A/N: I guess this is a/u as it does not follow what happened in the final episode, and is written as if Kate & Ivan ran away together instead. I saw a lot of talk about this plot line in the tumblr tag and I just had to fill the prompt. Apologies for any factual errors.

Gladys often leaves cryptic notes. She thinks they're endearing and playful, and she enjoys games, especially when they involve a dubious Betty. That's one thing she proves her parents right about; in many ways, she's still the boisterous young girl causing trouble at boarding school. Just like the other half a dozen times, Betty curses at the note when she sees it appear under her door, grumbles under her breath, something about Gladys Witham and her stupid Nancy Drew fantasies, but she can't help but break out in a small smile, feel a familiar flutter of excitement in her stomach. Adventures with Gladys seldom turn out to be 'stupid'. Since Kate left – for good this time – sneaking around with Gladys has been Betty's only real thrill. James dying has just made her worse, more outrageous. She has too much time on her hands.

She tucks the note inside her purse and gets dressed. Gladys wants to meet before their shift, which gives Betty fifteen minutes before she has to catch a street car to the location penned in her friend's neat handwriting. Fortunately, she recognises the address even if she doesn't know the area well; there's nothing there besides houses and a pricey restaurant or two. It's not exactly Betty's kind of neighbourhood. Typical of Gladys to lead her off to someplace fancy where she was going to stick out like a sore thumb even more than she usually did, but then there was nothing Betty enjoyed more than terrorising the rich. Well, terrorising was probably too strong a word, but she couldn't imagine that Gladys was inviting her out there at eight in the morning for some lobster or a shrimp cocktail.

It's cold out, which makes Betty grumpier than usual. She's never been a morning person, but, prior to Kate leaving, she had at least been able to offer up a smile in the early hours. They always travelled into work together, Betty complaining all the way and Kate gazing at her with that look of absolute fondness that made her heart ache in her chest, whilst she teased her for not going to bed earlier. Occasionally, before she left the first time, she would sit there with so much passion in her eyes as she told Betty all about a singing lesson with Leon, or a night out with Gladys, and Betty would think that maybe getting up early wasn't so bad if it meant seeing Kate look so alive. But, lately, she's only had herself for company. Gladys is always saying that when she gets her license, a car of her own, she'll pick her up in the mornings like she used to before James' parents took his car back, but she's been saying it for weeks. It's an empty promise. And bearing in mind how erratic Gladys is nowadays, it's probably best she isn't behind the wheel.

The streetcar pulls up and Betty jumps off, reviewing her surroundings. Okay, maybe she doesn't know this part of town quite as well as she thinks she does, because this place isn't as fancy as she thought. Her mind drifts back to a stupid comment she made to Kate on her first day. She always tries to act like a know-it-all, but she isn't smart, actually doesn't know much about anything. She quit school when she was still a kid. The houses around where she's standing are beautiful, but understated. White, beige and grey wood, brightly coloured roofs, matching shutters. Betty would be more inclined to stare a little longer if it weren't for the bitter wind threatening to whisk her hat off her head. She grunts, pulling her coat tighter around her, delving her hands into her pockets.

As is fairly usual for Gladys, she is late.

When she arrives, her heels are click-clacking, and she'd be running if she were wearing sensible shoes, but she can only manage brisk walk, dipping away from the wind, clasping her hat firmly on her head. She's wearing a blouse and a pair of pastel trousers that aren't entirely dissimilar from the pair Betty's wearing, except in colour. She still hasn't quite got used to someone like Gladys being dressed like that, even though she's been wearing them for months. She still manages to look prim and proper though, even as the wind is catching the ends of her hair, sweeping curls all over her face.

"This better be good," Betty greeted, though she couldn't stop the lopsided grin that immediately rose to her face.

"You think I'd bring you out at this time of morning for anything less than spectacularly good, Betty McRae?" she has a bright smile on her face, and her eyes are filled with mischief. It's an expression that used to wind Betty up when they first met, but now it's irresistible; contagious, even. She hooks her arm through Betty's and spins her round so she's facing the house they are closest to. With a delighted squeal, she wraps her arms around Betty's shoulders and leans her head in the crook of her neck. Betty squints, trying to work out what she's trying to show her.

