to them for helping her, even if they didn’t know what for. She just didn’t know if this was the time or place for it.

“You don’t seem to understand that arguing isn’t going to work.” If anything could be said about Arthur it was that he certainly had a stubborn streak that when he set his mind on things they weren’t about to suddenly budge.

“Ah ah,” he waved his finger at Mercy’s statement seeming to find error in her choice of words that in his slightly distracted mind didn’t fit. “I’m actually right here in bed. And I’ll never be as high as a kite because I don’t even have wings. Just… useless feathers...” It was an eternal sore spot and really added insult to injury to have feathers and not even be able to use them. “Is this the old professor you said I was better than ‘cause I don’t wear tweed?” He blinked for a moment, a little more slow on the update than usual “I mean if you hoot any more than twice you’d be an owl...”

“A long time… Ha,” he snickered softly reaching out to poke Mercy softly in the ribs now that she’d settled on the edge of the bed. There was a fond affection in the action, as annoying as Arthur liked to be around Mercy - winding her up and pushing her buttons until he got a response that entertained him. “Hear that? We’ve… known each other a long time...” That said his smile grew a little more, a devious glimmer in his eyes seeming to have regained some of his strength with the infusion of tears “ooh not like me no… She’s the hag that Deirdre woman always whines she gets mistaken for online.”

“At least you’ve got feathers. I don’t even have that,” Mercy groused. Not having real wings was one of several things she was eternally salty about. “And you were a pilot, so you’ve actually been higher than a kite. If you wanna be specific.” But she couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face at his comments. Arthur could be quite funny, though oftentimes he didn’t even mean to be. Which to Mercy was even funnier. She turned to Nadia and gave the girl a nod as she speculated on her and Arthur. But before she could answer, she was being poked in her ribs. She dipped away with a small squeaking sound, swiping half-heartedly at his hand. “We have, yes,” she laughed. But it turned to a look of mock (mostly) insult as Arthur called her a hag. “Oi! You better take that back. Unless you want that old Civil War nurse with the mustache to come give you a bed bath.”

She glanced at Nadia. “I’m not a phoenix. I’m what’s called a Fury. A Valkyrie, to be precise. I was born human… and somewhere around my… 35th or 36th summer… I became what I am now. So Bird Boy and I have known each other since we were children. Give or take…. Oh… 1200 years or so?”

“No, arguing’s not going to work at all,” Nadia told Arthur with a bright smile. He might have age on her, but Nadia had been stubborn from the day she was born. Arthur struck her as more of a mild-mannered type unless pushed.

She laughed at Mercy and Arthur’s antics. Yes, he was certainly high right now. Relaxed and easy going and yet still so grumpy. It was funny to see. She wondered what he’d be like on weed. “I take it feathers and wings are a bit of a sore subject,” she asked. For both of them apparently. “And, yes, the very same professor. He was one of my favorites, despite the tweed.” Any other time, and she might have made an owl joke, but she was too busy trying not to laugh at Mercy and Arthur poking fun at each other. They were cute together. She did perk up at the mention of the hags Deirdre went on about. Irish mythology was something she knew relatively well. “Right, a bean-nighe. Washer women.”

Nadia also knew her Norse mythology, and she grinned widely at the mention of Valkyrie. “Really? That’s incredible! Like, one of Odin’s handmaidens! Well, obviously, like, a little different than that because you’re not a spirit and you said you were human before that. That’s so fucking cool, holy shit.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed in response to Nadia’s words, a silent stand-off occuring in the moments that followed. “I’m not taking them, because I can make my own batch now. You’re going to keep them. That’s that.” If Arthur chose to dig his heels in then there was little that could be done about it, but it was admirable for Nadia to try. Mild-mannered he might very well be, but there was a bull-headedness that could often come on out of the blue when it came to situations he didn’t agree with. And he didn’t agree with Nadia giving up her stock just to get him out of hospital faster regardless of how much he might want to get out.

“Semantics.” he flapped his hand vaguely, “that was in the 40s it doesn’t count.” Nadia’s mention of feathers though earned a sour look, that his mind naturally amplified his thoughts on the matter. Typically he wouldn’t be so liberal with his point of view on the matter, but apparently there was a lot to say on the topic. “The feathers are ridiculous, it’s a joke. This whole… thing, is a big bad joke. Cosmic level joke. A thousand years of bird bones and no flying. I don’t even get wings but I get the hollow bones that exist to allow for it? Pointless. Fucking pointless. Who thought oh yeah, let’s combine immortal life cycles, fire, instant death, broken bones and occasional feathers that don’t do shit? Can I not get one more perk to balance the death stuff?! I mean flight is the whole point of birds! They fly!” Gods he was so bitter about that. He side-eyed Mercy at her mild threat, “low blow, and you know that’d actually kill me. But sure, go ahead.” Bluff called. He knew she never would.

“A part of me wants someone to send her Hercules.” He was more interested in what Nadia had to add to the conversation, something that resulted in a hearty laugh and slight wince by far less so by comparison to earlier. He laughed until there were a couple of tears he had to wipe away, “oh by the Gods, handmaid! Hey handmaid get me… Get me a drink.”

Mercy gave Nadia a subtle shake of her head and a grin that said it was best just to let the argument lie. They’d sort it once Arthur was asleep later on. But that didn’t make it any less amusing to watch the two go back and forth. “Feathers not so much for me… since I’ve seen how much pinfeathers itch when they come in…” She gave Arthur a small smirk. “-but wings…” Mercy nodded. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Arthur chose that moment to set off on a tangent, and Mercy just waited until he was done before adding her two cents. “First of all, they have this thing called dry shampoo, so try me…” Arthur was right, she wouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “Second of all, you don’t get the entire trump card on cosmic jokes. Though… I agree with like… 99% of what you just rambled about.” Mercy turned to Nadia again, the girl’s comment on Mercy’s true nature making the Fury grin. “Thanks… it… has it’s perks.” But the look turned to one of mock insult as the word ‘handmaiden’ was thrown into the mix. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… I am not, nor have I ever been, a handmaiden.”

She gave Arthur A Look as he had a good laugh at her expense. Mercy didn’t mind, since it was good to see him laughing, though she did ask him if he was quite finished after a moment.

“Anyway… the whole reason I even chose this-” Mercy gestured to herself, still side-eyeing Arthur. “- in the first place was so I could make sure this grumpy gander got into Valhalla. Since he was always so set on the idea that he wouldn’t. Because that’s what Valkyrie’s do. We - or should I say they - choose the souls of the fallen that are worthy of entrance. But as it turns out, I’m not that sort of Valkyrie. I don’t have real wings, so I can’t fly. I don’t have the power to reap souls, let alone take them anywhere… and this one reincarnates.” Mercy gestured to Arthur. “So even if I could take him to Valhalla… it’s not like he needs me to.”

Nadia rolled her eyes at Arthur, but, seeing Mercy’s look, decided not to engage any further. “Whatever you say, bird boss.” She gave him a wide grin, attempting to keep her facial features school to just a bit too innocent.

“I suppose it’s a bit of give and take,” Nadia murmured, thinking about what she knew about phoenixes, both what she’d read and what Arthur told her. “You get reincarnation, the whole rising from the ashes bit, and you get tears that can cure wounds, even life threatening wounds from giant lobsters. There’s got to be downsides to it, unfortunately. Hollowed bones and feathers without fight seems to be those downsides.”

At the handmaiden comments, Nadia ran her fingers through her hair, a bit embarrassed. “Right, shit, sorry. Not a handmaiden. I, uh, only know what I know about half this shit from books. But valkyries. Wicked cool, dude.” Serious fucking cool. If there was one thing Nadia had always loved in college, it had been sagas and mythology about the Scandinavian culture. To be standing here, with these two people that lived through it… It was incredible. “You chose it? That’s, like, a thing that you can choose?” Fucking incredible. She looked over to Arthur, one of the kindest, bravest people she’d ever met. “You’d have made it in, I think.” She looked back at Mercy. “It’s fascinating how much of it is different from what I know is in the sagas than what you actually are.”

“It’ll be any time now,” he mumbled briefly glancing up to his hairline. “I’ll have to get my hats out.” It was a righteous and painful mess if you tried to pluck them too early. Blood everywhere. Not something Arthur wanted to deal with, so he found ways to work around the issue. Mostly the solution came in the form of hats.

“That’s the same thing,” he circled his hand in reference to her first two points, “the downsides aren’t even the antithesis of the perks.” Sometimes tangents simply couldn’t be helped, but he was far more taken and entertained by the handmaiden comment. “Hoooo boy,” that look could bring a man to his knees, but Arthur only took the glower in his stride. She’d killed people for less. “Such a handmaiden.”

He grew quiet as Mercy told a fraction of her story, his eyes drifting closed enough that it might seem like he’d drifted off if not for the monitors staying steady. Even now, listening attentively to the conversation at hand though as she wrapped up he opened his eyes and it was his turn to side-eye her. “Well, the criteria was to be honourable, a warrior, take perilous sea-faring voyages to distant lands, die gloriously for the Valfather and I can’t do three out of four of those…” His brow furrowed a fraction, as he held up four and then three fingers. “It didn’t say chop trees, build boats, make people better and stay at home when everyone else went off to battle.” If anything people tended to not be all that appreciative of being healed because it meant they couldn’t go to the eternal halls should they be injured in battle. “Always need you, don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbled softly half-heartedly reaching to punch her arm with affectionate familiarity. “I also didn’t know the full details about reincarnation, alright?”

Mercy could only hum as Nadia surmised that all the good that came with being a Phoenix had to have a downside. Because despite her wing rebuttals, she was of the mind that Arthur had gotten the lion’s share of problematic addendums. Though she’d always found his pinfeathers adorable. “I’ll help you with them once they're in all the way,” she told him, giving his unruly hair a small fluff with her fingers. At Nadia’s look of embarrassment, Mercy gave her a small grin. “It’s alright. A lotta stories get things wrong. For instance, the goddess Freyja - who my mother named me after - had Valkyries too. She received half of those that fell in battle, and housed them in her heavenly field, Fólkvangr.” When Nadia asked about her choice, Mercy glanced at Arthur for a moment. “You can choose if it’s offered by one of us. Furies. Mine was offered to me by my maker… Another like myself…” A small frown passed across the Fury’s face, but was gone a moment later. “... and… I chose it.”

