Chapter 2

When Gilbert awoke again he found himself alone in the dull light of early morning, and he looked around the room he had been trapped in for so long, the weight of disappointment nearly choking him. Another hallucination, another dream. He dully thought that he should have known, and he sank back into his mattress, turning his head to the wall, when the floor creaked behind him.

"Gil! You're awake."

He turned his head slowly back to meet his father's eyes, seeing the surprised look on his face. "Dad."

"Your mother's off getting some sleep, son- something she hasn't had a lot of, lately."

"Sorry."

John Blythe shook his head, and clumsily pushed the hair back from his boy's forehead, still finding it too hot. "Don't worry."

Gilbert cleared a dry throat, and his father helped him take a sip of water before falling back against his pillows. "Thanks."

"Mr Blythe, can you tell me where Mrs Blythe keeps the tea?" a new voice spoke, and a lighter step came into the bedroom. Gilbert's eyes were enormous as Anne's face came into view. He saw her halt, and colour covered her pale face. She turned to his father, who was watching Gilbert's reaction, his face startled. "Oh- er- Mr Blythe, I'm sorry; I didn't want to disturb Mrs Blythe."

John stood up, his face carefully calm. "'Course. I'll get the tea. Anne, would you mind staying with him till I get back?" After a minute of watching the two of them stare at each other silently, John rolled his eyes and eased himself through the doorway, leaving them once more alone.

A choke left his throat, the emotions at seeing her in the flesh too much for him. "How do I know it's not another dream?" he pleaded.

She gave a wistful laugh. "I swear that I'm real, Gil. How do I know you will remember this later?"

There was a faint smile that lit his face, and he rested back on his pillow. "I guess we both see in the morning."

"It is morning."

"Night, then."

She chuckled, and sat down on the chair beside him, wiping her tears away with shaking hands. "Always so argumentative," she whispered, and she looked at him for a moment in silence. The long night, the exhaustion and the pallor on the boy's face pierced her heart, and with a choked cry she buried her face in her hands, bitter tears falling in her lap. She felt a hand pluck at her skirt, Gilbert's own trying to clumsily pat her.

"Anne, stop, please, stop," he pleaded. "It's not worth all this."

At this, she shot him look of fury that made him wince, even in his state. "Really? Worry about your life? Tell me what it is worth, then."

Feebly wondering if he should perhaps have stayed asleep, he made light of the moment. "A nice eulogy? I don't know-" this, it turned out was the worst thing he could have said, and he watched her in shock get up to storm out, tears streaming down her face. "Anne- Anne," he said loudly, trying to push himself up from the bed, and failing miserably. "For pity's sake, just for once, have mercy on a sick fellow and come here."

She did so, her green eyes glittering furiously. "After everything everyone is suffering on your behalf- you will not joke about your death! Do you hear me, Gilbert Blythe?"

His hazel eyes met hers, fatigue making him slump back on his pillow. "Alright." He waited until she sat down to mutter teasingly- "You'd yell at me in my condition?"

Anne glared at him. "I'm starting to see why you and I haven't talked for two years." After a short silence, Anne closed her eyes in defeat. "I don't mean that Gil," she whispered. "I- I've missed you so much."

"I missed you," he said with a sigh, working to get the words out clearly. "But I didn't think you missed me."

Anne balled her handkerchief up in her hand, her eyes falling in defeat. "I didn't want you to see that I did."

"You succeeded." He shifted on the bed, a small groan escaping him. At that, Anne was on her feet, her eyes roving him anxiously. "Do you need anything? Your mother said that you need to be drinking more, Gil."

Through the fog that he had been wrapped in for so long, Gilbert suddenly became aware of the state he was in and cringed. He cleared his throat, and then found himself coughing- and try as he might, his mouth was too dry to swallow again. With slight desperation, he eyed the cup beside him, and Anne almost smiled. "You really don't like being so helpless, do you?" she murmured, concentrating on not spilling the water onto his pillow as she helped him to sip the drink. His hazel eyes met hers with a pained look, and she sighed, sitting the cup down. "I wouldn't either, Gil."

He heaved a sigh of relief, and after getting his breath back, he turned to look at her in the dim light. "Anne? Why did you come here?"

She sat in the chair, her hands clasped nervously. "Because I was worried about you. And because I care."