"Princess, I gotta hand it to you... you've completely baffled me yet again."

She doesn't have to be looking at Gladys to know that the brunette is rolling her eyes. She untangles herself from Betty, and instead grabs her arm, tugging her closer to the house. They stop just short of its front steps. This particular house is painted a shade of yellow that makes Betty think of buttercups, with an appropriately painted green roof and shutters. It has a small front porch, probably big enough for a couple of chairs, a pot plant or two, but it's been left bare. Betty turns her head to look at Gladys again, and her friend is standing there so patiently, as if awaiting something.

"Well?" Gladys finally presses, nudging Betty gently in the side with her elbow.

"Well what? I dunno what we're lookin' at. You're gonna have to at least give me a clue here," she tries not to sound too irritable, but it's early, and she's staring at a house in the middle of a neighbourhood she doesn't know, in the freezing cold, and honestly it's enough to make even a cheerful soul feel a little irritated. She hears Gladys audibly sigh beside her, and feels herself getting riled up again, but before she can say anything else, Gladys grasps her hand.

"Your new home."

The words take a moment to hit her, and when they do, she swerves so fast that she thinks she might have knocked Gladys out if she'd had a stray limb. Gladys is looking pretty pleased with herself, which just makes it worse. She can't mean what Betty thinks she means, right?

"My... what?"

Gladys shrugs like she's just announced the most casual thing in the world, "it's yours," she offers as means of an explanation, but really explains absolutely nothing.

"Cut it out, I can't afford a place like this. You heard what the bank said. I-"

"I know," Gladys cuts in, "I bought it for you."

She's not sure, but Betty thinks all the colour has just drained out of her face. The way Gladys is speaking, like this is nothing, makes her stomach churn. She can feel tears pricking at her eyes as she tries to twist her mouth into a smile, but can only just about muster up her usual determined pout.

"Well? Say something?" Gladys says, sounding like she is about to deflate.

"I can't accept this," is all Betty can say, her words small and flat. She drags her eyes away from the house and looks at Gladys again. She has a hopeful look in her eyes, but Betty can tell what she's thinking. This was a bad idea. I've offended her. I've misread the whole situation. Another one of your crazy schemes you didn't think through. Until she'd seen that expression on Gladys' face, she had hoped this was some kind of joke, but now she sees that it isn't, and her whole body feels like it's going to crumple. I'm not some kinda charity case.

As if Gladys is reading her mind, she grasps Betty's hand tighter and, evenly, continues, "I'm not giving it to you, I'm saying you can pay me back. Over time. I don't care how long it takes."

"Why?" Betty finally chokes out, and she's glad she's with Gladys because of everyone, Gladys has already seen her cry enough this year, she can probably handle a few more tears. People seem to think girls like Betty don't cry, but Gladys knows better.

"I wanted you to have something of your own," she eventually says, "something that won't leave you. You deserve that."

She doesn't say Kate or Teresa, but Betty knows that's what she's implying. They've followed an unspoken rule, not talked about Kate since she left, not talked about Teresa at all. In turn, Betty hasn't mentioned James. They've had fun, been boisterous and attached at the hip and all the things best friends are supposed to be, skipping out on the misery of war and everything they've both loved and lost. They both wasted too much time and energy the first time around, and this time they've vowed – silently – to get on with their lives, but that doesn't mean she hasn't thought about how hard it must be for Gladys. She's wondered what it would have been like if James hadn't died, had come back in one piece. Selfishly, she's sort of grateful that that didn't happen, that she has someone to share her misery with. If anything, Gladys had already given her something that was just hers in her friendship over the last few months.

"Do you like it?" Gladys tentatively asks.

Betty isn't sure she can form words without falling apart, so she just nods, over and over again, until Gladys is pulling her into a hug and she's breathing in the smell of her hair, burying her nose in the place where her neck meets her shoulder, clinging to her for dear life. No one has ever done anything like this for her before; she's sure no one ever will again. She doesn't know what to say, but when she pulls away to try and formulate some words, Gladys puts her finger to her lips and instead leads her inside.

