Hello! Sorry these chapters are taking me so long to turn out. I'm working really hard to finish this story in the next two weeks (when I leave on vacation where I won't have access to the internet for a month). In the meantime, enjoy.

I own nothing.


Mary excuses herself early from dinner; her head is beginning to pound. It worries her—after all, she's never been sick a day in her life and now she's getting headaches. But it's nothing a cup of tea and an early bedtime can't fix.

She gets ready for bed and finds she can't sleep. So she sits in front of her mirror and plaits her hair to give her hands something to do while she thinks.

One would think she'd be worried about Jane's answer to her proposal, but she's really more concerned with how to respond to Bert, should he ever catch her off guard and detail his feelings for her. It's not as if his feelings go completely unreturned—well, she doesn't think they go unreturned. That moment last night when they were spinning on the rooftop, she had been more than willing to blame her light-headedness on the dizziness, but she hadn't examined the possibility that the cause lay in her best friend's smile. And even when she had insisted on going home, he had walked her until she wouldn't let him go further. That always was Bert's way; he'd press her until the moment she felt uncomfortable and then he'd back away—the consummate gentleman.

But does she love him? He's so sure of his feelings for her and she can't figure out which way is up. She's unused to being so unsure of herself, but, then, she's unused to allowing her heart license to feel this way about anyone. She worries that she's gotten herself into a muddle that she can't get herself out of.

As she ties a ribbon around the end of her braid, there comes a soft tapping at her window. Frowning, she pulls her dressing gown around her and goes to the offending glass. "Bert!" she exclaims when she pushes it open to find the man sitting quite comfortably in the nearby tree, tossing twigs at the pane.

"'Ello, Mary Poppins!" he greets her cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you 'ere!"

"Bert, come down from there this instant," she commands, far too busy envisioning the horrible death he'd die should he fall to respond to his pleasantries.

"Fine night we're 'aving, ain't it?"

"Technically," she sniffs, looking up at the moon. "It's a fine morning. And you're going to get yourself killed. I would appreciate it greatly if you would stand on solid ground."

"Mary, you need to relax!" he laughs.

"Bert, I shan't ask again," she warns.

He sends a disarming grin her way, ensuring that she won't turn him into a frog or something, and climbs in through the window.

"Thank you," she says pertly.

"I wasn't gonna fall, Mary."

"Is there a particular reason you're scaling trees outside my bedroom at one in the morning?"

"There was just something Jane said today that's been bugging me an'-"

"Bert, really, I've had a long day and I'd really prefer-"

He looks uncomfortable but pushes on. "Mary, this is something I need to get off me chest, okay?" His eyes beg her to let him continue.

She takes a deep breath and purses her lips but nods stiffly for him to continue.

"Mary, I- I love you. An' I know that you're Mary Poppins an'-"

"Bert, I know," she says softly.

"You… you do?"

She bites her lip gently as she nods. "I've known since last night. I've been carefully considering how to respond but I still haven't reached a conclusion. I… well, I do care about you. But I have to consider the consequences. If Jane chooses to not accept my offer, which is a very real possibility, that leaves me in the exact same position as I've always been in and I just… I think it would be best if we were to remain friends. If possible."

He gives her a lopsided, melancholy grin that only makes her want to cry. "Of course it's possible. It's not somethin' I expected you to return, I just… felt you 'ad a right to know."

Mary feels something akin to her heart breaking into a million pieces. "I'm so sorry, Bert."

"Now don't you start feeling all guilty on me, Mary Poppins," he reprimands her. "You've said your piece an' if it's what'll make you 'appy, then I'm just 'appy to 'ave you in my life at all. But I do 'ave to say, you look lovely tonight."

She blushes bright crimson as she remembers her state of undress. "I really am sorry, Bert. I don't deserve a friend like you."

"Nonsense," he replies. "I'm nothin' special."

"You're a diamond in the rough, Bert. Even if you don't understand that. Now you had best be leaving. If the Banks were to wake up, I'm sure they'd have me fired for misconduct."