Gilbert stared at her dully. "Anne, you had two years to show me that you still cared. I- I would have welcomed you as a friend. But you didn't come."

Anne swallowed convulsively. "You didn't want us to be friends, anymore, Gil." The pain in his hazel eyes mirrored her own, and her lips trembled as his words from the orchard seemed to echo between them- 'Friendship? Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne.'

He turned from her, his jaw clenching. "Touché," he mumbled.

Anne smiled half-heartedly. "You always were much better at French that I was." She was silent for a few minutes and then spoke haltingly. "I thought you replaced me in any case. With Christine. You seemed- happy."

"You seemed happy with him."

When he looked at her, she only shook her head, not trusting herself to say anymore.

He sighed, frustrated. "Anne?" he asked tiredly. "I don't want to get answers only to forget them all."

Anne gave a faint smile. "We could take notes if you like- but we shouldn't. It doesn't matter anymore. You need to rest, Gil."

He groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "No more notes. I've read and studied till I'm blue in the face. I don't want to see another book again."

Anne took the hand that lay beside him carefully. "Gil, I was so proud of you at our graduation," she whispered. "I knew that you would show them all- I wanted to tell you that you deserved it."

Gilbert only looked at her, a spark deep in his eyes. His head lifted from his pillow for only a brief moment, but his words were unexpectedly clear. "Anne, if you cared, why wouldn't you dance with me that night? That was cruel-"

Anne looked at him desperately. "I know. I regret it, Gil. It was awful of me. But you're right- we shouldn't talk about this- you just need to get better."

"Too bad," he mumbled. "I'm overriding myself. I want to know."

Anne drew in a deep breath, her fingers tightening over his. "Fine. But I'm only telling you if you calm down," she tried to say lightly. "If you're so worried that you'll forget, I'll make you write it down."

A spasm crossed his face as he shifted in pain. "Can't hold a pen yet," he groaned. "Anne- just tell me why you did it if you still cared."

Anne nodded, swallowing. "Alright. You- you may not like this. Phil- Phil Gordon told me that night that you were proposing to- to Christine."

Gilbert blinked at her in confusion. "What about her fiance? What kind of person do you think I am?"

Anne gritted her teeth. "We didn't know that she was engaged. I thought it was you who would ask her, Gilbert."

He shut his eyes with a groan, gripping the sheet in one sweaty hand. "Anne, why would on earth would I ever consider doing that?"

"Because you loved her?"

At this, he opened one eye, a dark frown on his face. "I only loved one woman, Anne. And you should know that. I can't- I can't believe you would think that."

At this, Anne's temper got the better of her, and she glared at him, her eyes steely. "Gil, the whole of Redmond thinks the two of you are together, engagement or not. Write to Phil when you recover- ask her. Even Roy, for some reason, kept reminding me of the fact."

Gilbert swallowed suddenly, and turned such a shade of green that Anne jumped, quickly coming to her knees by her bed. She caught a bowl from the table, a wet cloth in one hand to touch to his forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Gil," she said, her voice tortured. "I shouldn't be here doing this to you. I'll get your father-"

"No, please, I'm sorry, Anne, please don't go," he begged, his voice rising in panic, and Anne drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself for his sake. She somehow manufactured a smile.

"Gil, I won't go. I promise," she said quietly. She touched the wet cloth to his forehead again, noting the sigh he gave when she stroked his flushed cheek. "Are you still nauseous?"

Gilbert groaned. "When you hit me with that kind of news-"

Anne dropped the enamel bowl beside her and placed her head against the side of the bed. "Gil, all of Avonlea believes it too. I kept getting asked about it. It's driving me mad."

At this he tried to lift his head, his voice gruff. "Well, I'm not. Never even thought about it. Even when I heard you were with- the- the miserable sod."

Anne choked back a laugh that wanted to become tears. "I told you, I'm not with him any longer, Gilbert."

He seemed to stop then, turning to face his ceiling dully. "He was everything you wanted, Anne, don't deny it."

Anne's face was taut as she answered him. "No. He really wasn't, Gil. I was wrong. Roy doesn't belong in my life. He doesn't know me- and I don't know him. I- it was a mistake. And so I said no when he proposed to me."

