A/N: Wow... this story has not been updated for some time, and for that I apologise. Sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long! The story is now (hopefully) back on a fairly regular basis, at least until next semester. xD Enjoy!

...

Dearest Tibbett,

This letter is not from Crope. It is, in fact, from your dear, chaste young lady love, Myrtle the Mute, whom you met at Shiz this year and had started a tentative relationship with when the evil, conniving Crope stole you away. Myrtle is coming to see you in a week's time, and plans to take you to her family's summer house near Lake Chorge, where you will meet every last one of her devoutly Unionist extended family, including dear little Pia, the blind, one-legged piano virtuoso. Myrtle extends her warmest regards to your family and hopes that one day she will be able to speak and tell your parents exactly how she feels about their opinion of Crope's feelings for you.

Sincerely,

Myrtle.

P.S. Dearest, darling Tibbett, I swear, I'm coming to get you. Yours ever, Crope.

…

Dear, sweet Myrtle,

The whole situation sounds positively delightful. I eagerly await your visit and the resultant escape from the horror that is my mother's family. Interestingly, I have a cousin named Pia, but she doesn't play the piano, and is most definitely not blind. If you do happen to see Crope, please tell him that I miss him with all my heart and that every day I wake up without him is like another nail in my coffin. If he would be so kind as to arrange a meeting between the two of us before my tragic, untimely death it would be much appreciated.

Love,

Tibbett.

…

To my darling Tibbett,

If you, in return, would be so kind as to accept my visitation upon your mother's relations' singularly lovely abode one week from the date at the top of this letter, I would be most delighted; indeed, I feel that my glee would be practically incontrollable.

Yours,

Myrtle.

…

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell us about Myrtle sooner, dear," Talka said absently, fixing Tibbett's collar for the twelfth time.

Tibbett stepped away from his mother and her fussing. "I told you, I wasn't speaking to you. And I was… still confused over my feelings for Crope, who of course, I now realise was a horrible young boy who was only after… indecentness."

Talka looked around the small conservatory they stood in. "Do you think this is- well, I mean she has a summer house in Lake Chorge. Don't you think this house is a little below par, considering what she's used to?"

Tibbett smiled fondly. "She'll be here for three minutes at the most, Mother. Barely more than a clock-tick, and certainly not enough time to critique the décor."

"Oh, I know, but still, she comes from money," Talka frowned. "She will notice something to object to, I'm sure of it."

"Myrtle is the most unobjectionable young woman I have ever met," Tibbett informed her, and bent down to check the buckles on his suitcase. He was still uncertain as to exactly how Crope planned to stage this grand rescue, but he assumed it all hinged on the fabrication of Myrtle. Did Crope plan to use a young female friend to pose as Tibbett's true love? Obviously the fact that she couldn't talk was important, Tibbett mused, but he had no idea how Crope intended to save him.

The knock on the door made both Tibbett and his mother jump. Talka opened the door and smiled broadly at the young girl that stood before her. "You must be Myrtle," she said, and stepped aside to allow the visitor entrance. Tibbett looked up from his suitcase and had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from squealing with delight.

Before Tibbett stood "Myrtle": dressed in a conservative full-length dress that bagged at the hips, giving the impression of femininity, and with her long, dark hair tastefully arranged so that it obscured the rather striking broadness of her shoulders. Her head was lowered politely, but Tibbett, crouching by his luggage, was at the perfect angle to see Crope's features poking out from under Myrtle's hair, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Tibbett stood up and hugged Crope, carefully keeping his hands where his mother could see them. "Hello, Myrtle," he smiled. "I've missed you."

"Let's get your things into the coach," Talka said brightly. "Myrtle, dear, are your parents with you?"

Crope shook his head and glanced at Tibbett, indicating that the blonde should explain. "Uh… Her parents are already out at the lake," Tibbett invented quickly. "Myrtle was on her way back from seeing a… a specialist in the city here. To see if anything could be done about her condition."

Crope nodded gravely and squeezed Tibbett's hand. Tibbett smiled at his lover, then moved away for the bare minimum amount of time it took to pile his suitcases into Crope's hired carriage. Once everything was in order to Talka's satisfaction, Tibbett took Crope's arm and helped him into the coach, then turned to his mother.

"Have a safe journey," Talka smiled. "And Tibby, are you sure you don't want to say goodbye to your father?"

"I'm sure," Tibbett said. He stepped into his mother's arms and hugged her tightly. Despite her reaction to Tibbett's relationship with Crope, she was still his mother, and simply for that he could almost forgive her her prejudice.

"Don't forget to thank Myrtle's family for their hospitality," Talka instructed. "And you're sure they've organised a coach back to Shiz?"

"Yes, Mother," Tibbett smiled, one foot on the step up into the coach. "Everything's arranged, everything's… peachy."

"Well, I'm glad you're so much happier," Talka said. "And Tibby, it's not too late for me to contact the school and get you moved out of the room with-"

"It's fine, Mother," Tibbett interrupted. "I'll sort it out once we're back at school." He peeked into the coach. "We should be heading off now. We don't want to be travelling when it's still dark."

Tibbett climbed into the carriage and closed the door behind him, taking Crope's hand and squeezing it with all his strength.

"Alright," Talka smiled. "Enjoy the rest of the summer, won't you? Be sure and write!"

"I will!" Tibbett called as the coach began to move off. "Goodbye!"

Both boys were silent as the coach rattled off down Tibbett's aunt's driveway. Talka stood and waved them off, growing smaller and smaller until she was nothing but a blonde smear against the side of the house. The coach turned onto the road and Talka disappeared from view. Tibbett let out a breath, then looked at Crope, who still wore the same shy, submissive expression.

"You peach!" Tibbett cried, pulling off Crope's wig and holding the other boy's face in both hands. "You absolute shining, delicious peach!"

Crope let out a delighted laugh. "Oh, Oz, your face when you saw me…"

"I can't believe you did that!" Tibbett crowed.

"Neither can I," Crope giggled, clutching Tibbett's wrists.

"You dressed like a girl-"

"Your mother didn't even-"

"How did you find the house? How did you know the address?"

"My father's a tax collector," Crope smiled. "He has your family on file, and it was a small step from there to your extended, Quoxian family."

Tibbett was sure his face was about to crack under the pressure of his smile. "I love you, Crope Cariad."

"I love you too," Crope smiled, then gave Tibbett a wicked look. "What say you help me out of this dress?"

The driver of Crope's hired coach was a tiktok man; in hindsight, Crope thought, this was a wise choice. A sentient driver might have objected to the amount of movement going on in the carriage behind him, yet as it was the coach kept rolling on towards its destination, while inside Crope and Tibbett travelled to a different place entirely.