"Nobody would ever 'ave the nerve to fire you, Mary."

"Not yet, anyways. But there's a first time for everything."

"Some'ow I just don't think that'll ever happen. A life with Mary Poppins in it is a thousand times better than one without 'er."

"Anything can happen, Bert. Don't forget that."

"So I'll see you at Uncle Albert's for Sunday dinner?" he asks, referring to another established tradition when Mary is in London.

"I'm not sure," she says vaguely. "There's so much to do here and-"

"Don't you start avoiding me, Mary Poppins."

"Avoiding you? Me? The very idea!"

"I mean it, Mary. I'm fine. We're fine. Don't you worry."

"I really am sorry, Bert. I'm not sure I can express how truly sorry I am."

"Then don't. 'ave a lovely rest of your morning, Mary Poppins." He doffs his cap, then exits the way he entered.

She closes the window and settles in for a long, sleepless, guilty night.

0ooo0

She manages to wring a few hours of sleep out of the night, but she's just as tired when she wakes up. As she gets ready, she tries not to think too much; if she does, she'll see that smile of Bert's in her mind and her heart will break all over again. So instead she focuses on Jane. A dose of handling the magic she would control could help her make an informed decision and so Mary has decided to start training her, regardless of the decision she makes.

She throws the curtains back in Jane's room and Jane groans her displeasure. "Don't you have any pleasanter way to wake people, Mary Poppins? Say, a foghorn or trumpet of some sort?"

"I find it's always easier to wake with the sun's help. And I think you're more than old enough to call me Mary."

Jane shoots up in bed. "No one calls you Mary. Even my mother calls you Mary Poppins!"

"Yes, well, your mother is not my pupil when it comes to magic. But should you not want to…"

"No! I mean, thank you… Mary." Jane's mouth closes to form the P sound but stops there.

"Now, out of bed. The day isn't very long and there's so much we need to get done."

0ooo0

They start in the kitchen; Mary remembers her first real lesson and does her best to imitate it. She's a natural and wonderful teacher, but this is something she's never done before; the magic is second nature to her now and she's not exactly sure where to begin.

She sets out a sack of flour. "The trick," she tells Jane, "isn't anything particularly special. You just have to want it."

"Wanting it? That's your secret?"

"It's not as easy as it may seem." Mary glances at the sack of flour and snaps. It immediately floats over to her and she directs it to the kitchen table. "It takes focus, determination, and conviction. If you don't believe in yourself and your control, nothing else will."

"Mary P- Mary, I have a question."

"I should think I might have an answer."

"Why can't Bert do this? If it's really as simple as all of this, I would think that if anybody could use magic, it would be him."

"Oh, he could, if he tried," Mary replies easily.

"But I remember when you were here before, he tried to get us into his drawing and it didn't work!"

Mary smiles slightly at the memory of his absolutely absurd attempt at magic. "He didn't really believe it would work, he just wanted to make me do it. I actually believe he'd be quite adept, but he's always been content to let me do the magic."

"Michael and I saw him yesterday."

"Yes, I know," Mary replies.

Jane frowns but pushes on. "He looked well."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Mary confirms, her mind drifting away.

"He didn't seem to want to talk about you though. Are you and he alright?"

"Bert and I are just fine, thank you very much. Now please stop putting off trying to lift that flour."

"Wait, how did you know that we saw Bert?"

Mary colors slightly as she realizes her slip-up. But a pointed stare works to avoid admitting it.

"Michael thinks you're in love with him," Jane blurts.

"Me? In love with Michael? Why, the very idea!" Mary knows perfectly well what Jane means, but the vague phrasing gives her a way out.

Jane giggles. "No, of course not! He thinks you're in love with Bert! Or at least, he thinks you would be if you could love."

"I am perfectly capable of loving, thank you very much!" Mary snaps. "Bert is a dear friend and I love him as such, but nothing more." She's convincing—even she believes it in that moment.

