Notes: So this is the first time I've ever published fics about Dickens' characters. I've toyed with ideas several times in the past but never thought of taking the chance and posting them online. Thus, they remained scribbles in notebooks that I lost over the years. I've always loved David Copperfield since I was a kid, probably because it was the first Dickens book I chose to read. And Agnes Wickfield became my favorite character immediately, second only to Betsey Trotwood. Both characters remind me of my own mother — who is nurturing and gentle but also has a sharp wit about her and an honesty that has shaped me. There will be a couple of AU drabbles, here and there, I hope the purists don't come after me with pitchforks. XD I promise you, I'll do my best! :)


David realizes that his heart is not disciplined yet when he catches a gentleman conversing with Agnes at the foot of the grand old staircase. By his side is a little girl whose admiring gaze is fixed on the dear Angel of his life and of his heart. The man is only slightly older than he, and he has the little girl's hand clasped protectively in his.

"Odette sings beautifully, Mr. Collins," Agnes says in such a clear voice, eliciting a blush from the little girl. "You must be so proud." She has never been one to give false praise and it is her honest, goodhearted nature that has made her a treasure to many – especially to his aunt, who is not at all easily impressed.

Mr. Collins beams and the expression on his face is – to David's mind – the same besotted one that Traddles has when he waxes poetic about Sophy, his dearest girl in the world. Or, it may be just that way to him because David truly understands how blessed the world is to have Agnes Wickfield living in it.

"I have you to thank for my Odette's newfound confidence, Miss Wickfield. She is much improved since last year when we first arrived in Canterbury." His gaze on Agnes is so earnest and hopeful, as if he had never seen a more beatific countenance in his life and must fall to his knees before her.

It takes a great deal of effort on David's part to give them a cordial nod as father and daughter pass him by in the foyer, after they bid Agnes farewell.

Agnes greets him with her usual sweet smile and a warm embrace, which he relishes, even as she pulls away too soon.

"Have you a new chapter of your story to read to me, Trotwood?" she asks, as they walk up the staircase to the familiar drawing room where she would play the piano for her father. "I should like to hear all about the shipwrecked sailor and if he has survived in the jungle or not."

"You will know soon enough, dearest Sister. There are other characters I must introduce you to."

When she laughs, the sound of it is so musical that David feels his resolve waver. For one brief moment, he contemplates telling her that in his heart, she has long ceased to be his sister and friend, and that her quiet beauty pervades his every dream now. He wants to tell her just how much he loves her – not at all the love of a brother for a sister, but the love of a man for a woman. He aches to tell her – now, if she will let him – that unworthy of her love as he is, it would kill him if they were ever to be parted. It is a quiet agony he suffers, being so near the woman who has taught him how to live and yet being unable to hold her in his arms and kiss her. He knows he must accept that if there had ever been a time when she nurtured a love for him, that he had all too quickly cast it selfishly aside and must now pay the price for such a transgression. But seeing another man gaze lovingly at her so soon after he made this promise to honor and cherish her from his removed place still hurts far more than David realizes.

Her angel-face glows in the light of the setting sun – yet another image of her that he shall take with him into his dreams. She tells him of the progress her little charges have made, of how happy she is that she has another purpose apart from the filial duty to her father that has defined her young life.

When she speaks of Odette and her father, Mr. Collins, she becomes subdued; and on her face is the same quiet, sad smile that David saw that day he spoke to her again after his three-year sojourn. She tells him that Mr. Collins is a widower, and that he has no one in the world but his little daughter now.

David wonders if this is the man Agnes has bestowed her affections upon. He wants to ask her, but he remembers how uneasy she was when he first attempted to lead her to revealing who it was that had her heart.

"It relieves me to see Odette in better spirits. She lost her dear mother only months before they came to Canterbury," she says. "I sometimes think I see myself in her, Trotwood. She is so devoted to her father and strives to ensure he is happy."

Ah, Agnes! Could she ever be anything other than loving and good?

As he drinks in every word she says, allowing himself to be comforted by her serene presence and gentle voice, he thinks of a distant day when he, as an old man, can tell her –

" – I shall always love you and be devoted to you, Agnes."

Her hand is upon his, her touch warming him to his very bones, and he sees unshed tears in her eyes as she assures him that she will always love her dear brother as well.

If only she had a clue as to the state of his heart – unraveling in its hopes each time he visits her.

"Blind, blind, blind!" he can hear his aunt say. And David knows it to be the truth.