Mercy’s former mood returned, and she rolled her eyes playfully at Arthur. When he’d noted off his points, Mercy proceeded to make her own. “You’re probably the most honorable man I know, you’ve literally crossed the seas dozens of times… flown over them in a war… as a soldier, and you just survived getting pincushioned.” She held up her own fingers. “Without those boats, there would’ve been no battles or journeys across the sea for anyone…”

She knew she was fighting a losing battle. This had literally been a point of debate since they were children. Mercy had yet to win. Her countenance softened as he said he always needed her, and she gave up the debate after that, not wanting to tire him out. “Me too…” she told him quietly. “Maybe you should write a book about it then? Since it seems to be something the world is lacking.”

Nadia felt herself soften, watching Mercy and Arthur interact with each other. The care they felt, despite her not being able to feel the full extent of it, was great, something that was honest and real. The teasing, the eye rolls and soft glares, all of it was soft, laced with caring and love. Maybe not romantic love, not at the moment. Or maybe it was. Who was Nadia to say? But it was sweet. It was something that she envied, just a bit. The closest she’d ever gotten to a relationship like that… well, it was a long time ago. It didn’t feel like it, but it was a long time ago.

Mercy talking about Valkyries, Furies. It was fascinating. “I’d love to pick your brain,” Nadia told the other woman, “about anything, really. Both of you, actually. About living so long ago, living sagas that I’ve only read about.” She looked back at Arthur, a bit more serious. “And, I hate to talk about work while you’re in the hospital, but as soon as you’re back on your feet, we’re hitting the books. Are you teaching any summer courses? I’m hoping we can continue to utilize the college’s resources to investigate what’s going on around here.

There was little point in trying to get Arthur to agree to anything Mercy said, regardless of how logical and rational the arguments happened to be. He’d been set for this long, convinced in his mind that Valhalla and those tales weren’t something he was destined for. But he didn’t argue, the events of the last few days starting to catch up with him. “Maybe, not sure anyone would believe it… A nice story though hm? That’s all we are in the end… A story.”

Nadia’s request was met with a faint but present smile, tired but there despite everything. “Sure, next time… I’ll answer whatever you want to hear... “ In a way, it would be nice to talk to someone about it. It was one of his biggest pet peeves some of the misconceptions that tended to happen because of modern media. “I’ve got a couple of classes lined up, but my time will be pretty open otherwise… I didn’t want to take too much on in my first year here.” But the prospect of doing more research brought a brightness to his eyes, “sounds good. Might get Rio involved. The Archive would be pretty useful for learning more I think.”

Mercy knew what she felt for her friend, and nothing had ever been able to change that. But she wouldn’t speculate on Arthur’s feelings. Other than she knew he cared very deeply for her. It was all very complicated. But right now, it took a backseat to getting Arthur well and getting him home. “A very nice story,” she agreed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“And anytime,” Mercy told Nadia, glancing at the younger woman. “Some things are… foggier than others. But the big things are still clear.” She glanced between Nadia and Arthur. “If you need some help with your marking, I don’t mind. I even promise not to leave condescending remarks in the margins.” Mercy tipped a brow at the mention of Rio. She’d met the kid before. When he’d tried to break into her archive. “If that doesn’t pan out for you… archive-wise, that is…” Mercy mentioned, gesturing vaguely, “... I might know a guy.”

“It’s as nice of a story as you choose to make it,” Nadia murmured. “You’re the writers, after all.” History, mythology, literature. Truth or fiction, she was learning that everything was just one big story for them to decide, as people, not just humans or supernaturals but people, how it proceeds. Perhaps there was some cosmic, divine force out there. Nadia believed there was. Maybe there wasn’t. Whatever the case, she believed in their own agency, their own ability to make choices and decisions. And stories like Arthur’s and Mercy’s… Those would be nice stories to hear.

Nadia laughed a little at Mercy’s words. “I’m certain that whatever you’ve got’s better than anything I’ve read.” She nodded, though, thinking about the best course of action for their research. “As many people helping as possible would be amazing. I’ve got an awful feeling that something big’s coming and… and I think we could use all the help we can get. My friend Alain also mentioned something about helping. This is more than just a two person job, though.”

“That’d be a Game of Thrones level shit then if it’s us writing them,” Arthur laughed quietly, folding a hand over his stomach already feeling better than he had done. The tears certainly had worked their magic. Everyone had their beliefs, Arthur certainly had his own. He’d seen things over the centuries that he could only explain as something far more cosmic than he might ever comprehend. Such as the Old Gods that he and Mercy occasionally referred to or invoked upon in times of need. Who could say what was real and what wasn’t in a world such as theirs?

Arthur gave Mercy a curious look as she mentioned something about an archive, that was the first he’d heard of it. “Then… get word. We’ll sort it out once I’m out of here then… The more people on this the better.” But for now, he needed time to recuperate his strength and after a moment he gave Nadia a tired smile. “Thank you for coming… I appreciate it.”

#mImeCU #chatzy #p: freyja #p: nadia #// this graphic was worth the time it took #hear no evil

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shirbertforever · 6 years ago

Text

A Blessing in Disguise

Length: 1599 words

Notes: I don’t think that this fic is that good, but I thought I would post it just in case it is what someone is looking for... I also wrote it very quickly so sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes. Either way, I hope you enjoy the read!

The sun was shining as Diana and Anne strolled home through the woods from school. As usual they were talking about nothing and everything, school, romantic endeavors, the whole ordeal. Eventually the topic turned to a particular boy in their class.

“So….” Diana began, raising her eyebrows glancing towards Anne, “How’s Gilbert going?” She finished slyly. Anne’s eye’s widened and her cheeks flushed, clearly discovering the implications behind her question.

“To my knowledge, he is perfectly alright” She responded keeping her head forward.

Diana turned to Anne and looked at her indignantly, “Come on Anne! I’ve seen the way he looks at you!”

Anne continued to walk forward, trying her best not to fall for her trap, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Diana”

Diana followed Anne forward, walking backwards so she could still face her friend, “No Anne, you definitely know what I’m talking about!”

They continued arguing back and forth like this, Diana walking backwards desperately, Anne walking forwards indignantly. Diana was so set on proving their possible relationship, she didn’t notice the large log looming behind her which she then ungracefully fell over. With a cry, Diana landed on her back and let out a scream.

“Oh no, Diana!!” Anne leaped over the log and knelt down beside Diana grabbing her hand, “Are you okay!?”

Diana had tears streaming down her face, “Anne! My ankle, I hurt my ankle when I fell!”

“How is that possible? You fell over backwards?”, Anne’s eyes flicked to Diana’s ankle. It was then that she noticed that Diana’s foot had caught in a large crack in the log, as it was quite rotten.

“Oh goodness, what to do! Can you walk?” Anne grasped her arms and helped her to stand. Diana winced. “Maybe try taking a step?”

She tried and failed. Her knees buckled and she quickly sat down on the log to relieve herself of the pain. Anne softly grabbed her ankle and moved it around gently.

“Does this hurt?”

“Yes”, Diana winced. Anne had no idea what to do, the only thing that she had treated in the past was coughs and colds, not hurt ankles.

“Anne, I can’t walk on it, I can’t move it, I don’t know what to do, I think I need a doctor”

Anne paused to think again, “We’re too far away from Green Gables for me to get Matthew, and too far into the forest to go back to the school house”

“What about the Blythe Orchard? It’s only half a mile away!” Diana said through clenched teeth, still wincing at the pain shooting up and down her leg

“No way, I am not going to get Gilbert! Please don’t make me go!” She begged.

“Anne, he’s studying medicine, he’s the closest to a doctor that we’re going to get! Please, it hurts so much!”

“Okay Diana, but I’m only doing this because you’re my bosom friend and I love you, Okay?”

“Okay, hurry back!” Diana shooed Anne away, and Anne started running towards Gilbert’s house

Anne’s feet started to ache. She had been running for a while and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. Luckily for her, the Blythe Orchard was just around the corner. The house was just ahead of her and she used up her leftover energy to sprint towards the door. She began frantically knocking and calling for him. Suddenly, the door opened, and there stood Mary who seemed surprised to see her.

“Anne! What are you-“

Anne interrupted her before she could finish, “Gilbert” she panted, “I need Gilbert”

“He’s in the barn, is something the matter?”

“Diana, my dearest friend, she fell, and you know, since he’s studying medicine and all….”

Mary nodded knowingly and trudged through the house to the back door to fetch him. Anne followed quietly, still getting her breath back from the run. She admired the house, she realised that she had never really had a chance to look at it fully from the inside, besides Mr Blythe’s funeral of course, but at that time, her mind was distracted she supposed. She snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Gilbert approaching them.

“Anne! Hi! What brings you here?” Gilbert began with a soft smirk.

“No time to explain, we need to go!”, Gilbert could tell by the shake in her voice that something was worrying her, which immediately put him into ‘doctor mode’.

“Where do we need to go?” he asked seriously.

“Midway through the woods, let’s go!”

He thought for a moment, if this was really that urgent they would need to get there in a hurry, “I was just setting up the horse and cart to go to Carmody, let’s take that, it will be a lot faster!”

They both jogged towards the barn and Gilbert finished setting up the horse while Anne hopped in the cart, trying not to freak out too much. They headed out and Anne started giving directions to Gilbert.

“So, what has happened Anne?”

“Diana and I were walking, she tripped over a log and hurt her ankle”

“Alright, sounds like a sprain to me, but I’ll see when we get there”

The rest of the ride was done in silence, both of their minds preoccupied. Anne thinking about the state of her poor Diana, and Gilbert already thinking about how it should be treated.

Diana finally came into view and they stopped, got out, and ran over to where Diana was sitting.

“Diana, hi, I’ve heard from Anne that you have a hurt ankle?” Gilbert said, kneeling down beside her and inspecting her ankle.

“Yes, I tripped over the log and my ankle got caught and it really hurts”, at this point Anne had sat next to Diana and wrapped her arms around her in support. After moving the foot around a bit, much to the annoyance of Diana, Gilbert said, “Okay, I’m going to get you to stand up and try and walk around”

“We already tried that, it couldn’t support my weight”

“Oh, alright” He said, surprised that Anne would think of that “In that case, I will bandage it up and make a makeshift splint using a stick fust to support on the ride home.”

“Okay”

Gilbert then turned to Anne, “Anne could you find me a sturdy stick please?

“Of course”

Anne started shuffling around, looking for a good stick to use as a splint while Gilbert wrapped the ankle up with a bandage that he had brought with him. Anne ran back with a stick and Gilbert propped the ankle up with it.

