Disclaimer: The Anne of Green Gables series is property of L. M. Montgomery. Alas, I own nothing.
The Blythes looked on anxiously as the doctor moved about the sick-room. He checked the patient's pulse, felt his forehead, and listed to his heartbeat, but weariness seemed etched into the man's face as he put away his stethoscope and motioned for the couple to step outside so as not to disturb the sleeping boy – for indeed, lying feverish and weak, Gilbert looked more like a boy than a man.
"Well, doctor?" Mrs. Blythe asked anxiously as soon as the door was closed. "Is he – is he any better?"
Dr. Spencer looked grim. "I told you a week ago that I haven't much hope for the boy, and he – he's not better. If anything, he's worsening." There was a sharp intake of breath from both parents, and he quickly added, "But, I must tell you, it's a wonder that the boy made it through the last week at all, so he may make a turnaround yet. Just it will be – difficult."
The parents nodded wearily. They had not really expected any better.
Dr. Spencer glanced at the closed door. "Worked very hard this last term, did he?"
"Yes, he'll be starting medical school in the fall," the father answered.
"Did he rest once he was home? Recover his energy?" the doctor persisted.
The Blythes exchanged a worried look. "He certainly has spent most of his time in his room," the father began. "We thought he just needed rest, and home-cooking, and so we hoped that his strength would be recovered given time. But then, well, then he came down with fever."
The doctor sighed. "He's overworked himself excessively. Even more, I would say, than most enthusiastic young people. And the pressures of college are enough to haunt a person even after graduation. You," his voice roughened. "You must be proud of all he's accomplished."
Tears started to Mrs. Blythe's eyes, and Mr. Blythe could only nod, throat too tight to speak. They escorted the good doctor to the door and returned to the sick-room. Even in the dim lamplight, they could see the boy's hair wet with sweat. A fresh towel was placed on his head, and his blankets were changed for drier ones – the sheets and pajamas would have to wait until he woke. The movement caused the patient to stir slightly and mumble something incoherent; his parents exchanged a worried glance, but this had happened too many times in the past weeks to receive comment. They left the door slightly open, for as repugnant as it was to allow sick-room air to penetrate the rest of the house, it was far worse to shut their son up by himself. Out in the hallway, they paused and looked back at the fevered boy.
"Overworked himself, huh?" Mr. Blythe said. "Small wonder that Anne Shirley went on a long vacation as soon as term ended. She only got back today, you know; I passed her and her luggage when I stopped in town this afternoon."
"Anne Shirley," Mrs. Blythe spoke the name scornfully. "I suppose she's married by now to the Kingsport man."
"It's strange," Mr. Blythe said thoughtfully as the couple started down the hall to supper. "I didn't stop to talk to her, being anxious to get home, but she was definitely all by herself, and for all that talk of her having a rich beau, I didn't see so much as a ring on her hand."
His wife gave a response uncharitable to the person in question. Gilbert had never mentioned the subject to his parents, but his rejection by the redheaded Green Gables girl sat well with neither their pride nor their protectiveness toward their son. They descended the stairs trying to speak of lighter things and tried to enjoy their supper as well as they could.
But the conversation outside the sick-room had filtered through the crack in the doorway, and somewhere in Gilbert's fevered dreams, there darted the faintest glimmer of hope, a hint of light just enough to finally lay his deepest fears to rest.
And so it was, that when Dr. Spencer visited the next day, he pronounced it the most miraculous recovery that he had ever seen.
A/N: Gilbert recovers the same night that Anne gets back to Avonlea - coincidence? I think not.