"We have something in common then." There was a silence between them, and Anne lifted her head at his voice, to see him staring sightlessly above her head. "How do I know this is real?" he asked deliberately. "I've seen things- I've seen him in here, kissing you. I heard you say that you loved me. I've seen people- Christine and- and Charlie standing over there- laughing at me. I thought my mother pulled a sheet over my head and told me that I was dead." He shivered, and Anne was struck with horror at what the illness had done to him.

She drew in a breath and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "What is real is bad enough," she said evenly, suddenly understanding how to reach him. "You look terrible, Gilbert."

He flinched, a bemused smile coming to his face. "Not pulling any punches, are you?" he said faintly.

Anne shook her head, trying to control the treacherous shake in her voice. "We always told each other the truth," she whispered. "You've probably lost half your body weight in the last few weeks. You- almost died. Your parents are terrified- I'm terrified- that you still could. You almost worked yourself to death for a scholarship that you need to be well enough for in just two months time. You and I have barely spoken in two years- and it took me finding out that you might be dying to understand what you mean to me." Gilbert turned toward her, his eyes glassy. "I'm not delirious. I don't have the luxury of believing this to be a dream. If it was, Gil, then none of this would be happening. We wouldn't be in danger of losing you. I wouldn't be here to tell you that I failed you- that I hurt you- and that I don't expect you to forgive me." A tear dropped from her cheek then. "It's no dream, Gil. This is what is real. And it's as close to the worst nightmare that I have ever had."

When she finished, Gilbert's eyes were closed, and after a moment Anne's shoulders dropped and shame covered her. How could she think of talking to him about this right now? She sat in misery for some time, and when his breathing was steady again she got to her feet silently, and pulled a light blanket over him, turning to go. To her surprise, he caught her hand.

"I thought you fell asleep."

"I was just thinking," he said thickly. "And you promised you wouldn't leave."

Anne managed a slight smile. "I was only going to the chair, Gil. I told you I would stay."

"Right."

Anne had sat down, but looked up at the odd tone of his voice. Her eyes widened when she saw him moving. "Gilbert Blythe, what do you think you are doing?" He grunted, holding his side as he tried to sit up. Largely unsuccessful, he slumped over to one side, and Anne hovered anxiously at the edge of the bed. "Gil, use some common sense! You can't just decide to get up after three weeks of illness!"

"Watch me," he said stubbornly.

Anne began to smile, catching the hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I see. Would you like to go on one of our old walks, then? Hester's garden might be nice," she teased, her voice low. "I'm ready when you are."

He scowled at her and fell back on his pillows. "Fine. Come here." Anne's auburn eyebrows rose, and he chuckled faintly. "I'm too tired for niceties, just do it for me."

She came back to his side, kneeling down so that her face was on a level with his.

"Are we friends?" he asked.

Anne's lips trembled. "If you'll have me as one again, yes."

Gilbert moved his hand slightly, touching her cheek with one finger, almost completely worn out. "I'm not with her. And you're not with him."

A sob broke from her mouth, and she laid her forehead against the side of the bed. "Correct."

"Well, this is horrendous timing," he said dryly. "Just- just give me- a moment," he said inexplicably before lifting his hand in a slight wave, and his eyelids lost the battle to stay open. A few minutes later, and his breathing was once again even. Anne sat watching him for a time, her eyes stricken. He was so frail; so broken- and she couldn't indulge herself again. Talking about their past would only hurt him more- and she would walk away rather than do that again.

Anne got to her feet slowly, moving around the little room tidying up. Pajamas folded on the bureau, his cup placed beside the folded washer. How strange to be so intimate with his belongings- and yet feel so very far from where she wanted to be. Through the window she could see a light breeze rustling through the trees- she could hear Mrs Blythe working on the laundry downstairs, low voices that seemed to indicate that Gilbert's father was inside after the chores.

She pressed her forehead to the window, her eyes closing. Dully, she thought of a future without him. What could she hope for now? She loved him- and if he lived it would be need to be enough. He would become the doctor he was meant to be- he would be happy- and one day he would be happy with someone else. He only had to get better.

She turned to face him as he slept then, her face drawn in the morning light. His damp curls, stuck to his forehead, the lines of exhaustion and illness etched into his dear face. They had been there for months- they had been there since they had parted ways. A shard of pain went through Anne, realising that he had never been the same since that day in the orchard- and neither had she. If he didn't live- Anne shivered. The bitter solace of being there at the end would be all she would have to hold on to. If she could- if he awoke again to hear her- she would tell him that she loved him. He should know that at least.