“Now Anne, can you help me lift Diana onto the cart?”

On the count of three they lifted up Diana and slowly carried her to his cart and set her down gently. They then both got in and started off towards the Barry estate. Not much conversation went on during that ride either. They eventually reached Diana’s house and Anne explained everything to Mrs Barry while Gilbert gave medical instructions to Diana and Mr Barry. With a final goodbye, Anne and Gilbert left the Barry’s house and headed back towards the cart.

“Would you like a ride home Anne?” Gilbert asked hopefully.

“I suppose, my legs are still sore from running all the way to your house” replied Anne as she lifted herself onto the cart.

As they set off, Gilbert started up the conversation, “So, it was pretty good of you to be so on the ball, I mean, you got her to walk around and moved her ankle around, pretty impressive!”

“Oh really? That’s nothing!”

Gilbert was fully confused by this, “Have you had other medical experiences?”

“Funnily enough my most recent one was with Diana again, her younger sister had croup and Diana came over for help, I treated her and stopped her from choking up”

“Wow! Where exactly did you learn to treat croup? I heard that it is quite a bad cough!”

“I used to work for a lady with three sets of twins” Anne said quietly, “They all got sick often so I had to learn how to care for them”

Gilbert was surprised to hear this, he realised that he never really asked Anne about her past, he assumed she had been through something or other, being an orphan and all, but he can’t imagine her having to work for a family.

“Three twins? That must have been tough to deal with!”

“It was indeed, I’m glad that I left that family. Wicked group of people. Truly horrid”

At this point they had arrived at Green Gables and Marilla and Matthew were coming into view. Anne hopped out and ran over to them, no doubt explaining her tardiness. Gilbert got out and followed her towards the house to say goodbye and apologize to Marilla and Matthew.

“Why hello Gilbert! I hear that you and Anne have had quite the afternoon!” Marilla said kindly.

“We have indeed, you’ve got quite the doctor on your hands Mrs Cuthbert”

Marilla smiled at this. “Is that so?” Marilla said, proud that Anne was so well accomplished.

“For all we know she could become a doctor” Gilbert laughed, smiling warmly towards Anne.

Anne returned his smile and responded, “Thanks for all of your help today Gilbert, I can’t imagine how much pain Diana might be in, but I hope that with your help she’ll feel better”

“It was my pleasure”

And with that Gilbert headed back towards his cart and headed home, all the while thinking about the new things he had learnt about Anne that day.

#fanfic #awaefanfic #anne with an e #shirbert #gilbert #anne #diana #bash

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ranwing · 5 years ago

Text

Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (14/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 14/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

A/N - Three chapters posted today (chapters 13-15).

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter 13

One AO3

“Ten minutes to curtain!” A production assistant rushed through each of the dressing rooms, calling out the alert. “Ten minutes! Everyone get to the stage for Professor Carmody.”

Kurt had been getting into his costume when the call came, leaving him to hurry to the stage area still in his slippers and his shirt only half buttoned. Around him, the company huddled together as they waited for their director to address them while the audio techs double-checked the microphones that all the actors discretely wore. Most of the company were fully dressed for the opening numbers, their hair and makeup complete and he almost didn’t recognize his friends in the crowd. Jamie was dressed in a ragged prison uniform, a cap covering his head and makeup that looked like streaks of dirt and bruises staining his skin.

Rachel was nearly unrecognizable in her beggar costume. Her makeup was done to give her a gaunt appearance, with deep hollows carved under her cheekbones and shadows under her eyes. Her hair was tucked under a stained cap and a tatty shawl was draped over the shoulders of her threadbare dress. His eyes darted around the crowd, trying to pick out Analisa and Katya and his friends gave nods of recognition to him, and nervous smiles of support.

Around the actors, the tech teams gathered, and Kurt nodded greetings to his friends there. All the elements of the production had drawn together and all their efforts over the past few months was about to pay off. They were a united team, ready to put their best work out there for the waiting audience.

Professor Carmody arrived, for once looking neat and not displaying the stress that they were used to seeing from her. She had done everything in her power to make her grand vision come to life and bar managing the show from the wings, her task was nearly done.

With a smile, she motioned for everyone to gather as closely as nearly a hundred students were able to. “Okay everyone… I’m not going to make a big speech,” she assured her students. “I just wanted to thank you all for your hard work and dedication to our show. NYADA has never staged a production on this scale and this would never have been possible without all of you giving the kind of effort that you have.

“Tonight, this is about you. Actors, costumers, technical teams… all of you. I have never been so proud of a team or more confident that you will be successful tonight. The only instructions that I have now is to relax. You all know what you’re doing. Go out there and enjoy yourselves and show what you can do. Break a leg everyone!”

The group cheered, finally giving in to the excitement of their first official performance. People moved to hug their friends, wishing them well and those in the opening act hurried to take their marks before the curtain rose. Kurt rushed over to hug Rachel and his girls.

“Oh my God… I can’t believe it’s finally here,” Rachel gasped, her eyes wide and clutching at Kurt with a desperate strength. Kurt didn’t pull back, even though he’d probably have bruises on his arms.

“It’s going to be great,” he promised her, giving her a quick kiss to the top of her head so he wouldn’t damage her makeup. “I’m going to finish getting dressed so I can watch you all from the wings.”

At the announcement that the curtain was going up in five, Jamie took a deep breath. “Okay guys… this is it! Break a leg!”

In the orchestra box, Kurt saw the musicians making their final preps and he finally was struck by the fact that their moment had arrived. There was no more time for doubts.

“I’ll see you all on stage,” he promised, feeling the first trace of real anticipation hit him.

As he arrived at his dressing room, the first strains of the overture reached his ears. There was no more time to worry. There was just the performance to focus on. He reached for the tie that went with his costume and looped it about his neck, his mind focused on his final preparations.

* * *

In hindsight, Finn should have expected that the show would be spectacular, but he had little to really base his expectations on. His experiences with New Directions didn’t come close to anything like this, with their basic costumes and choreography. And he’d never had a lot of interest or knowledge about musical theater outside of watching Rachel perform solos that she felt showcased herself best. There was the failed Rocky Horror show that he had a role in, and West Side Story but full productions didn’t seem to be a priority at McKinley. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that this was his first real experience with a full production.

He’d made sure to read a bit about what the musical entailed so he’d be able to follow the storyline and really appreciate what Kurt and Rachel had put so much effort into. Just judging from the opening number, he could reasonably argue that there wasn’t a professional show that could claim to have better actors, let alone sets and costumes.

Despite the fact that he had come specifically to see Kurt and Rachel, he found himself enjoying the beginning of the show and appreciating the other performers. He fully expected the show to be absolutely spectacular and he wasn’t disappointed. The cast was, to an individual, absolutely phenomenal. The young man playing the lead had a stunning voice and was a riveting presence on stage. Even with the knowledge that he was a university student, Finn could totally believe that he was a French convict. And the guy playing Javert was just fantastic, with the type of baritone voice that you didn’t see too often with the way he balanced the depth of his tone with a crispness that added an interesting dimension. They sounded incredible together and Finn thought that even if Kurt and Rachel weren’t performing, that this show was well worth seeing.

The opening songs focused on Jean Valjean as he was released from prison and left to wander the countryside to look for honest work. While the sets on stage gave a clear impression of farmland, the designers took it a step further by projecting an image of a field or orchard behind the actors that gave the scenes a sense of depth and expressed the passage of time.

He watched avidly as Valjean pleaded for a day’s work or a place to lay his head but was turned away because he carried a letter of parole and bore a prisoner’s brand. Wherever he went, he was turned away, never given a chance to work a day’s labor of find a place to rest his head at night. He grew increasingly desperate and angry and being turned away from every door when he was offered a night’s rest by a kind-hearted bishop.

He bit his lip anxiously during the theft that nearly sent Valjean back to prison, but the generosity of the bishop saved him and gave him a renewed perspective on life. He could viscerally feel Valjean’s shame at robbing the man who’d shown him such kindness and determination to make his life worthy of what he’d been given. His vow to honor the bishop’s generosity and faith in his humanity.

The music began to swell and Finn knew that this was where the story would truly begin. The stage lights fell softly on a group standing towards the back of the stage, huddled together as a light dusting of fake snow began to waft around them. Offstage fans began to blow, giving the clear impression of a harsh winter arriving to torment those least able to withstand the hardship.

He knew that Rachel was in this number and tried to pick her out from the crowd of men, women and children. He listened carefully for her particular voice and found it nearly impossible to do so. Rather than trying to make her voice stand out from the chorus, Rachel was blending seamlessly with the other singers. It was only as the group stepped forward, pleading with the audience that he was able to pick her out; dressed in rags and cradling a bundle in her arms that was made to look like she was holding a baby. Rather than the mugging that he remembered from her previous attempts at acting, the desperation in her expression appeared genuine.

He smiled, glad that she was doing so well. She’d had a lot of challenges the past few years and a lot of disappointments to get past, most of her own making. But he couldn’t help from being happy to see how far she’d come and the nearly limitless potential before her.

Finn couldn’t resist glancing at the stern woman sitting at his side, amused at the bored expression on her face. She was clearly here for one thing only and she wouldn’t be happy until Kurt was standing on that stage for her. He wondered if she knew what role Kurt was playing because if she was aware that she would be seeing him in more than an ensemble spot, she’d probably be leaping out of her skin.

Oh no… she was already tapping her foot impatiently. Finn tried to remember where Kurt’s character was supposed to show up, hoping that it would be soon. Otherwise he was in for an uncomfortable evening.

* * *

Kurt was grinning from ear to ear as he watched Rachel on stage with the rest of the ensemble. She looked and sounded fantastic and when her part in the number ended, was there to greet her when she hurried off the stage.

“Oh my God! You were great!” he insisted, giving her a hug.

“Thanks!” she gasped, accepting his embrace before reluctantly pulling away. “But I’ve got to run and get ready for the next number. You’ll be watching?”

Kurt nodded, letting her go. “Of course,” he assured her.

Rachel gave him a grateful smile before hurrying to the women’s quick-change area. The crowded room was a swarm of activity as actresses changed in and out of costumes as they got ready for different sets.

She quickly stripped out of her costume, handing them off to a costuming tech to be put away, leaving her basic underpinnings. Hurrying over to the makeup table, she pulled the pins from her hair to free it and teased it up to make it look frizzy and unkept. Picking up a lipstick in a vulgar shade of red, she colored her lips and then smeared it a bit with the back of her hand.

