4 in the morning update! Because what is sleep.

I guess given that I'm now on chapter 13/14 (depending on whether or not you count the "prologue"), I can now share some special DVD bonus facts with you guys. Did you know I only meant for this fic to be 10-12 chapters at most? HA. Clearly that didn't end up happening.

Reviews!

Guest: Oh man, a 2 hour train wait? I'm glad I uploaded that chapter early then. :) If I manage to finish them on time, I might try to get future chapters up in the wee hours instead of Friday afternoon, since I think most of my readers are way, way ahead of me in timezones - so hopefully this way you can actually read them, you know, when it's still Friday for you. Oh, and I'm glad you're not homeless! :P I think there's a lot of good fanfic that fills in some of the gaps in Ken and Rilla's relationship - because it's true, we don't get much at all about them in the book! Not gonna lie, I think it's kind of weird that 21-year-old Ken falls for 15-year-old Rilla. Stay away from the underage girls, Ken! (They do have kids, though, in The Blythes Are Quoted.)

Haha, I'm twenty too, and no one's proposed to me either. You lied to me, L.M. Montgomery! I thought I would have suitors by the dozen! *shakes fist* I don't doubt that someone would have eventually proposed to Una - she seems to be very good at domestic things in the books, and even though she's frequently described as "not pretty," I imagine someone in the Glen might have thought she would make a good wife. But that's never been confirmed either way, and I don't think she would have been proposed to during the war years, since most of the men were away. (Sorry for the ramble, haha. Make a comment, get a paragraph of meta. That's the Emily way!)

Re: inspiration, I've never been through what Walter's been through, but I do struggle quite a bit with depression, so a lot of that is drawn from my own experiences. :)

Marz: Your review made me really happy! I'm always afraid of pointing out how snobbish I find the Blythes because I know a lot of people like their portrayal - but they're not very nice in the later books! (Don't ever get me started on Anne of Ingleside, because I can go on for days. I will never get over how harsh the story was on Jenny Penny, for one.) From what I recall, LMM struggled with depression as she got older, and was unhappy in her marriage, so I have a sort of pet theory that the Blythes were written as the family she wished she had - one that was smarter, prettier, better than everyone else in town. I always wondered how it would affect their relationships with the Merediths - Jem and Nan come from a very privileged home, while Faith and Jerry are from a single-parent household, grew up without a lot of money, are mentioned to go days without eating, and so on. It'd be interesting, at least. Anyway! I definitely agree that Una would have wanted to be a mother - I think I get that impression because of her desire to be know how to be domestic in Rainbow Valley, and her fixation with mothers in that book in general. She's still single in canon, which is a bummer - she never really gets what she wants at any point during the series, which I think is unsatisfying on a narrative level as well as a "this is my favorite character and I just want her to be haaaaappy" level. I have to admit, I always thought (before I read The Blythes Are Quoted) that she might have died in the Spanish flu epidemic - she's described as being rather frail and I think it would make sense from a storytelling perspective as well, since her character doesn't do anything after RoI. (And then she and Walter hook up in the afterlife, idk.)

Shirley is one of my underdeveloped favorites (I might like him just because he's so underdeveloped, maybe), so I'm glad you like his portrayal! :)

...aaaaand I basically wrote an essay up there. I just really love talking about these books, I'm sorry!

Title is from "Distance" by Utada Hikaru.

and i wind up a bit further away

The weather is fine the day Walter departs for Redmond. It is - eerily - similar to the day he left for Valcartier, he realizes - the sky blue and deep and cloudless, the air warm and all the flowers in the bloom of summer.

But no, this time is different. He is not going so far away. And this time, he knows he is coming back.

He's made the trip to Redmond several times before, but still everyone has gathered to see him off. Mother and Dad hug him close - Susan's is brief but crushing - Rilla leans her chin on his shoulder for a moment and whispers, "Take care."

Dog Monday nudges at his hands, his nose wet.

"Silly dog," Susan says. "He thinks Walter's going back to see Little Jem."

Walter bends down slightly - a twinge of pain goes through his back and his knees - and gives Dog Monday a pat. He feels ashamed that he cannot give the poor dog some hope, and then vaguely foolish for being ashamed.

Mr. and Mrs. Meredith have not come, but Una has. She takes his hand, just the way she had when he returned, just the way she had when he left the first time.

"It'll be all right," she murmurs. Walter feels the strangest pang, an odd hurt in his chest. It's only for a few days, but - he'll miss her. "I'll see you soon."

"You will," he says, and she smiles - the faintest hint of one, as is her way, but a smile nevertheless. It's a sweet expression, he thinks. He wishes she had more reason to use it.

The train arrives and he gets on with relative ease. It is almost shameful, that he needs help to balance his bag and his cane, as he tries to lift himself from the platform. But then he inhales and lets it go. This is his life, now.

He settles in his seat and turns to watch everyone on the platform. They are all huddled there, just like the day he left - no, not like the day he left. He searches for the little differences: Dad and Mothers' faces are not sorrowful or pale; Susan is more concentrated on keeping her kerchief from flying away than his departure.

