So here's the thing: I come from writing in the world of Grey's Anatomy, where everybody and their cousin has some sort of skeleton in their closet or dark back story. As a result, I love skeletons and darkness. Now, Bert and Mary don't exactly strike me as the type to have skeletons in their respective closets, but dark back stories… I think it's a possibility. You can tell me I'm wrong, of course, but I think it works.
Anyways, as always, I own nothing.
"No! No!" Michael cries. "I won't take your nasty medicine!"
"Do we have to, Mary Poppins?" Jane whines.
Mary fixes them both with a look. "People who get their feet wet must learn to take their medicine." It's easier to be strict here in the nursery, dressed in her serious gown and apron.
She pours each of them a spoonful and Jane squeals when the tonic comes out different colors. Mary hides a smile as she pours herself some—that trick nearly always works.
"Lime cordial! Delicious!" Jane exclaims and Michael calls out that his is strawberry.
Mary closes her eyes as she takes her own medicine. "Rum punch," she hums and then hiccups quietly.
She had arrived in London in a storm. That's certainly nothing new, but it's worse this time. Usually the wind suddenly changes and a slight drizzle might fall on her umbrella. Not this time. This time she arrives to what seems to be a very lost hurricane. Even her umbrella is of no help in keeping her dry.
Well, she can't very well go to meet her next employer looking like she had taken an ill-advised and fully clothed swim in the ocean. Unfortunately, she doesn't have anywhere to rectify the situation. It's not as if she keeps a permanent residence in London and she can't very well show up suddenly at her childhood home and expect to be treated as the prodigal daughter.
She frowns, wondering how she's going to work her way out of this mess.
"Mary Poppins?"
She turns at her name and sees Bert grinning at her from the relative dryness of an awning. She's surprised he recognizes her—they've only met the one time. "Hello, Bert," she greets him, trying to huddle under her umbrella. "You're looking well."
"And you're looking wet!" he responds quickly. "What's a lady like yourself doing out in this weather?"
"I've just arrived back in London," she informs him.
"You look like you've flown through this storm!"
She shrugs.
"Aw, Mary Poppins, you shouldn't do that. You'll catch your death that way, you will!"
"It's perfectly fine," she retorts, trying to hide a shiver.
"No offense meant, Mary Poppins, but I've seen drowned cats looking better'n you. Do you 'ave anywhere to get out of the rain?"
She shakes her head slowly as her teeth start to chatter. Errant tendrils of hair from her bun plaster themselves to the sides of her face.
He shakes his head and whips off his coat, running out to her through the rain to wrap it around her shoulders. "Now, come on. Let's get you warmed up."
He keeps his arm wrapped around her and leads her into the nearest open building, which turns out to be a pub. "'ere," he calls. "Some brandy to warm the lady!"
Mary looks down. "Brandy gives me a terrible headache," she admits quietly.
"Well, we can't 'ave that now, can we?" he asks rhetorically. "What'll you 'ave?"
"Nothing, thank you," she says to cover the fact that she doesn't drink alcohol enough to have any idea what to order.
She shivers again and he shakes his head. "No, no, you'll 'ave something. I'll not 'ave you catching cold on me watch." They've only met two or three times before but instinctively he knows she's out of her comfort zone, so he turns to the bartender. "She'll 'ave a rum punch," he orders. "Nothing for meself, but I'll pay."
"No matter," the bartender replies. "I know you're good for it, Bert."
He leads her to the seat nearest the fireplace which has been conveniently vacated. "I sweep the chimney," he explains. "And on the colder nights, me and a few buddies'll nip in 'ere for a drink."
"I see," Mary says, mostly just for something to say.
"There, you're looking better already," he comments. "The color's coming back to your cheeks!"
She smiles and ducks her head. "I do feel warmer," she admits. "But now you look wetter! I'm sorry I took your coat. Here." She tries to slip out of the garment, but he places his hands back on her shoulders and doesn't let her.