Looking thoroughly like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet, she checked her time and could hear the actress playing Fantine starting the “I Dreamed a Dream” number, leaving her just enough time to get into costume and find her mark. She got into the garishly patterned stockings and corset before adding a shabby red dress that put her cleavage and legs on full display. Fluffing up her hair one last time, she hurried back to the stage where Katya was waiting with the other actresses portraying the prostitutes.

Katya looked like she was several weeks since her last bath and gave her a grin that displayed the pair of blacked out teeth. Damn, Rachel thought. She could have done that too.

“Ready?” Katya asked, with an impish glint in her eyes.

Rachel nodded, tossing back her hair. “Let’s do this.”

It was difficult to find their marks on the darkened stage while the spotlight was on Fantine but Rachel found the crates where they prostitutes were to gather and hoisted herself to sit up on one of them, spreading her legs and bunching up her skirt to show off her bloomers and stockings. Katya leaned against one of the crates, thrusting out her chest and trying to look provocative.

As Fantine’s tragic song drew to a close, the audience applauded and the stage fell dark before a projection of a port scene at night was cast over the back of the stage. Three young men stumbled to the front dressed in sailor uniforms, laughing and jostling one another.

“I smell women, smell ‘em in the air,” he proclaimed lasciviously. “Think I’ll drop me anchor in that harbor over there.”

His friend laughed and nodded enthusiastically. “Lovely ladies, I’ll love you till I’m broke,” he promised, grabbing lewdly at his crotch to emphasizing what he was there for. “Seven months at sea and now I’m hungry for a poke.”

The third shoved himself between the other two, exclaiming excitedly, “Even stokers need a little stoke!”

The stage lights came on to illuminate the set made up of shipping crates and mooring pillars where the prostitutes had gathered. Rachel smiled seductively, bending forward to show off her cleavage and entice one of the sailors.

“Lovely ladies, waiting for a bite,” the group of women sang, their voices ringing out harshly. They bent over enticingly, showing off their bodies and lifting their skirts to put their legs on display for the men that were gathering around them. “Waiting for the customers who only come at night. Lovely ladies, ready for the call. Standing up or lying down or any way at all. Bargain prices up against the wall!”

A spotlight fell on Fantine, who stood out in contrast to the prostitutes with her clean calico dress and decent looking shawl. An old woman approached her the prostitutes froze in place as they disputed the sale of Fantine’s precious necklace. Rachel listened to Fantine’s pleas for the crone to offer a more generous price before giving in out of desperation, keeping her mind focused on her own performance. Once the crone had gotten what she wanted, the music resumed, and the focus fell on the ensemble again.

“Lovely ladies, waiting in the dark,” they sang as men began to draw girls apart from the group. A tall man dressed far more finely than the women walked among them, pocketing money that they shoved into his hands and watching to make sure that the women were going off with customers. “Ready for a thick one or a quick one in the park.”

“Long time, short time,” one girl sang teasingly as a sailor pressed up behind her, his hands pressed against her bodice under her breasts to appear as if he was groping her. “Any time, my dear. Cost a little extra if you want to take all year.”

One sailor grabbed Rachel about the waist and lifted her off her seat. On cue, Rachel wrapped her legs about his waist as he spun her about, his hands under her ass to hold her up as he pressed her up against one of the pillars.

“Quick and cheap is underneath the pier!”

Again, the spotlight fell on Fantine as she was forced into another bargain, this time over her long auburn hair and she was unceremoniously dragged away to have it chopped off. When the spotlight fell back upon the prostitutes and their customers, Rachel’s sailor released her, making a show of nearly dropping her before adjusting his trousers suggestively.

One of the girls stumbled back to the crates, clutching her middle painfully. “God, I’m weary. Sick enough to drop. Belly burns like fire, will the bleeding ever stop?”

Their pimp stepped over as if to comfort her, gently stroking her cheek. “Cheer up, dearie. Show a happy face,” he urged. With sudden ferocity, he grabbed her hair and shook her harshly. “Plenty more like you here if you can’t keep up the pace.”

The young woman grabbed at his hand, trying to free herself. “Only joking,” she pleaded. “Dearie knows her place!” The pimp shoved her back to the others, waving her off to get back to work.

Fantine faltered back out onto the stage, her long hair gone and making her look childlike and incredibly vulnerable. She huddled away from the group, trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible and avoid notice by the men on the docks. The pimp watched her with an appraising eye before demanding information from one of his girls.

“Give me the dirt,” he commanded, grabbing the arm of one of the prostitutes. “Who’s that bit over there?”

The girl tossed her hair back dismissively. “A bit of skirt. She’d the one sold her hair,” she explained.

Katya leaned over, hoping to appease their pimp. “She’s got a kid. Sends her all that she can,” she confided, earning a harsh shove for her efforts.

The pimp snorted dismissively. “I might have known. There is always some man,” he mused as he approached the terrified young woman. “Lovely lady, come along and join us! Lovely lady…”

Fantine drifted to where the other women were gathered, looking at them with an expression of shame and horror that this is what she had been reduced to. That she now found herself among women that she had looked down upon when she had other prospects and dreams. The whores watched her avidly, recognizing that another was about to join their sad sisterhood.

“Come one dearie, why all the fuss?” one of the women cooed at her, her tone betraying more than a little coarse edge while a second woman looked down her nose at the downtrodden woman.

“You’re no better than the rest of us,” she snapped, only to have the other women step in between her and their new sister.

“Life has dropped you at the bottom of the heap,” Rachel sang sadly, expressing sympathy that like the rest of them, Fantine would not resort to selling herself if she had any other options.

“Join your sisters,” the pimp urged, kneeling to reach under Fantine’s skirt and feeling at her legs like she was a mare to be sold at market. “Make money in your sleep.”

A man in a sailor costume approached, eyeing Fantine appraisingly and one of the girls roughly pulled her shawl away, stripping her of what little protection it offered.

“That’s right dearie, let him have the lot,” one of the girls urged while another gave Fantine a knowing nod of approval.

“That’s right dearie… show him what you’ve got.”

With her chin raised as proudly as she could manage, Fantine walked to her awaiting customer, determined to maintain what dignity she could. He grasped her hand and dragged her out of sight.

The prostitutes gathered together, pushing away their customers and stepping away from their watchful pimp, expressing what defiance they could over their sad lot in life. Rachel and Katya stood together and held hands as they looked out defiantly at the audience, demanding respect from those what would look down upon them while taking advantage of their situations.

“Old men, young men, take ‘em as they come!” they proclaimed with as much pride as they could muster, expressing their hate for the men that used them. “Harbor rates and alley cats and every kind of scum!

“Poor men, rich men, leaders of the land. See them with their trousers off they’re never quite as grand!” they sang, flinging up their hands and mocking the customers who watched and had no idea of how much they were hated.

“All it takes is money in your hand!” they shouted, reaching out with grasping hands and clenched fists.

The music softened as the group of women drifted apart, pasting smiles on their faces and they returned to their customers. “Lovely ladies, going for a song… Got a lot of callers, but they never stay for long…”

Following Fantine’s arrest, Rachel hurried back to her dressing room to start getting ready for the Master of the House number. So far things were going well, and she had a grand total of ten minutes to fix her makeup and change costumes again. Kurt hadn’t lied to her about how much work went into being in the ensemble and she found herself racing against the clock to make sure that she was done on time. The corset and rags went back on their hanger and a makeup wipe got the worst of the prostitute paint off her face. She quickly retouched her foundation and adjusted her makeup with a softer hand before she changed into her simple peasant dress and cap.

Grabbing a few sips of water, she rushed back to the stage and was pleased to have made it in plenty of time. She spotted Kurt waiting nearby, working with one of the audio techs to fit his microphone and making his final preparations because he would be going on stage shortly afterwards and waved to catch his eye.

“You’re doing great!” he mouthed to her, earning a happy smile in response. She was working harder than she could ever have imagined doing, but everything was going well. Never before would she have ever believed just how important the ensemble was for the show but now she saw that their contribution was just as important as any of the leads. When the students playing the Thénardiers stepped out in their raggedy finery, she got mentally settled into her newest role. There were quite a few friends in the group for this scene, including several of Kurt’s Apple friends.

The sets was quickly changed out, going from a deep forest for the “Castle On A Cloud” number to the interior of a less than reputable inn. This was one of the more elaborate sets, with tables and benches and all the various items that one might expect to see in a tavern room. Rachel hurried to the bench where she was supposed to be seated. Picking up the tankard waiting for her, she took a breath and waited for the curtain to lights to illuminate the scene. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Finn knew that his hands were going to be in serious pain by the time the show ended with the way he was clapping. He was surprised that Rachel had a role in pretty much every major scene since the start of the show and had been bouncing back and forth between multiple roles. She went from beggar to prostitute to now a slightly drunk townswoman singing the praises of a rather dishonest innkeeper who was boasting about how he was ripping off his guests at every turn.

The show had been everything he expected and he was enjoying it immensely, but he found himself eagerly awaiting Kurt’s presence on the stage. Casting glances over at his family, he saw Burt checking his watch, the only hint of boredom that he would display. There was no way that his stepfather wouldn’t turn out to support Kurt, even though sitting through what was basically an opera wasn’t something that he’d really learned to enjoy just yet. His mother was just smiling, enjoying the show, and Sue…

Finn was glad that he wasn’t the one standing on the stage, because she looked like she was getting ready to storm up there and throw Jean Valjean aside so that her favorite could have his chance on the stage. She had clearly given up on feigning politeness and was impatiently tapping her finger against her raised knee, her frown deepening with every passing moment that passed without seeing her Porcelain.

The song with the innkeeper and his wife was a riot and Finn found himself laughing out loud at their bickering and criminal antics. After Valjean waltzed off his newly adopted daughter in his arms, the stage went dark and the name of the next location, Saint Michele flashed on the backdrop along with a date that showed years were passing between the two scenes. The stage lights came on to illuminate an elaborate set of slums teaming with the lower classes that one might find in any large city. Beggars, thieves, street vendors and prostitutes gathered in the city streets. The music was decidedly more tense as they went about the actions of their daily lives. The air of crushing poverty and abject misery was unavoidable as the struggle to survive was evident to the audience.

“Look down, look down, and see the beggars at your feet,” the people cried out as they made their way as best they could. “Look down and show some mercy if you can. Look down and see the sweepings of the streets. Look down, look down, upon your fellow man!”