Twenty minutes later Anne sat with one of Gilbert's books in her lap, watching the curtains move in the breeze. She straightened up at the sound of her name and turned her head to see Sonia standing in the doorway, beckoning her away. She rose from her seat and met his mother in the little hallway.

"Is there any change?" Sonia asked, her voice low.

Anne shook her head and studied the older woman's wistful look through the door to her boy. "Did you want to be with him now?"

Sonia's chin rose, and she wiped away a tear. "Soon. Anne, Do you know why I asked you to stay?"

Anne faltered and finally shook her head. "No. I- I don't," she whispered.

Sonia swallowed, looking at the girl who had broken her son's heart. "He needs a reason to keep fighting."

Anne choked back a cry. "Mrs Blythe, he has many. You, his father- medical school-"

"And yet none of that is enough, right now. I heard you talking with him just now- that is as close to coherent as he has been in weeks," she said quietly. "I have prayed and prayed that he would begin to respond to us- however it's only you that he heard. Tell me, Anne, what would you do in my place?"

Anne's shoulders slumped. "I would do whatever it took to keep him with us."

Sonia smiled sadly. "And I will. If you will just do what you can- and if he only tries- then we trust to Providence for the rest. Then perhaps we may have a chance."

Anne nodded and turned to go.

"If you wouldn't mind- I think I will go to bed for a few hours," Sonia said diffidently. "I was awake for a long time, last night. Gilbert's physical care is rather- difficult, and I would like to get some sleep before the doctor comes."

Anne flushed uncomfortably, however she only nodded. When the house was quiet Anne went into the little bedroom across the hall to get changed for the day.

The doctor came at noon, startled at first to see Anne Shirley sitting with his patient quietly. She absented herself from the room and went downstairs, and out onto the back veranda. She slumped into a seat there, staring out toward the hills. Sonia was upstairs with her son, and Anne shivered slightly. She could only imagine what the doctor was saying. At times he had almost seemed like himself early that morning- but he had slept most of the morning away, not waking to talk any further. Sonia had tried to smile- tried to tell her that it was a good sign that he slept so deeply- however, Anne was afraid it was only preparing them for a peaceful end. No more struggling, no more pain.

The tears fell down her cheeks, and she laid her head back on the wicker chair. For long minutes she sat there in misery until she heard John Blythe's whistle coming through the gate. She sat up, drying her tears hastily on her apron.

"The doctor's here?" he asked.

Anne nodded. "Yes. Mrs Blythe is with him."

She looked up in astonishment to see him lowering himself to a chair, and couldn't help her mouth dropping open a little. With the Blythe courtesy that Anne knew best from his son, he pulled out a well-worn pipe, asking Anne if she minded.

She shook her head with a faint smile. "No. I'm- it's only that I'm not to seeing you sitting down," she said with a childlike candour that made Gilbert's father chuckle.

"I don't suppose I'm used to it myself. But in these times- well, sometimes we all need to stop."

Anne nodded, her face crumpling unexpectedly. So many years ago Gilbert had shown her the grave at the foot of the lush rose garden that was the envy of Avonlea- the little cross that marked the name of their other son- Jasper. She had once asked Gilbert why his mother loved that part of the garden so- and he had taken her to the hidden place, telling her of the baby boy who had not survived his first day. He would have been less than a year younger than Gilbert.

Now, Anne found it impossible to keep from looking that way- and at times she fancied that John's glance went that way too.

"I'm sorry," she faltered. John looked up in surprise, and Anne tried to stop her lips from trembling. "I'm sorry that I hurt him so much."

The older man pulled the pipe from his mouth, his gaze fixed on the worn boot on his knee. "You- you can't change the past, Anne. You just have to do things differently when you know better. Have you told him that?"

She choked back a sob. "I did. He- he knows."

John sighed, his face gentle. "Then that's all you can do. Make sure you have no regrets."

A swift fury rose in Anne's chest, and she breathed heavily, trying to contain the maelstrom of self-hatred inside. "How can I not regret everything?" she spoke jerkily. "How can I not wish to go back, to do it all over again?"

John nodded, his voice even. "I suppose we all would if we had a choice. As a father there are things that I would change too."