"You keep it until I say so," he insists. "I'm not the one daft enough to fly through a storm!"
Before she can retort, her drink arrives. "I really am fine," she insists, eying the glass nervously. She's not exactly sure how she'll react to it and it worries her.
"People 'oo get their feet wet 'ave to take their medicine," he responds easily. "Now, drink up."
"It's hardly medicine," she glares but takes a defiant sip. "Why, that's delicious!" she exclaims.
"See? Not too bad is it?"
"No. It's not. Thank you, Bert. For everything."
"Anything for you, Mary Poppins. Anything at all."
Mary hides her smile by taking another sip. And so begins Mary Poppins' love affair with rum punch.
"Mary Poppins, you won't ever leave us, will you?" Jane asks as she hustles them to bed.
"Do you have a handkerchief under your pillow?" Mary deflects.
"Will you stay if we promise to be good?" Michael inquires.
"Oh, that's a pie crust promise," Mary replies curtly but her heart breaks just a little, "easily made, easily broken."
"Whatever would we do without you?" Jane continues.
"I shall stay until the wind changes." It's her customary answer.
"Mary Poppins, how long will that be?"
"Silence, please, it's time to go to sleep," she orders, fussing with the wet clothing in front of the fireplace.
"Oh, we couldn't possibly go to sleep!" Jane exclaims. "So many lovely things have happened today!"
"Did they?"
The children start to outline every last exciting detail of the day… well, every last exciting detail they know about. Mary pretends not to remember; she's very aware that there has to be two sides of her—the magical nanny to the children and the firm governess to their parents.
"Mary Poppins, don't you remember?" Jane frowns. "You won the horse race!"
"A respectable person like me in a horse race? How dare you suggest such a thing!" Mary denies, keeping her face perfectly straight.
"But I saw you do it!" Michael insists.
Mary widens her eyes and fixes them with an infuriated stare. "Now, not another word or I shall have to summon a police man. Is that clear?"
Jane and Michael insist that they're too excited to sleep. Mary nearly sighs in frustration but catches herself and tells them to suit themselves then proceeds to sing them to sleep.
It doesn't take them long to fall asleep and Mary smiles fondly. They really are good children and she enjoys spending time with them.
She turns her eyes back to her knitting but becomes aware of a tapping at the window of her bedroom. She goes and opens it, looking down to find Bert throwing pebbles. "You really have terrible aim, you know," she whispers when it becomes clear that the pebbles miss far more than they hit the glass.
"Got your attention, didn't it?" he retorts.
"One moment," she requests, leaving the window to grab her umbrella and coat. She sits on the sill, swinging her legs out, and then floats gracefully down to the pavement. "Hello, Bert."
He kisses her cheek softly, mostly just because he can. "Hello, Mary Poppins."
"Well, did you have a plan for this evening or are we just going to stand here and stare?"
With a laugh, he takes her hand and leads her to the park. A thick wool blanket has been laid out underneath the now clear skies.
She raises an eyebrow as they sit. "You had this ready? How did you know I'd agree to come out at all?"
"I know you, Mary Poppins. Besides," he grins cheekily. "There's only been one time I've ever known you to say no to me."
"I really am sorry."
"'twas for the best," he says easily. "An' we're 'ere now and that's all that matters. But now I want to know everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything that's 'appened in the last five years. The good, the bad, anything you want to tell."
She shakes her head. "I want to hear about you. I don't want to talk about myself. I'm really very dull."
"You're wrong there, Mary Poppins," he responds, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I find you endlessly fascinating."
She laughs. "You have to say that. You're in love with me!"
"You never know," he insists. "Me brother once was in love with a girl 'oo could 'ave 'ad a very promising career as a lamp post!"
"Bert, really, be kind," she scolds.
He winks and leans back to look up at the sky, stretching out and leaning on his elbows. She continues to sit up straight, her legs tucked gracefully beneath her. "So, 'ow 'ave you been?" he asks.
