Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me but to the talented L.M. Montgomery, and I am making no profit from their use.
A/N: This story takes place in the Anne movie-verse. It seemed obvious to me that AoGG: the Sequel was missing a few scenes between when Anne visits Gilbert's sickbed and when he finds her picking apples... I know it's been done, but here is my take on what might have happened in between!
Her hand shook as she lifted it to knock on the door of the Blythe farmhouse. What would Mr. and Mrs. Blythe think of her, following the hired man all the way from Green Gables, visiting at dawn with her skirts rumpled and her hair everywhere? And all to see their son, whose proposal of marriage she'd so thoughtlessly and hastily declined, and who was likely too sick to even see her at the moment... perhaps even dying.
Anne shivered miserably and knocked. No, no part of this was proper. But if word got around—and in Avonlea, it would get around—she would accept the sting of the gossip as a penance... a penance for her foolishness in taking so long to realize her true feelings for Gilbert.
Mrs. Blythe answered the door, looking tired and much, much older than she had when Anne had seen her last. It was plain that she couldn't have been more surprised if she'd opened the door to find a two-headed camel. "Anne Shirley!"
Anne pulled her sweater closer against the dewy morning chill, and against Gil's mother's icy gaze. "He- Hello." she stammered. Since Anne had rejected Gilbert's proposal, Mrs. Blythe had treated her with a wounded coolness, as if she'd been the lover scorned, and not her son. And truth told, Anne could hardly blame her. Anne knew she'd broken the heart of the finest man in Avonlea, and how could anyone be expected to forgive her for that?
Especially when he was dying.
"Anne, what brings you here so early?"
The forced levity in Mrs. Blythe's voice nearly brought Anne over the edge as she fought the tears she'd been fighting since Minnie May Barry had asked the awful question: Did you know Gilbert Blythe is dying? "Mrs. Blythe... I only just heard about Gilbert. Please... How- how is he?"
The older woman shook her head. "I... It's in God's hands now." she said in pinched tones, and despite the ill-will Mrs. Blythe bore her, Anne longed to reach out and comfort her in this time of darkness.
Before she could, however, Mr. Blythe appeared in the doorway, placing a soft hand on his wife's shoulder. "Anne." he nodded in greeting. Anne had always liked the sound of John Blythe's voice- below its deep gruffness, it always seemed to be carrying an undercurrent of good humor. Today, though, he only sounded sad and resigned. "Won't you come in?"
Anne paused for a moment. More than anything, she wanted to see Gil. She felt acutely aware that time was running out, had felt a sickening jolt with every tick of the clock since that fateful moment on the porch with Minnie May. And yet, it wouldn't be right to go to him. To trouble him with her confessions of love and foolishness would only serve to lighten her heart while further burdening his.
And besides, she thought with sudden dismay, he was engaged. She didn't have the right. "No." Anne whispered regretfully. "No, I- I only came to- to give him this." She held out the copy of the book that she'd been clutching mindlessly for the past half-hour, the first work she'd ever written that was good enough for publishing—the book he'd inspired her to write. "I- I thought he might- might like to see..." She floundered helplessly, somehow unable to find any kind of ending to that sentence. Finally she thrust the book into Mr. Blythe's hands decisively. "Please... tell him that... that I'm praying for him. We all are."
"Thank you, Anne, but..." John exchanged a glance with his wife before continuing, "I'm sure it would mean more if you gave this to him yourself. Are you sure you don't want to see him?"
Anne felt something constrict within her heart. How could they think she didn't want to see him? A single minute with him now would be infinitely precious, especially if... Oh, when she thought of all the time she'd wasted these past years! "I- I..."
"He'll want to see you, Anne." John said quietly, and for her, that settled the matter. With a nod, she accepted the book back and allowed Gilbert's father to guide her into the kitchen, and further towards the bedrooms. "He's been very feverish, even delusional at times." John warned, then smiled sadly. "I hope he'll forgive me for letting you see him in this state."
Anne blushed crimson. "Then, why- why are you letting me...?"
John placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "My girl, if the worst should happen, if Gilbert doesn't pull through... I would never want you to regret not coming."
Anne's breath hitched and she swallowed hard. The fact that Gil was dying had been hovering in the air between them, but this was the first it had been spoken aloud. She looked up into Mr. Blythe's face. His expression was frank and sober, but at the same time, kind and sympathetic. Mr. Blythe was practical and grounded in a way that she could never be, but there was a warmth in him, kindness, and a personal understanding... Anne found herself wondering if he knew how like him his son was... And she wondered if when Mr. Blythe looked at her, he didn't sometimes see Marilla.
He placed his hand on the bedroom doorknob and Anne reached out to touch his sleeve. "Mr. Blythe," she whispered, "Thank you."
Mr. Blythe nodded and opened the door, immediately crossing to the bedside. "Gilbert." he said quietly, rousing his son with a gentle shake of the shoulder. "You have a visitor."
Anne hung back, lingering in the doorway, feeling intimidated and small. The room was not particularly dark or stuffy, but it was solemn with the presence of illness, the faint smell of salves and herbal tea. Try as she might, she couldn't keep her eyes from glancing about. She had never been in a man's bedroom before, much less Gilbert's.
And then the prone, white figure in the bed stirred, and his eyes met hers. "Anne." Gilbert breathed, in the barest of whispers. His face was pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and he seemed to lack the energy even to lift his head.
