AN: Hey, I'm back! I'm going to try to write a long chapter this time, so, if you want to, tell me what you think! (the kid quotes aren't mine, I'm simply not that funny, but they are anonymous, so yah, if they're yours, I don't own them, you do!) Happy reading!
Gilbert yawned into his medical textbook. He had been up since five in the morning when he had gotten up to go for a run along the pier. It was a practice he had done for months since his arrival at Redmond, and found the activity incredibly refreshing, even if James was the one who first introduced him to the concept.
Christine had insisted that he accompany her to lunch that day, causing him to be late for lectures, and, because he had been late for lectures, he had gotten only a quarter of the lesson copied, and still had to copy medical definitions from seven pages of the notes James has supplied him with.
Just as he finished copying 'Achillodynia', and closed his textbook for departure he heard someone behind him and turned to see Anne, her face partially covered in darkness, looking like an angel in the gaslight that flickered on the sconce behind her and cast dreamy reflections in her eyes.
He had not seen her for months, not since their falling-out. He could still feel the pain in his slowly healing fractured wrist, (His doctor had firmly advised him against the practice of running with such an injury, though he stoically refused to acknowledge his words) and had not been ribbed much by the men who still believed he had been stone sober and had merely been trying to fix a creaky eves trough, but in his efforts, had tripped on an upturned nail and fell. Gilbert didn't bother to correct them. They all knew the condition of the Redmond dormitories.
"What do you want, Shirley?" Anne flinched.
"I—I didn't think you would be here." Indeed, she seemed not to have planned the encounter; her hair was a mass of frizzy copper curls and, tucked safely under her arm was a heavy looking leather bound book with faint gold lettering across its face. It had been raining, and small crystal beads had formed on the stray strands that escaped her low chignon.
"Gil—," Anne started.
"No Anne—,"
"No, listen to me," she said angrily, her voice growing shrill, "I won't let you walk away, and I will not be ignored; not by you or anyone."
Gilbert sighed and slammed his textbook back on the desk, took a seat, and waited.
"I am glad to hear of your engagement to Christine," Anne said, leveling her voice, "and I wish you all the happiness in the world for your future."
"And I hope you find satisfaction with the most esteemed, and might I add, the very affluent, Mr. Gardener." Anne reddened.
"You—I came here to write, not to be marginalized by you," she stuttered, "I wished you happiness but I see that you do not desire the same for me."
"Anne, what I desire for you, what I have always desired for you, was for you to see me the way I saw you. I wanted you to desire me the way I did you; I disillusioned myself, and you have seen the consequences. What I wanted, what I have desired of you was for you to desire me, desiring you; for you and I to desire together, to desire us together."
"I— what?"
"What I meant to say was—," Anne burst out laughing, a most unladylike thing to do, and asked, between fits of giggling, "What were we fighting about?"
"Are we fighting? I was not aware," he was grinning now.
"No, I don't suppose we are," Anne smiled.
"Do you wish a fight? I believe I could take on twelve with the capabilities of you." Gilbert hadn't had so much fun since the romp in the hay with Christine, but that wasn't the same. He hadn't been able to truly and heartily laugh.
"So you would fight a woman?" Anne countered, "Besides, you should sit down, cripple, you may get hurt." She scoffed and flipped a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.
"I am already hurt, Anne, it was you who put me in the hospital."
"You put yourself into the hospital," Anne laughed, "you did it on your own!"
"That as it may be, I don't know what I will do about this arm; I can hardly register for the rowing club this year, thanks to you."
"Again," Anne said, "It was hardly my fault. But no matter, I have work to do. Planning lessons, you know."
"The woes of a teacher," Gilbert laughed, "Do you have time for imaginings anymore? It would be an awful shame if you forgot your Anne-ness with all of this education."
"What about you and your Gil-ness?" Anne countered, "Has it been tarnished by boring medical terms and the monotony of routine?"
"Sometimes I am not sure," Gilbert replied, "I have learned of so many different illnesses and syndromes that I fear I may be coming down with a horrid fear of illnesses and syndromes." He glanced down at his watch, and saw that it was nearing closing time.
"We—," Gilbert started,
"Should go," Anne said quietly. "I should really get to grading these papers, though." She readjusted her book under her arm.
"Do you need help with that?" Gilbert asked despite of himself.
"Its English, I think I shall be fine," Anne replied, "although I find that reading some of these stories to be most humorous."
"How so?" Gilbert found his upset dwindling in Anne's presence, and did not care who saw them together. Christine would not care; he was sure she wished only one thing from him; she would want him to be true to her. If Anne and he simply graded papers, no one would invent stories…
"Sit down, Shirley," he said, now using her last name as an affectionate nickname, "let us finish this before Old Edith kicks us out." Old Edith was the aged, but certainly not senile, librarian who insisted on promptly ousting all the occupants of the library at its closing time at exactly nine thirty five, and it was, Gilbert noticed, nearing nine fifteen.
They worked hard, and managed to finish marking the assignments, but not without a considerable amount of laughter from both parties due, in part to a young Miss Doreen Clayhaven, whose father was a preacher, wrote in her story, "A Christian should have only one spouse. This is called monotony," and "Moses died before he ever reached Canada." At this, the pair could not hold in their laughter enough to focus, and when they had settled down enough to speak, Anne said in a mock-horrified tone, "Oh my."
At long last, however, Old Edith came and drove them out with her best Mother Abbess look and they packed up, both thoroughly red in the face from laughing.
At the doors, Gilbert stopped and asked, "I'll walk you home."
"No," Anne said in a mollified tone, "what if someone sees us?"
"Why would it matter?" Gilbert replied, "It is not like we were up to anything. Besides, we have been friends for years and I am engaged to Christine."
"I suppose," Anne said quietly, suddenly aware of their unnerving closeness.
"It's not as if I did this," Gilbert kissed her cheek.
"Yes," Anne countered, her face blazing with a deep crimson blush, "And it is not like I did this," She reached up on her toes and kissed him, sweetly on the lips.
"Right," Gilbert said in a slightly breathy tone, "It is not like we did any of that."
"Right?"
"Right."
They walked to Patty's place in silence, but in the dark their faces were still blazing, and desire, hot and complete, plagued both as they reached the top step of the veranda.
"We do not have a future," Gilbert said, as if asking her.
"No," she replied, "You have Christine and I have Royal."
"Right?"
"Right."
AN: So? I promise to write more because of my long absence, but what are your thoughts? Should they get back together, or should we have some fun and screw with them a bit? As always, R&R!