A young boy of about ten years old emerged from the crowd to take the center stage, dressed in tattered pants and shirt and a dirty cap topping his dark-haired head. He looked to the crowd with a cocky smile and gave a little bow.

“How do you do? My name's Gavroche,” he introduced, singing in a bright clear voice. He spread his arms wide to draw attention to the crowd clustered behind him. “These are my people, here’s my patch. Nothing to look at, nothing posh. Nothing that you’d call up to scratch.”

Several young children fell in behind him, playing pranks and making petty thefts of fruit from the vendor’s cart. They were like Gavorche, dressed in threadbare clothing but trying to make the best of things and turning the slums into their playground.

“This is my school, my high society,” Gavorche proclaimed with a proud flourish. “Here in the slums of Saint Michele. We live on crumbs of humble piety. Tough on the teeth, but what the hell!

“Think you're poor? Think you're free? Follow me, follow me!” he cried out. With a wave, he set off with the other children following in his wake, running through the crowd to disappear into one of the buildings and then seen darting across a rooftop so they could watch the goings on of the people from above.

The buildings of the set pulled apart to create a town square where throngs of people gathered and went about their daily lives, making their way as best they could.

“Look down, and show some mercy if you can,” the beggars cried out, seeking aid from those who were barely better off. “Look down, look down, upon your fellow man.”

A tall, skinny girl in a red dress stepped forward, her skirt lifted enticingly to display a long leg. She was quickly embraced by a male passerby, who pressed his hand over her breast as began to kiss her throat. Before she could take the money he was waving enticingly before her, she was suddenly pulled away from her customer and shoved from behind by a woman dressed as an ancient crone.

“What you think yer at?” the old woman demanded venomously. “Hanging round me pitch? If you're new around here, girl, you've got a lot to learn.”

The younger woman stood her ground, turning on the old beggar. “Listen you old bat! Crazy bloody witch! 'Least I give my customers some pleasure in return,” she retorted, turning to try to gain the attention of any available men.

“I know what you give!” the old woman screeched, grabbing at the prostitute and tearing at her skirts to show her pantalettes. “Give 'em all the pox! Spread around your poison till they end up in a box!”

The prostitute’s pimp saw the altercation and hurried offer to run off the old beggar. “Leave the poor old cow,” he ordered, motioning for his girl to move away. “Move it, Madeleine! She used to be no better till the clap got to her brain.”

The level of desperation in the crowd increased, as none of them saw any way out of their situation. Hope was in short supply and all that was facing them was deepening poverty and starvation. “When's it gonna end?” they pleaded, “When we gonna live? Something's gotta happen now or something's gonna give...

“It'll come, it'll come, it'll come, It'll come, it'll come, it'll come…”

Through the crowd, two figures pushed their way forward, dressed far more richly than any of the townsfolks around them. Finn sat up straight in his seat at seeing that one of them was Kurt, dressed in an elegant suit with a dark jacket and tie fixed tightly about his throat. He carried a set of books under his arm, looking over the crowd with a fierce stare of pity and anger. Another young man, dressed in a similar fashion stood at his side, though the expression on his face was decidedly less severe.

Beside him, Finn felt Sue sitting up, now focusing her full attention on the stage. Carole silently clapped her hands in anticipation and delight and he glanced over to see Burt smiling widely at his son’s presence.

Kurt’s mouth was drawn in a harsh frown as turned about, looking at the mass of desperate people. “Where the leaders of the land? Where are the swells who run this show?” he demanded fiercely, his voice ringing out in righteous anger.

The young man playing Marius reached out to grasp Kurt’s shoulder in fellowship. “Only one man, and that's Lamarque,” he answered. “Speaks for these people here below.”

The poor people of St. Michele saw the well-dressed students and clustered about them, reaching out in desperation. “See our children fed! Help us in our shame!” they pleaded. “Something for a crust of bread, in Holy Jesus' name…”

Marius looked at the crowd of beggars with a compassionate stare, handing out leaflets that he had brought with him. “Lamarque is ill and fading fast! Won't last the week out so they say,” he told his friend, which only increased the level of anger in Kurt’s expression.

He turned to the crowd and saw what could be a rising tide to wipe away the injustice that he fought against. “With all the anger in the land, how long before the judgement day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size?” he spat ferociously, slashing his hand as if imitating a blade.

“Before the barricades arise?”

Kurt’s voice rang out gloriously through the theater, and Finn felt chills running down his spine. He had never seen his brother like that, expressing so much fury. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Kurt sing with so much power, his voice expressing all of his character’s anger over the injustice that he was witness to every day. Enjolras was so unlike Kurt in nature, expressing so much rage and righteousness. With just a few powerfully performed lines, Kurt stood out like a force of nature.

Sue’s strong hand suddenly grasped his again so tightly that it hurt. He turned in surprise to see her eyes wide and riveted to the stage, fixed totally on Kurt. His brother hovered hovering in the background handing out pamphlets to the poor while Marius flirted with Cosette and the Thénardier gang looked to rob Valjean before being run off by the police. She looked absolutely transfixed and the smile on her face for once didn’t have the edge of cruelty that he was so used to seeing.

Finn had always known that Kurt was one of Sue’s favored few, something he never begrudged his brother because he knew that Sue’s favor could be a double-edged sword. But even with that knowledge, her response to seeing him on stage was unexpected. It was so pure and genuine, and Finn knew that there was only a tiny percentage of people in this world that might garner such a reaction from the fearsome woman. Her sister, most certainly, had been one. And Becky. To know that Kurt had earned that as well gratified Finn quite a bit. However hard Kurt’s life had been, unquestionably it was made marginally better by having Sue Sylvester in his corner.

* * *

Kurt hadn’t quite known how it would feel during their first official performance, but it was nothing like even their final dress rehearsal. He felt almost high. He wasn’t so much playing Enjolras but channeling his revolutionary fire. He rode on the tide of Enjolras’s emotions, taking control of his compatriots and urging them towards taking up the fight against the government troops. It took coercion and a bit of browbeating, but even moon-eyed Marius was no longer resisting.

“Red, a world about to dawn!” the entire group sand passionately and Marius stepped forward to grasp Kurt’s hand, making it clear that he would stand with his friend. “Black, the night that ends at last!”

They finished to a rousing cheer and Kurt began to bark out orders, darting across the stage and sending the men into a flurry of action. There was no question of who the leader and Kurt expressed an air of well-honed authority over the other members of their group. “Well, Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns?” he demanded, before turning to the others. “Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short.

“Grantaire, put the bottle down!” he snapped fiercely, causing the drunkard to wave off his command dismissively and take a long gulp. “Do we have the guns we need?”

“Give me brandy on my breath and I’ll breathe them all to death,” Grantaire boasted playfully, earning a playful shove from one of the others.

Courfeyrac rushed forward to report, “In St. Antoine they’re with us to a man!”

“In Notre Dame, they’re tearing up the stones!” Combeferre reported happily, grasping the hand of Courfeyrac joyously.

“Twenty rifles good as new!” Feuilly called out, holding up their red banner proudly.

Through all the activity, Kurt remained dangerously calm as if he were the eye of a hurricane that was about to sweep down over Paris. He almost didn’t hear Gavroche coming in and yelling, “Listen!”

Joly was checking their ammunition stores. “Twenty rounds for every man!” he reported.

“Listen to me!” Gavroche cried out, nearly ignored as the men continued their reports.

“Double that in Port St. Cloud!”

“Listen everybody!” Gavroche yelled.

Lesgles hurried in. “Seven guns in St. Martin!”

Gavroche grasped Kurt’s arm, forcing his attention. When Kurt finally looked down at him, the boy said with somber quietness, “General Lamarque is dead!”

The group fell silent, shocked at the news, however unexpected, that the champion of the poor was gone. One of the young men who’d been wearing a cap and took it off and the men bowed their heads in respect, giving a moment of silence for the man that had embodied all of their ideals. Kurt got a faraway look in his eyes as the gravity of what this really meant struck home.

“Lemarque is dead,” he breathed almost in disbelief. He paused, letting it sink in before driving what this would bring about struck home before allowing himself to smile. “Lemarque! His death is the hour of fate! The people’s man. His death is the sign we await!”

He gathered the group, the other men listing intently to his every word. Kurt’s expression became one of dangerous anticipation. Kurt strode over to a set of steps and climbed up so that all could see him as he rallied them to action.

“On his funeral day they will honor his name,” he commanded the group as they watched intently. Even Grantaire, who stood back from the others watched carefully. “It’s a rallying cry that will reach every ear! In the death of Lemarque we will kindle the flame! They will see that the day of salvation is near!

“The time is near!” Kurt belted, his voice soaring with a strength that he was sure would be surprising to those who might have only noted his youthful appearance. He was a lion, uniting the Friends of the ABC and pushing them towards their mission with a fist raised in defiance. “Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer! Let us take the streets with no doubt in our hearts, but a jubilant shout! They will come, one and all! They will come when we call!”

The music drew to a dramatic close and the Friends of the ABC cheered and embraced on another now that the moment that they’d awaited appeared to finally have arrived. Kurt managed to keep from responding to the rousing applause of the audience, focused on keeping Enjolras’s pride and fervor fixed on his features. Knowing that his family was there watching him at that moment, seeing him standing on that magnificent stage and performing to the best of his ability meant more than he could ever express.

When the music began again, the members of the group began to chatter excitedly, but Kurt closed his eyes and lowered his hand, motioning for them the allowed a quiet intensity to take hold.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?” he began, letting the power in his voice reach throughout the theater. “It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!”

He pressed his hand over his heart, clutching his waistcoat and emphasizing the importance of this one moment in their lives. “When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

His fervor seemed to feed into the passion of the other players as they fell in behind him, excited that the moment they’d been awaiting had finally arrived. Combeferre rallied the group to Enjolras, his expression bright with excitement as their leader stepped down the stairs.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?” he demanded, placing his hand confidently on Kurt’s shoulder to prove that he was firmly with Enjolras. “Beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?”

Courfeyrac joined them, holding out a rifle to Kurt. “Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!”

Kurt grasped the rifle and raised it over his head to the cheers of his fellows and lead the group to march about the stage. Even Grantaire followed along, though he appeared to be more enjoying the show than believed in their cause. The set parted to reveal the transition from the interior of a disreputable café to the square where townsfolk began to fall in behind the young men as they marched through the streets. Men danced with young women, twirling them about joyously as an air of celebration took hold.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?” the group sang, inspiring men and women to fall in behind them, joining in. “It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!”