She could do nothing but step immediately to his side. "Yes, it's me, Gilbert." she said, her voice slightly rough with unshed tears. "I- I came to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles in the woods." She could hardly tell him how she really felt. The only thing she could do at this point was let him know that no matter what had occurred between them in the past, he had her devoted, unyielding friendship.
"...Wish I could go." Gil rasped from between parched lips.
Mr. Blythe took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed as, not trusting herself to speak, Anne took to her knees by the bed, fussing with her skirts for a moment. "I brought you my book." she said finally. "I've been published, Gil!"
His eyes focused intently on her, and she detected the shine of pride in them, but he was too weak to react any further. Anne didn't know how he might have reacted to her news if he'd been well, but she could imagine it, and the happiness and admiration he would have felt for her caused a lump to form in her throat. "I wrote about Avonlea, just as you said I should. Without any 'high-faluting mumbo-jumbo.'" She laughed a little bit, remembering how Gilbert's previous criticism of her story had ended in a stinging argument... and yet now that day seemed like a happy memory.
She opened the book to the dedication page and held it out to him, showing him his own name in print. "I dedicated the inscription to Marilla, and to Matthew... and to you." She was crying now in earnest. Her voice broke, and she found the courage to take his too-warm hand in her own. "I was planning on saving it as a wedding gift, but then I decided I just couldn't wait."
"Anne, there's... there's not going to be any wedding anymore." Gil whispered, and Anne was struck numb by the finality of his words.
"You're going to get well, Gil, I know you will!" she protested, sobbing slightly, but he squeezed her hand lightly.
"I called it off." he explained weakly, to her shock and confusion. "It wouldn't have been fair to Christine."
"Gil..." she breathed. What was he saying?
He looked her in the eyes, and suddenly she was trembling all over. As slowly and clearly as he was able, he told her, "There will never be anyone for me but you."
Anne inhaled sharply, and two more tears fell from her eyes as she lifted their clasped hands to her face, pressing his hand to her cheek. Her heart broke with the surge of tenderness she felt for him—how could he still love her after she'd acted so foolishly?
She had thought that his leaving her forever, without a word or sign or message, would be the worst torture imaginable, but she had been wrong. Knowing for certain that he still loved her, and that but for this, they might have been blissfully happy together... this was so much more unbearable! "Oh, Gil..." she sobbed. "I was so wrong."
"Don't cry, Anne." he murmured, letting his thumb caress her cheek lightly. "It doesn't matter now."
"What- what do you mean?" she asked, confused. "What doesn't matter now?"
"I heard," Gilbert rasped, and his voice was raw and strained. "That you were getting engaged... to a man in Kingsport."
How had he heard that, Anne wondered vaguely. Perhaps Diana had inadvertently spread the news of her tall, dark, handsome, and rich Kingsport beau. Or perhaps Rachel Lynde had seen it in one of her letters to Marilla... But it hardly mattered now, did it? Anne gave a bitter little chuckle. "Almost. He proposed. I refused."
"You... refused?" Gil whispered slowly, wondrously. A flame began to kindle somewhere behind his eyes, and Anne couldn't say for certain whether it was another spell of fever, or something else entirely. "...Why?"
"I didn't know why." The tears started again, and Anne used the back of her free hand to try and stem their flow. This, of course, only made her cry harder. "I didn't know, until... until Minnie May told me... she told me how sick you were. Oh, Gil!"
"Anne?" It obviously took a lot of effort, but Gilbert managed to lift his leaden hand and rest it on her forearm, just below where she still retained his other hand in a soft clasp.
"Ever since the day you rescued me on the lake... really, since I came to Avonlea, you've always been there. You can't leave me alone now, Gil, not now that I know how I truly, truly feel!" Anne pleaded desperately.
His burning eyes locked onto hers. "Say it." he murmured hoarsely.
She didn't hesitate. "I love you." she said softly. "I love you, Gil. I think I always have."
Gilbert closed his eyes again, the smile of a hard-won victory upon his white lips. "You don't know," he said, his words coming in short, labored fragments, "how long I've been waiting... to hear you say that."
"I love you." Anne said again, her own faint, bittersweet smile settling on her lips. If Gilbert would only get well, she would say it every day, she vowed to herself. Whenever he wanted to hear it!
"...Love you." Gil returned, almost inaudibly, and Anne's heart gave a queer little quivering jump, the way it always did when he said such things to her.
"Oh!" She let out a little, involuntary cry, overwhelmed by passion. Her book thumped softly to the floor, forgotten, as she moved a trembling hand to touch him. Her cool fingers smoothed the hair away from his fevered brow in a bold, intimate caress. "You must get well, Gil!"
"Anne..." Gilbert's strength was rapidly fading, but he tenaciously attempted to elicit one last assurance from her before it did. "When I... will you..."
Anne nodded her acceptance. "Rest now," she coaxed. "You will get better, and then I will marry you." She smiled bravely. "And then we will have years and years to talk about whatever you want, my darling." She tasted the new epithet on her tongue and decided she liked it. "But now you need to rest."
"Anne..." He seemed incapable of saying anything but her name, but the way he looked at her said everything else.
He sank back into a fevered sleep, but Anne remained, keeping watch over him, his hand clasped tightly in her own. Somehow their exchange of confessions had given her confidence that Gilbert would recover...
Or perhaps it was only that losing him now was no longer an option she could accept.
A/N: There is at least one more chapter to this story. Please review and tell me what you think, and I'll be sure to post it soon!