It's only as she puts the key in the lock that it really hits home what Gladys has done. Betty has a house. It's a real house with linoleum flooring and bright, fresh, new wallpaper. It has a kitchen with a stove twice the size of the one in the rooming house, and a living room that smells like fresh flowers, not vomit and liquor and cigarette smoke. They walk upstairs, and there's not one but two bedrooms. Betty stands in the smaller one, gazing out of the window, recalling a conversation she'd had with Kate, what feels like years and years and years ago. When all this was a distant dream. Betty has had pictures of houses and views like this pinned up around her room for the last two years, never letting herself believe for one moment that it will ever be a reality. She turns to find Gladys hovering in the doorway.

"Y'know, I asked Kate to live with me in a place like this one day," Betty says quietly. Kate's name feels foreign on her tongue; she's thought about her constantly since she left, but not spoken about her aloud. She sees from the look on Gladys' face that she's surprised at the mention, too, "we were going to be roomies."

There's nothing for Gladys to say, so she just nods, mutely. Kate said a lot of things she probably didn't mean. She was just starting out on a whole new life when Betty first met her, and everything was new and beautiful, and the idea of sharing a house with someone she barely knew felt appealing. That's what Betty has to keep telling herself so she doesn't dwell on the fact she's gone, shacked up with her new husband in a dank, tiny bedroom somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere miles away where she probably doesn't give Betty a moment's thought. For weeks, Betty's told herself this and told herself this and told herself until she's almost convinced herself that it's true. But now, standing in an empty room, she's haunted by the ghost of Kate more than ever. She sighs, rubbing her neck and craning to meet Gladys' eyes.

"It's gonna be awful lonely here all by myself," she finally says, hoping she doesn't sound as pathetic as she feels.

"At least you won't be fighting for hot water with all the other girls. Won't have anyone banging on your door in the small hours to ask for wash powder?"

Betty nods, but her heart's not in it. This has always been the dream, but suddenly the dream feels lonely and cold and maybe not what she wanted after all. Typical Betty; Gladys has bought you a house – a dream house - and, selfishly, you don't want it anymore.

Gladys, who lives at home with her parents who drive her nuts, after losing her fiancé, and any chance of getting out of that house, in the war.

Gladys, who has staff who cook her meals and run her baths and do her laundry.

It's a bad idea, she thinks. It's a bad idea to want to be able to stay up all night playing cards, or drinking whiskey, or listening to the radio. It's a bad idea to want to have someone scramble into bed with her, and kick her with cold feet in the middle of the night, and to hog all of the covers (all of which she knows Gladys does without exception). It's a bad idea to even formulate the thoughts, let alone the words, and yet before she can stop herself, she's saying it. And once she's said it, the idea is out there and she can't take it back.

"What?" Gladys says, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Move in with me. I've got the space. And, hell, you're paying for the place, you might as well get your money's worth."

"You're paying for it, I'm just lending you the money," she amends, but Betty can tell she's thinking it over. Gladys has a tell-tale thinking face and Betty's seen it enough times to know what it looks like.

"Come on, don't pretend like the thought never crossed your mind. You can't stand your parents. If I can move out of the rooming house, get my dream, you can have yours too, Princess. Just you and me. Us against the world."

Anyone else and Betty would be worrying about what she sounds like, the implications, but Gladys knows what she's asking. Gladys, unlike everyone else, understands her, the real her. Gladys doesn't see her as a pervert or a 'deviant'. All she sees is a friend who is different from other girls, but who still deserves respect and love all the same. Gladys was the first person Betty ever explained herself to, the first person who didn't run a mile. She accepted it like some part of her had known about it all along. She's never treated her any differently.

Slowly, a smile spreads across Gladys' lips. A smile which turns into a grin, reaching right up to her eyes. She steps closer, taking both of Betty's hands, her nose scrunching, the grin looking like it might split her face in half. She nods, lacing their fingers together.

"Alright. Yes! Let's do it!"