Kurt lead them along, raising the rifle in defiance, his face set in a proud smile. He was the clear leader, gathering evermore followers with every moment that passed.

“When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

Feuilly was standing on a balcony so he could look out over the crowd that had gathered, imploring them to join. “Will you give all you can give, so that our banner may advance?” he pleaded, his strong tenor voice ringing out. “Some will fall and some will live. Will you stand up and take your chance?

“The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!” He raised their red banner before dropping it down to be grabbed by one of the others.

One of the group had brought out the revolutionary banner on a pole and began to wave it as the group marched about the stage with Kurt in the lead, his voice lifted in rousing song as the revolutionary students followed in his way. The performance was so rousing that members of the audience began to sing along, inspired by the performance on the stage.

“Do you hear the people sing?, singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!” the group sang proudly, their banner flying and the air on the stage taking on a celebratory mood. “When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

Kurt lead the group off stage, feeling the wild buzzing in his head from the powerful emotions and needed a moment to tamp down on the wild energy that he was picking up from the performance. Handing off the rifle to one of the prop techs, he took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to center himself. He had a few minutes while the Cosette and Marius duet was underway to get himself back under control and prepare for the next scene. He hurried to the quick-change area, knowing that he had only ten minutes before the his next cue.

* * *

Sue got up without a word to the Hummels when the houselights came on for intermission, needing to step outside for a moment and gather her thoughts for a bit. The past few hours had been astonishing for her.

She thought back to times long ago. When her Porcelain was so much younger, and she’d first taken him under her barbed wire wings. She appreciated his sharp wit and his cunning that reminded her of herself at times. He had always impressed her with his brash courage and determination to be himself no matter what anyone else said or did. He needed protection against the small-minded idiots who thought that just because he was gay that it gave them license to torment him every waking moment. Offering him a place on her squad was the best way she could protect him, because no one dared try anything with one of hers. It was when he tried to fly on his own that bad things had happened; things that she often couldn’t control.

Seeing him now, standing on that stage like he was born to be there caused something to bubble up in her that she wasn’t sure that she wanted to examine too closely. Maybe it was just indigestion.

“This is turning out to be some kind of night, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

Sue couldn’t help from smiling before turning about. “Burt, you should know better than to sneak up on me.”

The burly man just shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said blandly. “You kind of rushed out.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, letting a trace of sharpness enter her voice. She never was one for soft feelings or concern from others.

Burt didn’t press further, knowing Sue well enough not to. It wasn’t as if they were really friends, but they had an odd mutual respect and understanding. Not to mention a particular shared personal interest.

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked about the theater lobby. “You know, it’s going to mean a lot of Kurt that you came tonight,” he informed her. “Me too.”

She couldn’t help from snorting in amusing. “That would be a first. People usually aren’t happy to see me,” she acknowledged. She wasn’t embarrassed about that. Her reputation was, without question, a well-earned one. And one that she was actually proud of.

Burt smiled and nodded. “Well, Kurt will be,” he assured her honestly. He looked about the lobby, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You know, I never did thank you.”

She looked up in surprise. “Whatever for?”

Burt pursed his lips thoughtfully, wanting to make sure that he chose just the right words. “For everything you did for Kurt when he was at McKinley,” he clarified. “With everything that he went through, I don’t know if he would have made it without you. You were one of the few people really willing to go to bat for him and we’ve never forgotten that.”

He approached her carefully, knowing that despite her tendency to overstep boundaries, she was sensitive to having her personal space invaded. She almost shivered when his hand gently touched her arm and looked into his face in astonishment.

Burt smiled gently. “Kurt is standing on that stage, in no small part, because of you. You may have gone about it in strange ways, but you encouraged him and supported him when not many others did. I just wanted you to know that. And to thank you for being there for my son.”

He stepped back, giving her space to compose herself. “I’d better get back inside,” he said with a huff. “The curtain will be going up soon.”

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “I’ll be in in just a minute,” she assured him.

Burt nodded in approval. “Good. Because Kurt’s going to be thrilled when he finds out that you were here on his opening night.”

Sue stood in the lobby, deep in thought as she tried to absorb what had just happened. She then gave herself a hard mental shake to get the cerebral cobwebs sorted out.

She barely made it back to her seat in time for the curtain to rise.

* * *

If anyone was to ask her afterwards what she most enjoyed about the show, Rachel knew what she would say. She couldn’t help from feeling thrilled to being on stage with Kurt and getting to watch him perform. Not that their characters would interact at all, but it felt good to be there with him along with Analisa, Katya and Jamie. Jamie would be playing one of the townsmen supporting the revolutionary students, while she and the girls played local women.

Despite the tension of the last battle, the atmosphere on the stage was one of quiet waiting for the next conflict and mourning over Eponine’s tragic death. As far as the students knew, Javert had met a just end at Valjean’s hands and they could take a moment of rest.

Seeing Kurt fully immersed in his character and portraying Enjolras so compellingly filled Rachel with joy and it was a pleasure… no, an honor to share the stage with him. She hoped that everyone sitting in that audience would realize that having the opportunity to watch him performing at this level was a real privilege.

For herself, she recognized what a gift it was to see it from such close range.

“Courfeyrac, you take the watch,” Kurt ordered with quiet gravity. “They won’t attack until it’s light.”

He looked around to the group. “Everyone stay awake. We must be ready for the fight. For our final fight. Let no one sleep tonight.”

Kurt’s voice took on a seriousness, as if realizing just what would be facing them at the dawn. “Marius… rest,” he commanded, placing a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder. Rachel could only marvel quietly at the gentle strength in Kurt’s voice and keep her mind on her own performance.

Feuilly was seated at a broken table that had been set up next to the barricade and looked about at his tired, anguished friends and raised his bottle, hoping to cheer their spirits. “Drink with me, to days gone by,” he proposed. “Sing with me, the songs we knew.”

“Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads,” Prouvaire toasted, snatching the bottle from Feuilly and raising it in tribute to the women who’d come out to support them.

“Here’s to witty girls who went to our beds,” Joly praised, catching a laughing Analisa and spinning her about before taking her in his arms.

“Here’s to them, and here’s to you,” the men sang gently, offering sad smiles to one another.

Grantaire staggered to his feet and raised his bottle mockingly to his friends. “Drink with me, to days gone by? Can it be you fear to die?” he demanded turning about to cast his accusing gaze on all of them. Some of the men took offense at Grantaire’s ridicule and Combeferre grasped him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him away. The others shouted him down, angered at his pessimism.

Kurt shouldered his rifle and approached Grantaire, alarmed at the troubled man’s demeanor and tried to grasp his arm in support. Grantaire looked directly at him with sorrowful eyes. “Will the world remember you when you fall? Could it be your death means nothing at all? Is your life just one more lie?” he asked sadly, ignoring Kurt’s arms held open in an attempt to make peace with his friend.

Grantaire brushed him away and stormed past him, blaming Enjolras for landing them in this perilous situation and wanting nothing to do with him at the moment. One of them men hurried over to his side and pulled him into a comforting embrace.

Kurt watched Grantaire walk away from him and with sad resignation slowly climbed the barricade to take a position where he could both watch out for attack and keep an eye on his men. It was starting to become clear that the burdens of leadership were widening the rift between Enjolras and his friends.

The whole group on stage began to sing, with the women singing in counterpoint that added a lovely layer to the bittersweet melody. “Drink with me, to days gone by. To the life that used to be,” they sang.

Rachel smiled dreamily, and rested her head against the shoulder of one of the men who had his arm about her waist. “At the shrine of friendship never say die,” she sang along with the rest of women.

“Let the wine of friendship never run dry,” the men sang and some lead their chosen ladies off the stage for one last hurried tryst before the coming battle.

“Here’s to you… and here’s to me….”

Marius looked about the stage, finding no comfort with his friends as his thoughts were upon someone he thought lost to him. “Do I care if I should die?” he questioned sadly. “Now she goes across the sea…

“Life without Cosette means nothing at all. Will you weep, Cosette, should Marius fall? Will you weep, Cosette, for me?”

As the revolutionaries settled in to rest for the night, it gave Rachel a chance to just enjoy the performance of “Bring Him Home”. Unquestionably the actor playing Valjean was an exceptional talent and he sang the song beautifully, expressing all of the heartache and hope that the song demanded. But she couldn’t help from comparing his rendition to Kurt’s, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she would always consider her friend’s interpretation the gold standard. It didn’t matter that Kurt’s performance had led to a very painful downfall for her, because she’d very much deserved after the shameful way she had treated him. It was because Kurt was just that damn good.

She leaned against the body of the young man playing her lover and just savored the feeling of what they all were accomplishing.

* * *

Finn was leaning forward, watching intently as the stage lights softly glowed to give the impression of the coming dawn. Kurt was standing at the top of the barricade; Enjolras having stood watch all night and waiting for the people of Paris to rally behind them. The realization that no reinforcements were coming was striking Enjolras hard, evident by the bewildered and nearly lost expression on Kurt’s face.

He looked down at his followers from his spot on the barricade, the others looking to him for answers when he had none to give them. To see that behind the powerful revolutionary leader was a very young boy who’d gotten himself and his friends in way over their heads was a striking moment. “The people have not stirred,” he sang quietly, the realization that they were truly alone in this fight sinking in. “ We are abandoned by those who still live in fear. The people have not heard…”

Kurt inhaled deeply, visibly tamping down in the fear that Enjolras had to be feeling and trying to portray resolve and keep his people from panicking. “Yet we will not abandon those who cannot hear,” he assured his followers, trying to force a trace of confidence into his voice. “Let us not waste lives.

“Let all the women and fathers of children go from here,” he ordered, motioning for them to retreat.

The realization of what Enjolras’s orders entailed was not lost on his followers and the atmosphere about the barricade took on the feeling of a wake. Feuilly tried to instill a sense of hope in his fellows, smiling sadly as he raised his voice gently in song. “Drink with me to days gone by,” he urged. “Sing with me the songs we knew…”

The supporters that Enjolras was sending away realized that they were very likely leaving their friends and loved ones to face nearly certain death and there were hurried embraces and tears and kisses as they reluctantly withdrew from the fight. Their voices rang out softly as they unwillingly stepped away, lingering as long as they dared but finally leaving the fighters behind.

“At the shrine of friendship, raise your glass high,” they sang mournfully. “Let the wine of friendship never run dry. If I die… I die with you…”

No sooner that the noncombatants fled to safety that the fighting renewed. The revolutionaries hurried to their places on the barricade and fired desperately at the government troops. Kurt fired off several rounds before scrambling to the ground and getting reports of their status.