Anne caught her breath in pain. "But you don't need to have any regrets. He loves you- he talked about you all the time. He credits you and Mrs Blythe with everything good that he is. You taught him, you made him who he is-"

John's composure slipped for just a moment, and he cleared his throat quietly. "I hope so. But we made mistakes too. I should have been willing to go and see him at college. I shouldn't have put the farm first."

Anne's face was startled, and she watched the older man sniff, wiping his eyes swiftly with long fingers. "We- we knew he wasn't doing well. But we thought we should give him space. He didn't want to talk to us about- whatever went on between you. Sonia wouldn't go to Kingsport on her own- and I was always too busy on the farm. We wrote back and forth- but it wasn't enough."

Anne drew in a shaking breath. "And no doubt his letters were designed to keep you from worrying."

To her surprise, John gave a low chuckle. "You know him well, Anne. He was a cheeky blighter, too. Any hint that we were worried, and his next letter would be full of jokes, the doings he went to, what a good time he was having." He let out a breath tiredly then. "I'm guessing he put on a bit of show for our sake in his letters home."

Anne's smile was rather forced at this point. "He did that for everyone, Mr Blythe. I- we all thought him happy too."

Gilbert's father sat forward, his eyes on the old orchard behind the house, and his voice was tense. "Anne, have you told him how you feel about him?"

She closed her eyes in pain, her hand coming up to wipe away the tears that fell. "We talked this morning- but he was so tired. He fell asleep before I could tell him."

John stood up then, his face turning toward the fields he had toiled over for many years. He paused, running his fingers over the worn hat he held. "It's been a rough season. For you both, I guess. If you're sure- if you have no doubt- then you need to tell him now. Don't wait."

Some minutes after he had left, Anne rose to go inside. She walked up the old staircase, remembering in some bewilderment the anguish she had flown down it just two days ago. Oh, what had happened between them was painful enough- and Gilbert's words on that first evening had been exactly what she had feared- but how could she keep trusting words that were spoken when his fever was so high? The look on his face when he saw her was enough proof that he could see past them- and their conversation that morning had shown her that he would forgive.

She came to a stop at the sound of her name at the top of the landing, and her eyes widened in fear. Was it happening again?

"Gilbert dear, the doctor needs to take your temperature-"

"Are you sure that Anne isn't here?" Gilbert's suspicious voice said. "She said she would be, you know- she must be somewhere around. "

A deeper voice spoke then, laced with humour. "Steady on, son, she'll be here soon enough. The way I hear it, she's been tending to you night and day. Aren't you a lucky fellow?"

There came a long sigh, then. "Yes. Anne said she'd be back. But it's nearly night-time-"

"It's midday, dear-"

"It's day-time- and she's still not here yet. That's odd, isn't it? Was she in the kitchen, mother? Maybe she wanted a sandwich. Am I allowed to have a sandwich yet?"

Outside on the landing, Anne slumped to the top step, breaking into silent laughter. It was a laughter that hurt her- excruciating for the heartbreak of the situation as much as the absurdity.

Meanwhile, the voice rambled on happily. "We're going for a walk, later on, I think. Maybe to Redmond. Do I have a temperature?"

"A- a small one, son." There was a suspicious quiver in the doctor's voice at this point, and Anne chuckled.

Gilbert's voice trailed on, steadily getting fainter as he tired.

"Oh. It was bigger yesterday. I was very hot. I wanted to take my shirt off but Anne might not like that. And I couldn't find the buttons. Is Anne coming now?"

She drew herself up, swallowing back the tears that formed- the gratitude for small mercies- that he wanted her there with him. She walked with a steady step into the bedroom then, seeing the doctor standing up from the bed in relief.

"Miss Shirley, it seems you have been missed. Are you quite sure you haven't missed your calling as a nurse?" Doctor Spencer asked drolly.

Anne shook her head, her eyes were on the boy on the bed, and she gave him a brave smile as she pulled the chair close to him again.

"Nope. She's a teacher," Gilbert said unexpectedly, and everyone smiled.

"I am," Anne said, and without caring who else was in the room, she took the hand that moved toward her, smiling at the sigh he gave at her touch.

"I told them you would be here," he mumbled, relaxing back and closing his eyes. Anne turned questioning eyes to Gilbert's mother, then. Sonia shook her head, trying to smile.

