Sorry about going MIA lately. I haven't been inspired lately. But here's a oneshot to make up for it!

As always, I own nothing.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with her. It sort of just… happened. He was about as in control of his feelings for her as he was of the moon's waxing and waning.

He blamed the moon for it all.

He had made her a promise, once upon a time, that his feelings for her would never change or waver. She needed a companion, but she had no time or inclination for romance and that wouldn't change. That promise was the cost of her eternal friendship, and he had been all too happy to make that pledge, if it meant that they could have all the time in the world. He had meant it at the time too. They were just kids at the time; he was still living with his folks' at the time, though he'd already started picking up odd jobs. At the time, an eternity of adventures with Mary Poppins sounded beyond his wildest dreams. He knew how he felt about her—she was his best friend. He could tell her anything, talk about anything with her, and laugh about anything with her. It wasn't something that he thought was liable to change.

He hadn't counted on the moonlight.

He knew she was going to blow into town and was restless because of it. It had been far too long since he seen her and he couldn't wait to see that perfectly proper silhouette in the London skies again. The winds were stronger than they usually were when she arrived and that worried him. The winds were his first hint at what she'd act like, they always reflected her mood.

He hadn't found her immediately. He liked to let her settle in to her new household, figuring it made the transition a little easier if she didn't have to worry about him mucking up the impression she had made. But she hadn't come to find him either and that worried him even more than the winds. Mary always eventually sought him out.

So he went looking for his best friend. A perfectly reasonable thing to do, he assured himself. Friends are supposed to check in on friends. He found her perched on a rooftop, staring out at London, a wrinkled handkerchief balled up in her fist.

"Mary?" he asked quietly, careful not to startle her.

She looked up and he noticed that both her eyes and the tip of her nose were slightly red. "Oh, hello, Bert," she greeted him, surreptitiously slipping the handkerchief in her pocket. "I hope you're well."

"Oh, fine, fine," he replied, nodding as he bent to sit next to her. She returned her gaze to the horizon.

They made unimportant small talk, dancing around the red nose and wrinkled handkerchief as if there were a prize to be won for it. He wanted nothing more than to know that she was okay, but he had promised to never force her into anything. She'd come to it in her own time.

And she did. Quietly and suddenly she admitted, "I allowed myself to become too emotionally involved."

"Mary?"

"I was staying with an American family and I became too involved. I stayed longer than I needed to and the longer I stayed, the more unfathomable it seemed to leave."

"You loved 'em, didn't you, Mary Poppins?" he asked, knowing the answer.

Biting her lip, she nodded stiffly. She raised a hand to her forehead.

"Are you feelin' alright?" he asked.

"I just seem to have a terrible headache."

He studied her and noticed that everything about her seemed more severe than usual, from the harsh line of her lipstick to the almost cruel slickness of her hair pulled tightly back into a bun. "Well, that 'air of yours can't be 'elping matters."

She snorted, and he jumped to hear such an unladylike sound escape her. "It isn't as if I can run around London with my hair down, Bert!"

"Well, why not?" he asked, genuinely trying to understand. "I wouldn't think any less of ya! You can just put it back up when you 'ave t' go back t' the house."

She thought about it for a good, long time. With a small smile, she raised her hand and snapped. Pins flew into her hands and her hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Modestly he looked away, but his eyes were drawn back to her over and over.

The sun had set by now and the moon was shining brilliantly. The moonlight played in her hair, tangling itself in the soft waves. It glowed its way down her neck, making her pale skin luminescent. It lit her eyes, sparkling and dancing. She was ethereal, yet so real and so human and so right beside him. And just like that, he knew.

He knew the reason he had been so concerned for her, why his stomach had dropped when he had realized she had been crying. He was in love with her. He was so madly in love with her that he had promised that he would never fall in love with her.

"Mary, you look…" he breathed, actively engaged in trying to keep his jaw from dropping. "You look so… beautiful."

"Bert." Her voice held a warning; they were headed into dangerous, unexplored territory.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"It's quite alright. I should really be getting back."

He stood, brushing off his pants and accidentally hitting her in the shoulder. "Sorry," he apologized again.

"It's fine."

Helping her up, he nearly knocked her over. "Sorry!"

"Bert, really!" she laughed. "It is fine."

His hands rested on her waist and they locked eyes. He swallowed nervously and she made no move to change their position. He could hear her breathing, could feel the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. And in that moment, he couldn't think of a time when he hadn't held her in his arms, though this was the first time it had ever happened.

"I should go," she whispered. "Thank you for listening."

"Anytime, Mary, you know that," he replied, forcing himself to concentrate on her words and not on the curve of her waist.

She nodded and smiled sweetly, exhaustion reading in every feature. It shattered his world. She was capable of such love yet kept it so removed from everyone that feelings were exhausting for her. More than that, they were something to be feared. He wanted to show her that it didn't have to be like that, that love could, and should, be giving and nurturing and patient and everything the poets claimed.

"Thank you, Bert," she said quietly and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He made as split-second decision, not even really thinking about it. In one moment of monumental courage and fear, he turned his head so her kiss landed squarely on his lips.

After a second, her lips began to move against his. He pulled her closer to him; he knew that he'd never again feel quite whole unless she was pulled flush against him. One hand reached up to pull that magnificent hair through his fingers, but that was when she came to her senses.

She jumped away from him, her hand shooting out to strike his cheek with an open palm. Tears, not moonlight, glistened in her eyes as she unfurled her umbrella.

"Mary, Mary, wait. Please," he begged. "Let me explain. Please."

She opened her umbrella. "You promised," she accused him, her voice ragged with emotion. Raising the umbrella, she lifted into the air and was out of sight before he could even react. He watched her go and raised his hand to his stinging cheek.

For a moment, she had kissed him back.

He blamed the moonlight.