Jane looks at her with an eerie sort of calm; Mary regrets giving her permission to call her by her Christian name—now they're almost equals or friends and that gives Jane the latitude to get away with saying things that are far more probing or familiar. "Prove it."

"That's hardly something that's quantifiable. And we are not talking about me, Jane Banks, so I will thank you to drop the subject. Now, concentrate on the bag of flour and tell it where to go."

Jane sighs but turns her attention to the ingredient. She snaps and, after a couple of duds, the bag rises into the air. "I still think-"

"Jane, focus!" Mary reprimands, but it's too late. Jane's concentration is broken and the lack of attention sends the bag careening to the floor. It explodes, the fine white powder coating just about everything in the kitchen—including Mary and Jane.

Mary sighs as Jane surveys the damage. There's utter silence as they both start thinking about the clean-up. "Well, drat," Jane curses.

Mary is surprised to find herself stifling a giggle. Then catches the young woman's eye and she can't help but start to laugh—just a chuckle at first, but it becomes louder when Jane joins in.

When the laughter loses its novelty, Mary snaps and everything is set right. "Again," she says patiently.

0ooo0

By the end of the day, Jane has almost mastered the art of snapping to make things happen. Throughout the afternoon, Jane has been peppering Mary with questions about Bert, but Mary insists that they are merely dear friends and by tea time she has tricked herself into believing that's the truth.

They move up to the old nursery and Mary pulls out her tape measure. "Again?" Jane groans but nevertheless stands up straight.

"A tape measure, or something along the same lines, can be an incredibly useful tool to get a measure of the situation you are entering," Mary instructs. "A tape measure or scale is completely objective and will give you the most accurate answer possible. You just have to know what question to ask it. Whatever question you ask it about a person, it will always tell you the truth."

Mary shows her how to ensure that the measurement is accurate and exactly how to ask the question of the tape measure without looking like a fool talking to a tape measure. She measures Jane and is pleased to note that her measurement now reads "Extremely dedicated and hard-working."

Then she allows Jane to try the tape out. Mary's posture needs no adjusting, for she always stands ramrod straight, so she waits patiently for Jane to bring the tape up to her head and recite the familiar "Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way."

Jane pauses as she reads the inscription. "I knew it!" she finally exclaims. Mary frowns. "Oh, I just knew it!"

"Jane, kindly explain yourself."

Jane studies her teacher. "Remember, you're the one who said the tape measure doesn't lie," she suddenly defends herself.

"Of course the tape measure doesn't lie. It can't!" Mary huffs.

Wordlessly, Jane hands over the tape measure and grimaces before backing away. "Just remember, this is not my fault," she cautions.

"Of course it's not," Mary sighs. But then she looks down at her measurement and almost wants to hit Jane anyways. Or possibly faint. Or scream.

Instead she takes a deep breath and measures herself again.

Her knees almost give out when nothing has changed, so she sits down on the bed, trying to remember to breath. But every time she reads her measurement, she feels like someone has punched her in the stomach, though, perversely, her eyes are drawn to the words.

"Are you alright, Mary?" Jane asks.

"Fine. I- Please go wash up for dinner."

"Are you sure? I as if I shouldn't leave you…"

"Jane," Mary says, looking up. "I assure you, I'm fine. Please get ready for dinner."

Begrudgingly, Jane leaves, stopping at the door to glance back one more time. When she's gone, Mary begins to panic. She grabs the tape measure again and measures herself a third time. It's the exact same reading.

Her blue eyes widen as she scans it again and silently curses the absolutely objective tape measure.

The script of her name has been preserved, but the text altered, so now the words read, "Mary Poppins: in love and denial."


Yes, I invented a tradition to serve my purpose (dinner at Uncle Albert's) and I'm kind of just running with the lore behind the magic that I made up. Please let me know if there's something you'd like to see!

Oh, and please check out my new story "Love Won't Let You Get Away" if you're interested!

Hope you enjoyed. :)

-Juli-