A/N: I have had this idea in my head for a long time now and thought I'd finally give it at least a bit of a chance and write something.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Gilbert's boots crunched through the thick layer of Canadian snow on the ground as he hefted his bag over his shoulder and made his way across the drive from his rental car to the little cabin. The smoke billowing from the chimney closely resembled his breath and he grit is teeth to prevent them from chattering. This wasn't Ottawa, where he sometimes visited Mathew. No, this was Yukon Territory, and the winter chill in Whitehorse had a special way of kicking your teeth in.
He tucked his nose farther into his scarf as he made his way up the freshly shoveled steps and rapped sharply on the door, bobbing on his heels in a vain attempt to keep warm. He was torn between anger and worry as he glared at the door, but worry quickly won out as the cabin door cracked open and he was met by a wave of welcoming heat and two hazel eyes that seemed to have lost even more of their spark since he last saw them.
Gilbert snapped out of his thoughts and quickly pushed passed the woman into the warmth of the little house. "When you said you were in Canada I assumed you were with Canada!" He said with halfhearted indignation, stomping the snow off of his boots and onto her dry carpet. She didn't even blink an eye at the mess, having long ago learned that Gilbert will always be Gilbert and one had to pick and choose their battles with him for they were exhausting.
"I felt that I needed a break," she responded breezily, making her way into the kitchen to remove a hissing kettle from the stove.
"You felt you needed a break from your break?" Gilbert questioned cheekily, removing coat after coat and piling them by the door until he was left in a simple plaid button-up. Making his way around several piles of books, all ranging in age and size, littering the ground and depositing himself heavily on the couch.
She didn't respond, but brought in a tray from the kitchen with two cups of tea and rested it next to a first edition copy of "Two Solitudes" on the coffee table. She perched herself next to him on the couch and turned to him eagerly. "Where is my present?"
"What present?" Gilbert teased, but obligingly pulled a large bottle of Ouzo out of his bag before handing it to his friend.
They quickly fell into the routine they had carried out every year for the past twenty years. That routine being that they ate a dinner she had prepared, then after the dishes were put away they regrouped with the bottle and drank more than they should while Gilbert regaled her in all the events and gossip she had missed. She would smile and laugh at all the correct times even though she had already read most of these stories from his blog that he updated obsessively. By the time the bottle was empty the air had become nostalgic.
"Where do you think you're going to go next?" Gilbert asked from his place sprawled on the ground. He had fallen off the couch about twenty minutes ago and hadn't bothered to get back up.
Her usually peaceful and thoughtful expression turned pained and even through his drunken stupor Gilbert could see her real age in her eyes at that moment. It was just a glint, but it still managed to remind him of rolling sands and drying ink.
"I haven't decided yet," she looked away from his piercing red eyes and turned her attention to the empty bottle in her hands. "Perhaps somewhere warm."
"I hear Greece is beautiful this time of year," Gilbert suggested, watching her with a deceptively lazy expression. "Maybe even Egypt."
She leaned forward to place the bottle on the floor beside her feet, allowing her thick, dark curls to fall forward, blocking her face from his view. She remains so still and so silent that Gilbert assumes that line of questioning was over when she quietly responded. "How are they?" There is so much despair in her voice he flinches.
"Greece is having trouble with his economy, and Egypt with his government. Nothing they haven't dealt with before though," He answered honestly. "They are tough, and West is helping them out as best he can."
"I could kiss your brother," she smiled.
Gilbert scowled. "West gets all the love. Little Italy and now you too?"
"Ah, Gilbert," She teased. "You know I adore you." Her tone took on a more serious note. "The others…they can't understand. Not completely at least. The old empires like England and China have their nostalgia for power and prestige but…"
"That's why we ghosts need to stick together!" Gilbert cheered, raising his empty glass. "By the way, I got you a second present!" He stumbled to his knees and crawled over the short distance to his bag before pulling out a book and tossing it at his friend but missing and knocking her own glass to the (thankfully carpeted) floor. She reached down and retrieved it curiously. It was a plane leather bound book and in the inside cover in Gilbert's handwriting read "To: Alexandria From: Gilbert and Gilbird" followed by a little drawing of his little yellow bird. She flipped through the rest of the book. Blank.
Alexandria raised an eyebrow at her friend. "A journal?"
"I don't know why I never thought if it before," Gilbert said. "It has been great for helping me through the centuries."
"What am I supposed to write?" She asked skeptically.
"A story!" Gilbert exclaimed. "The one only you can write."
"And what story is that exactly?"
He rolled his red eyes like the answer was obvious. "The story of The Library of Alexandria of course."