“How do we stand, Feuilly?” he demanded, his voice rising over the sounds of gunfire. “Make your report!”

The other young man appeared quite worried. “We’ve guns enough, but ammunition short,” he confirmed, causing Kurt to bow his head in despair when he realized just how dire their situation truly was.

Marius rushed up to Kurt. “Let me go into the streets,” he suggested urgently. “There are bodies all around. Ammunition to be had. Lots of bullets to be found!”

Kurt shook his head sternly, grasping Marius’s arm to keep him from climbing over the barricade. “I won’t let you go. It’s too much of a chance,” he insisted, not wanting to put his closest friend into more danger than they were already in. The other man would not be deterred, which told Finn just how dismal a position they found themselves in.

“The same is true for any man here!” Marius claimed firmly, refusing to let Enjolras place his life above any of the others.

“Let me go,” Valjean offered, willing to sacrifice himself to save his daughter’s love. “He’s no more than a boy. I am old. I have nothing to fear.”

The expression on Kurt’s face became pained at the realization that whoever he sent over the wall would likely meet their death and found it nearly impossible to choose. Send an older man who had proven himself to be a true ally or his dearest friend. But he reluctantly nodded and grasped Valjean’s hand. Before either man could do anything, it became apparent to the audience that the choice was to be taken out of Enjolras’s hands.

Gavroche scrambled to the top of the barricade and called out to the others, “You need someone quicker, and I volunteer!” he called out, ignoring the shouts of refusal from Kurt and the others before sliding over the wall.

Kurt rushed to the top of the barricade, trying to stop the boy but he was too late. The men shouted for Gavroche to come back, but the boy would not be deterred. From behind the wall, Finn could hear the boy singing as he sought to obtain the supplies that the revolutionaries so badly needed.

“So never kick a dog because he’s just a pup,” the boy warned, his voice echoing as the others watched helplessly. Shots fired and Finn could imagine the child ducking for cover while he tried to finish his mission. “We’ll fight like twenty armies and we won’t give up! So you’d better run for cover when the pup grows…”

A single shot rang out, causing Finn to flinch and the boy’s voice fell silent. Grantaire fell to his knees, covering his face in anguish. The men on the barricade bowed their heads in sorrow, giving the brave young boy a moment of silence in honor of his heroism. Valjean crossed himself, heartbroken that a child born into poverty never had the chance for anything better. Before they could properly mourn the child, a trumpet sounded to warn them to take up arms again.

“You on the barricade, listen to this!” a French military officer called out to the fighters from the other side of the wall. “The people of Paris sleep in their beds. You have no chance! No chance at all! Why throw your lives away?”

Kurt turned to his men, his face set in grim determination when he realized that their time had run out. “Let us die facing our foes,” he urged, drawing his followers close to him. “Make them bleed while we can.”

The men cheered, ready to take the fight to the government forces. “Make ‘em pay for every man!” Courfeyrac shouted in anger. Kurt nodded, his mouth drawing into a harsh snarl.

“Let others rise to take our place,” Kurt roared, clenching his fist in defiance. “Until the earth is free!”

The battle was chaotic, with men racing up the barricade and firing on the troops beyond them. Kurt stood at the top, firing his gun until he saw that Marius had fallen, wounded. Lights flashed to give the impression of gun and cannon fire and smoke drifted in the air. Dropping his weapon, Kurt jumped from the barricade and fell to his friend’s side, seeing that the wound was severe and Marius was apparently unconscious. Around him, bodies began to fall as more of his friends were struck down.

Hi face set in grim determination, Kurt clambered back up to the top of the barricade and grasped the pole for their flag. He pulled it free and waved it in defiance, to urge the men to fight on when his body suddenly jerked and Finn nearly cried out. Despite knowing the fate that awaited Kurt’s character, he was still taken by shock to see it actually happen. The flag fell Kurt’s his hand as his body slumped over. The lights flashed as the rest of the men met their fatal ends, the music reaching a crescendo as the fight drew to a close with the passionate students lying dead where they fell.

Finn felt himself gasp for breath, not liking the sight of his brother laying so still, even though he knew it was just pretend. Burt’s expression was one of shock, even though he’d know what would happen to Kurt’s character and his mother didn’t bother to hide her sniffling. He didn’t dare look at Sue or try to gage her reaction. If she caught him seeing her in an emotionally vulnerable state, there wouldn’t be a place he could hide.

That had been an amazing scene, because it had looked so much like a real battle, but he knew that applauding at that moment probably wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment. The scene was still ongoing, with Jean Valjean saving Marius and dragging him to safety. But he wanted to give Kurt’s and the other men playing the doomed fighters some kind of ovation. That was one of the most amazing, heartbreaking things he’d ever seen on a stage and it felt odd to just follow along with the story afterwards.

He was familiar with the musical, so the following scenes played out much the way he expected. The final confrontation between Valjean and Javert was incredibly compelling, the officer finally recognizing that the man that he’d pursued for so long was not the hardened criminal that he’d always believed and that he’d relentlessly haunted a man who hadn’t deserved it. Seeing the man’s generosity so many times, even having his own life spared and unable to accept that he’d been wrong for so long was impossible for him to stand and he threw himself into the river to die.

Good riddance, Finn thought to himself. No matter that he recognized his error, Javert was still an asshole. But he could admire the very neat effect in how the lights were used to give the illusion of the man falling from a great height to his death.

The next scene was the immediate aftermath of the battle as a group of women dressed in mourning clothes arrived at the site of the great battle, carrying small candles of remembrance. They found the remains of the barricade, with no trace of the young men that had fought there save for someone’s tricolored sash and the shredded red flag laying on the ground. One woman had a young girl at her side, letting the child hold the candle. He could see that one of them was Rachel, who looked incredibly sad as she and the others surveyed the wreckage around them and contemplated the sad loss of so many promising lives.

The music was soft and mournful as the women paid tribute to the young men that had died, placing down the candles respectfully on the ground. One of them looked about, her expression sorrowful as she tried to absorb the impact of what had happened there.

“Did you see them going off to fight?” she sang plaintively, kneeling down and crossing herself. “Children of the barricade who didn’t last the night.”

Another woman wiped at her eyes with the corner of her shawl as she placed her candle down on the floor. “Did you see them lying where they died?” she asked. “Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried.”

“Did you see them, lying side by side?” a pretty black girl sang, and Finn mentally identified her as one of Kurt’s friends from class.

“Who will wake them?” a young Asian woman sang sadly. “No one ever will.”

Rachel came to her side and placed a comforting arm about her. “No one ever told them that a summer day can kill,” she sang mournfully, her voice ringing out clearly like a bell.

Another woman shook her head sadly. “They were schoolboys. Never held a gun,” she reminded the others, bringing home the enormity of the tragedy and just how misguided their fight might have been. “Fighting for a new world that would rise up like the sun.

“Where’s that new world now the fighting’s done?”

One woman sighed, wrapping herself tightly in her dark shawl. “Nothing changes, nothing ever will,” she reminded the others sharply, her disappointment over the failed revolution evident. “Every year another brat, another mouth to fill.”

“Same old story, what’s the use of tears?” she demanded, grief warring with anger on her severe features. “What’s the use of praying of there’s nobody who hears.”

“Turning, turning, turning, turning through the years…” the group sang regretfully, those who had been kneeling rising to their feet and walking slowly in a wide circle that looked nearly like a dance as they trailed off the stage.

“Round and round the roundabout and back where you began… round and round and back where you began…”

As the women filed off the stage, Marius reappeared, dressed formally once again in a dark suit befitting his social status and leaning heavily on a wooden cane as he limped to the small memorial that the women had left behind. He looked exhausted, in pain and inconsolable as he faced the place where all of his friends had died. Finn could not imagine how it must feel, to be the last of them left alive and having to go on with his life.

Marius looked about, not attempting to hide the anguish on his face. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken,” he sang, his voice breaking slightly to express the deep sadness in the young man. “There’s a pain goes on and on… Empty chairs at empty tables. Now my friends are dead and gone.”

He looked up at the sign for the café where they had previously gathered, and Finn could see the tears running down his cheeks. “Here they talked of revolution,” he reminded the audience. “Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came.”

Finn found himself wiping at his own eyes, feeling the man’s sorrow nearly viscerally. He had some wonderful friends that he counted as brothers and the idea of losing them all in one moment struck him at his core. The idea of waking up and finding out that Sam and Puck and… he bit his lip. To imagine that Kurt was gone tore at him. Even imagining so many wonderful people having their futures cut short, and all their amazing potential lost was absolutely heartrending.

“From the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn,” Marius reminisced, reminding the audience of the idealism that his fellows had shared. That they had truly wanted to remake the world into a more fair, just place. “They could see a world reborn. And they rose with voices ringing! I can hear them now!

“The very words that they had sung became their last communion. On the lowly barricade, at dawn…”

Marius’s voice broke, his grief overwhelming him with the crushing realization that he truly was the last one.

Behind Marius, through the darkness Finn could see figures emerging and his breath caught in his throat. Kurt was the most easily recognizable, his white shirt and red vest making him stand out as the ghosts of the deceased stepped into view, but they were all there. Enjolras, Grantaire, Gavroche… They calmly surrounded Marius, standing quietly as Marius battled the burden of guilt over being the only one to survive.

“Oh my friends… my friends,” Marius wept pleadingly. “Forgive me!”

One by one, the ghosts bent to pick up the memorial candles.

“That I live and you are gone,” Marius lamented. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on.

“Oh my friends… my friends,” Marius cried out while the ghosts raised the candles high before swiftly blowing them out. “Don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for.”

The ghosts began to slip back into the darkness, fading out of view. Kurt had been the first to appear and the last to follow them, lingering with his closest friend for another half beat before slipping away.

As if sensing that he was alone again, Marius bowed his head in sorrow. “Empty chairs at empty tables. Where my friends will sing no more…”

Finn heard his mother’s sniffles and he reached out to take her hand. Burt was wiping at his eyes and even Sue was biting her lower lip to keep her emotions in check. It had been a powerful performance and the applause from the audience was well deserved.

He took a deep breath and readied himself for what he knew would be an amazing finale.

* * *

Kurt was grateful to have a few moments to rest before the finale and enjoy watching the rest of the show from the wings. His friends in the ensemble had hurried to make a quick change to ballgowns and suits for the wedding scene and were currently changing costumes for the final time. He found Rachel and the others emerging from the quick-change area and couldn’t help from pulling them into a group hug.