"We don't know yet," she said softly, and Anne turned to Gilbert, her free hand moving to stroke his forehead.

"He doesn't seem so warm," she whispered, and the doctor turned in the doorway.

"He's not. But we won't know for sure yet." He sighed, not wanting to give false hope. "I've tried him on some quinine. If it works, it should bring the fever down. Buy us some time."

Sonia held her hand to her son's cheek, and with a brief touch on Anne's shoulder, she followed the doctor down the old staircase.

Anne turned to Gilbert, her eyes teary. Marilla had been to visit that morning, asking if it wouldn't be better to come home each evening, growing concerned about the shadows under her girl's eyes. Anne answered as she expected her to- to say that she would leave when Gilbert was out of danger. But her voice shook, and Marilla could read between the lines. She would not leave until she knew one way or the other.

Marilla handed Anne the small valise of clean clothing, and a jar of ointment that Rachel had concocted that she felt might be of assistance. Anne had almost smiled, then. Rachel's love was always couched in practicality and far too much advice- but it was still love. Marilla left her with a thick letter from Diana and held her close for just a brief moment, the proof of her own worry in how tightly she held Anne.

Anne drew the letter out, now, seeing that Gilbert was growing restless. She was finding that he settled better when he had something to listen to- yesterday she had read to him the first of his medical textbooks- with muttered asides about the use of the manual as an excellent sleeping aid. Now, she set out to read Diana's letter, hoping that it would distract him, with her varied comments along the way.

"Dearest Anne,

(you know, Gil; while we were at Redmond Di wrote to me weekly- she never missed a letter, not even on her honeymoon. If that letter had just arrived though, I would certainly not be reading that one to you. It was far too descriptive for either of our tender ears.)

I'm so sorry to hear that Gilbert is so ill- we knew that it was serious, and I had hoped you would hear while you were at Echo Lodge- darling, I'm with you both in heart. I am glad that you could be there, and I pray that he will recover soon. You are quite safe, though, aren't you?

(You can see Gil, that Di never sat through you learning your first science subject at college, she doesn't know how various diseases are spread. I do- all thanks to that infernal mnemonic you insisted that I learn with you. Although since I made you learn Kubla Khan for no reason whatsoever, I suppose we are even. )

Baby Fred is growing so quickly- he's almost four weeks old now! He has the most adorable chubby cheeks, and I am sure he is almost double the size he was when you came to see him. And I can tell! My arms grow so tired from holding him, and he is such a wee thing, really- but after a few hours I begin to think he is made of granite! Fred, of course, heaves him around like he does the young calves- and says that I can grow stronger by helping him in the fields. I made short work of that suggestion when I asked him who would do the cooking- I believe he grew rather tired of his own cooking, in the last year before our wedding.

Please don't worry that you can't come- you are where you need to be, beloved. When Gilbert is better perhaps I can bring baby Fred over to see you both- I haven't really seen him since our wedding a year ago. We were ever so proud of all of our graduates- Charlie' father insisted that the Avonlea notes include the results for the three of you; and since they got the results from the Kingsport paper, the Sloanes couldn't downplay yours or Gilbert's achievements! I was terribly proud of both of you.

I must go, Fred needs me- the big one, this time. Give our love to Gilbert, and please tell him to hold on. Our thoughts are with you both.

Love, Diana."

Anne folded up the letter with a sigh. She looked at Gilbert's restful face, almost asleep, and rubbed her brow tiredly. The letter had been far more detailed- although she had censored it for several reasons. Diana, cheerfully candid as always had told her of her issues in getting young Fred to breastfeed correctly- something Gilbert had no need to hear- and because Diana had urged Anne as John had- to have no regrets, to tell him how she felt. She lay her head back on the chair with a sigh, her eyes studying Gilbert's hands. Idly she thought that she had always loved them- broad and so unlike her own- hadn't she always felt something strange when he touched her? Her eyes hungrily roved to his face. Still so thin, so altered- and yet his gaunt face had stopped being strange to her. He was still the boy she loved- and he was here now.

She looked up then in time to see his hazel eyes open sleepily, and he gave a slight smile at the sight of her.

"Anne?"

"Yes, Gil?"

"I'm glad you're here."

She smiled, taking his hand in her own. When she looked over a short time later, his hand was still firmly in her own, and he was sound asleep.

Anne breathed in and out slowly. For now, it was enough.