"You have a brother?" she counters, finally processing the information from his previous statement.
"I do," he confirms. "Don't seem 'im often. 'e's in America."
"Oh." They fall silent for a moment until she finally says what's on her mind. "Bert, I… you know so much about me, but I feel as if I hardly know anything about you!"
"Not much to tell," he says quietly, becoming serious.
"I'd like to know. If it's alright with you."
"Mary, I just… I don't want it to go changing your opinion of me."
"I assure you, nothing could ever do that, not for the worst, at least."
He sighs and lies all the way down. "It's a long story."
She lies down beside him, taking his hand. "I'm here. And I'm not leaving."
With another sigh, he starts, telling of her of his happy childhood. His mother had a touch of magic—not much, just enough to get them into drawings and some trouble, but never anything too worrisome. His father had loved her and his boys more than life itself. She had died when Bert was ten and his brother six. After that, his father could only find solace at the bottom of a bottle and he could be a mean drunk on occasion. Bert tells her he was lucky that he looked like his father, because dear old dad—the words are fraught with sarcasm she didn't know she was capable of—couldn't stand William for looking like their mother. On more than one occasion, Bert had taken a belt meant for his younger brother.
He pauses here to study Mary's reaction. She looks calmly back at him but there's a glimmer of unshed tears behind her eyes. "We can stop 'ere," he says uncomfortably.
"No," she insists. "If you're comfortable telling me more, I want to hear it."
He continues on with his story, seeming to get lighter with every word. He had dropped out of school at the age of twelve, picking up odd jobs to keep bread on the table. William had repaid his kindness by getting into a bit of trouble with the law and running off to America—he says this without malice; he hears from his brother every now and again and William has made good, even found a woman to accept his jaded past and is expecting his second child any day now. His father had died the following year, when Bert was twenty-one and Bert had arranged the funeral. He was angry with his father, of course, but he was still his father and, as stupid as it seemed, he still loved him.
A year to the day after the funeral, Bert had found an odd woman staring at his drawings with the same look his mother used to get before they were suddenly on the Riviera or at the circus. And life had been getting brighter ever since then.
"'ere, Mary, don't cry," Bert pleads, wiping her silent tears away with his free hand. "I wouldn't 'ave told you if I knew it'd make you cry!"
She shakes her head, trying to reconcile this new information with her view of him. This is Bert, her Bert, the one who always has a smile close at hand and who never has an ill word to say about anyone! Bert, who is always the first one to greet her arrival in London and who happily shakes the hand of anyone needing a bit of luck! To know that he's able to do all of that in spite of his childhood, well, it's… it's almost breathtaking.
She leans forward and kisses him. "You are the most wonderful human being I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, Herbert Alfred," she informs him seriously. "And I will love you until the end of time."
"Now that's what I like to 'ear!" he exclaims with a grin.
She laughs as the sky starts to turn a rosy pink at the edge. "I really must be getting back. Jane and Michael will wake soon."
"They're good kids," he asserts as he folds up the blanket and they start to walk. "They might be me favorites out of 'em all!"
She shakes her head. "It would never do for me to play favorites."
He studies her. "You love 'em, don't you, Mary Poppins?"
"What, pray tell, would happen to me if I loved every one of my charges?" she asks haughtily.
"I'm not asking about every one of 'em, I'm asking about the Banks kids!"
She exhales noisily. "Saying goodbye will be… unpleasant."
"Then don't say goodbye," he tells her. "Say farewell instead! Because goodbye-"
"Is permanent," she finishes. "But farewell's until we meet again."
He kisses her cheek quickly as they come to 17 Cherry Tree Lane. "Farewell, Mary Poppins. I'll be seeing you around."
"Farewell, Bert."
I hope you enjoyed!
I have the next chapter written, but I don't think I'll have time to post it until I'm back in the States... Look for it some time around maybe Wednesday! :)
-Juli-