“We’re almost there,” he promised. They were only moments away from the final song and the dye would be cast. They had done their best and given the performances of their lives. Hopefully it would be well received because they’d worked so hard for so long.

From their place behind a screen that would shield them from the audience, they could watch Sean giving Jean Valjean the kind of glorious send off that the character deserved. Valjean was ready to face death, having secured Cosette’s future happiness with Marius and rose to join the ghosts of Fantine and Eponine.

“Take my hand, and lead me to salvation,” they sang gently while Cosette wept over her father’s death. Marius tried to comfort her while mourning the man who had saved his live. “Take my love, for love is everlasting.”

Valjean was looking upwards as a warm spotlight encased them in an ethereal glow. The lines of worry on his face seemed to fade as he faced his reward for a life well-lived. Kurt had to admit that the effect was quite engaging and would look remarkable from the audience.

On the stage, Cosette and Marius began to read the letter than Valjean had given her, holding one another close while Fantine and Eponine lead Valjean to his heavenly reward. “And remember, the truth that once was spoken. To love another person is to see the face of God...”

Kurt felt Rachel reaching over to squeeze his hand as the backlights came up behind them, giving them a ghostly appearance to the audience.

“Do you hear the people sing,” all of them began, their voices soft as if drifting on a breeze. “Lost in the valley of the night. It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light.

“For the wretched of the earth, there is a flame that never dies. Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.”

The screen raised so that the audience could fully see the figures of the entire cast, all the characters that had died and the ensemble players that had filled the stage. The street children, the bishop who’d been so kind to Jean Valjean, all the Friends of the ABC… even Javert joined them, having found some small redemption. Kurt stepped out proudly, flanked by his friends and castmates.

“They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord,” they sang, the sheer number of voices creating a layered wall of sound that, from Kurt’s perspective, sounded absolutely gorgeous. He looked out from the stage, seeing the audience beyond the lights and knew that the performers were giving them what they had come for.

“They will walk behind the plough share. They will put away the sword. The chain will be broken, and all men will have their reward!”

The cast step up to fall in line with Valjean, Eponine and Fantine, the three of them joining in with the full cast. Cosette and Marius joined in the singing and the entire cast launched into full voice.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?” Kurt sang out, trying to keep in character and not let the joyous smile that was threatening to escape touch his features. “Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?”

He puffed out his chest proudly and squared his shoulders, placing a comradely hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums. It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!”

The cast stepped to the front of the stage, filling it with their numbers and filling the theater with the glorious chorus of their voices. Now there were no stars or leads. There was just a group of people who had lived and endured and left their own mark on the world. Behind them, the lights glowed warm in tones of gold and red, giving the impression of a rising sun.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see? Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!”

He felt dampness on his cheeks and realized that he was crying. But that didn’t stop him from giving everything he had for the final notes. The entire cast threw their full beings into the last words, wanting to leave an indelible impression on those who had come to see them.

“Ohhhh….. ohhhh…. Tomorrow… comes!”

When the last note finally faded, Kurt almost didn’t hear the audience through the buzzing in his ears. He felt oddly detached, as if watching what was happening from some distant position and not standing on that stage. He saw the audience getting to their feet and applauding and cheering and it took him a moment to really grasp just what he and the others had accomplished that night. When his head cleared, the roar of applause was positively thunderous.

They had rehearsed the curtain call so that it would run smoothly. The group stepped back so that everyone would have their chance to take a bow and bask in the audience’s regard. Members of the ensemble were first, going forward in groups of ten and were surprisingly orderly for such a large group while the other members of the cast applauded their peers and gave them the respect that they deserved.

He watched as Rachel went out with other women of the ensemble, including Analisa, Katya and Mei, bowing and taking in the standing ovation. The expression on the girls’ faces was absolutely radiant and Rachel especially looked thrilled. He clapped for them, unable to resist giving a hoot of support for his friends.

The men in the ensemble went next, and Kurt cheered for Jamie and Tommy and Mitchel. All of the child actors then stepped forward, with special acknowledgement made for the ones who’d played Gavroche and the younger versions of and Eponine that night. He was so happy for them to have this kind of opportunity so early in their acting careers. He hoped that they remembered this night and that it would inspire them going forward for years to come.

It then became time for the named characters to take their bows and Kurt felt himself all but quivering as he waited for his turn. When the Friends of the ABC stepped forward, he was at the center of the line and couldn’t help from smiling when the applause from the audience seemed to grow louder. Each of them was given a chance to bow as individuals and as the leader of the group, Kurt was last. When it was his turn, the others stepped back and left Kurt to stand at the center of that large stage by himself, feeling the full weight of the audience’s regards and they cheered and clapped for him. His throat tight from holding in his emotions, he bowed again, one hand over his heart before stepping back to join the others.

Once the cast was done, a smiling Professor Carmody stepped out onto the stage and was applauded by both the audience and the cast for her tremendous accomplishment. She joined her students for one last bow as a group before the curtain came down, shielding them from the audience’s view. Behind the heavy velvet, Kurt could hear the muffled applause that only died down when the house lights came on.

Professor Carmody turned to her cast with a tired but satisfied smile on her face. “I’m not going to waste your time with congratulations, because you know how well you did,” she advised. She wiped at her eyes, brushing away joyous tears. “Go get yourselves cleaned up, because there’s a hell of a party waiting for all of you.

“Make sure that all of your costumes and props are accounted for,” she instructed firmly. “Don’t make the tech teams’ job harder than it needs to be. Be ready in an hour for the buses to take us to the gala. Miss them and you’re on your own getting there.” With another smile, she left her cast to get themselves sorted out.

With an exhausted sigh of relief the whole group fell into excited chatter as they turned to congratulate one another. Kurt felt many pats on his back and words of praise and he returned them whole heartedly. He found his friends, giving Jamie a tight hug of friendship as they congratulated on another. He ruffled Tommy’s hair, hugged Analisa and Katya and Mei… his eyes darted about for Rachel, seeing her talking with some of the other girls from the ensemble.

Watching her being part of a group, treating other performers as peers rather than supporters made Kurt’s heart swell. For all that he believed that Rachel had truly changed, there was still a faint question mark hanging over her. It was one thing for her not to set herself in direct competition with him, but how she would behave with people who truly would be competition for her… other actresses who had their own aspirations and goals was the real challenge. He knew that she had set this up as a challenge for herself; a test to see if she could really handle being in a supporting role with grace and give the show everything she could. That she succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations made him thrilled on her behalf.

He hurried to her side and pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close and pressing his face against her hair. She clutched at him tightly, her face against his shoulder and trembling slightly from the overflow of emotions. Kurt’s own emotions were cascading wildly through his brain and he felt that he might just fall apart without Rachel’s presence to ground him. They just held one another, trying to find a small eye of calm in a sea of activity around them.

Neither of the said a word, because there was nothing that needed to be said between them. They would praise one another’s performances later on, when they had a chance to mentally regroup. For now, all Kurt wanted to do was savor her presence and ponder how grateful he was to have shared this incredible experience with her.

They didn’t want to let go of one another, not with the heady emotions still bubbling up within them. But as the other members of the cast began to disperse and the tech teams moved to close things down for the night, they knew that they couldn’t hold onto that moment forever. But letting go of one another didn’t change things. They parted with the full knowledge of what they’d accomplished.

“We’d better start getting ready,” Rachel sighed, loosening her hold on her best friend and dabbing at her tearing eyes. “I don’t know about you, but there is no way I’m going to be late for this party. Not with that amazing dress you picked out for me.”

He couldn’t help from chuckling tiredly, bending to kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you in a little bit. Go make yourself gorgeous,” he urged with a smile.

He retreated to his dressing room where his castmates were busy cleaning up and getting ready for the party. When Kurt entered the cramped room, the other young men looked up and welcomed him with a rousing cheer.

“Hey, nice for you to join us fearless leader,” Ryan teased, having already stripped down to his shorts.

“Jezz, Ryan… put some fucking clothes on,” Eddie, who played Grantaire complained, throwing a dirty hand towel at the other man.

Jack grinned broadly. “Kurt, that was some job you did,” he praised. “It was really fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Kurt said thankfully, stripping off his shirt. “Everyone was amazing. You all did such a great job… it gave me something to measure up to.”

He would have loved a shower but there was no time for that. A spot wash with a damp cloth to get the sweat off his skin would have to suffice. He got all the stage paint off his face, taking special care to cleanse his skin and moisturize to keep his complexion from looking too ruddy. There wasn’t a whole lot that he could do with the mess that was his hair except bush it out and use some spray to try to hold it into place so that he didn’t look like a dust mop.

He checked the time on his phone and saw that Adam was probably only midway through the second act for his show. Knowing that they wouldn’t be able to talk until much later in the evening, he sent a quick text.

Just got off stage a few minutes ago. Think that things went pretty well. Will call you later tonight. Love you.

He hit “send” with a sigh. No use moping about what he couldn’t do anything about. There was a message from his brother that the show was great and they would see him at the party. That definitely improved his mood considerably.

“Hey Kurt, you’d better hurry up,” Ryan urged as he dressed. “Don’t want to miss the bus.”

Kurt smiled and nodded. “Give me five,” he requested, getting up from his table. While he wished that he could see Adam and be able to celebrate with him, there was no use dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Adam would want him to enjoy himself and not fixate on his partner’s absence. He had a lot of people to celebrate with and this promised to be a wonderful evening. Adam would be the first person to urge him to go out, peacock a little and enjoy himself even if he couldn’t be there.

By the time the actors and crew loaded up onto the buses, Kurt’s mood had decidedly lightened. He was dressed in a fabulous suit and off to celebrate their successful performance. He was surrounded by friends and castmates and it was hard to feel badly about the one blemish on what had been an amazing evening. He deserved the chance to look back on what he’d just accomplished with pride and Adam would be the last person in the world to begrudge him that chance.

There would be many things to celebrate together when Adam returned home. This would be one more thing they could add to the list.

A/N - I was very fortunate to find video of a chapter that matched nearly exactly how I envisioned this production - staging, costuming and performances. If you want a clearer look at how I saw NYADA's production to play out, it's worth watching. The production was done in Madrid and entirely in Spanish and is very well worth watching.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=les+miserables+madrid

#kadam fic #learning to fly #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #burt hummel #finn hudson #carole hudson #sue sylvester #carmen tibideaux #nyada students #original characters #not blaine or klaine friendly

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