Rilla and Una, though, are still standing together. Rilla is - Rilla - but somehow he finds himself watching Una, as the train grinds and begins to pull away from the station.

He keeps remembering, somehow, her words from the other day: not all of us are as pretty as you, Rilla. It's true, he knows: no one in the whole of the Island is quite as pretty as his little sister. Still, it has made him - think. What was it that he had overheard Miss Cornelia say, once? "Una Meredith will never be pretty, but she is sweet."

He had agreed with her then, but - it's because he has been spending so much time with her lately, he supposes, that it's bothering him now. Una, with her kind smiles and understanding words. He wishes he could tell her that he's come to think of her as quite pretty, likes her smile better than the golden looks of all the girls in his poems - but there is no way to tell her that without admitting that he'd overheard their conversation. And Una, he has discerned, does not wish for pity.

The train winds away until they are nothing more than specks, then they are out of sight completely. Just like before.

"Walter, over here!"

By the time the train arrives in Kingsport, Walter is exhausted - but it is an ordinary, everyday exhaustion, not the kind that comes from his thoughts and his nightmares - and so it is all right.

Nan and Di are standing together on the platform, Di waving her arms over her head, Nan standing away as though embarrassed to be seen with her. Walter manages a smile and heads over to them, his bag weighing down his left side, his cane holding up his right.

"I'm so glad you're here," Di whispers. Nan doesn't say a thing, but she smiles and Walter is glad to be with them.

"We've asked Alice Parker 'round for the evening," Di says as they pile into the cab - for a moment Walter struggles, then Nan realizes what is happening and helps push him into the vehicle. "Just the Island gang."

"That's nice," Walter says, automatically. They had been close friends, as children and when he went to teach at Lowbridge - she had been as upset as his family when he received a white feather - but God, had he even written to her when he was at the front? Why can't he remember?

"I hope you don't mind being stuck with us girls," Nan says, and Walter shakes his head. He knows all the men - all the men in their circle - have gone to fight. And he would not want to see them, anyway.

"We've moved," Di says. "I wrote you about that, didn't I?" Walter notices that they are not heading in the direction where their old boardinghouse was. "Well, us and Faith - but she's gone now. I hope we don't have to give the place up," she adds with a sigh. "It's harder with just the two of us, and it's the dearest little house. Oh, well."

She had written to him about it, but Walter finds he can barely remember the letter. It had been - just one of many he'd received, recovering in that hospital in England, one that he'd read and forgotten, lost in the haze of all he had just escaped.

Nan crinkles her nose. "Oh, don't say 'oh, well.' I'd like to keep the place as long as possible - it's impossible to go back to boardinghouses once you've had your own place."

They laugh and Walter smiles, but it doesn't seem to be enough - they both turn to look at him and go silent. They remain so for the rest of the trip home.

Di is right - the house they're renting is sweet, a tiny thing tucked away from main roads and grown over with flowers and vines. Walter thinks he'd like to live in a place like this, someday - small and quiet. He has lost his taste for noise and vibrancy, he's found.

"We'll have to find a new boarder soon," she says, fumbling with the door - "It's a tricky old thing" - although Walter can't be sure if she's talking to him or Nan. "I thought we could ask Louise, from the Red Cross group - "

"She's so fussy," Nan sniffs. "It would be like living with Susan."

"Well, the way you clean, having a Susan around would be helpful," Di says. Nan sticks her tongue out at her. It all seems odd, exaggerated - like they're putting a show on for him.

"We'll put you up in Faith's room," Di continues. "She had it to herself - Nan and I thought we'd might as well share - so you can sleep in there for the weekend."

They let him alone to put his things away - really just his bag, with his clothes and his notebooks.

He can see why they had given this room to Faith - it has a large window, sunshine lighting up the whole room, and the limb of a tree reaching across the view, almost inviting the room's inhabitant to climb it. He can see her, in Rainbow Valley, scrambling up the Tree Lovers or the Naked Lady with no regards to their sanctity.

They had all been so happy, then.

Well, perhaps not all of them - he remembers Una's stories, the little wistful smile on her face as she talked about the days before Rosemary joined their family. What is she doing, now? Perhaps giving one of her piano lessons. Or talking with Rilla. Or - well, it does not matter, does it?

With a shake of his head, he tucks his bag in the corner and goes out to join his sisters.

Alice Parker comes over as promised, balancing a pie on her arm as she struggles with her bag. She attempts to give Walter a hug, but nearly falls over in the attempt.

"For heaven's sake," Nan says with a laugh. "Put your things down first. He'll be here all weekend, Alice."

"It's only that it's been so long," Alice says, looking at him with her blue, blue eyes. "I haven't heard from you in ages."

Walter shifts uncomfortably. "I've been busy."

"Oh, I'm sure," Alice says quickly. "I've barely heard from Andy, since he's - gone." She tilts her head at Walter. "I suppose you never saw him 'over there,' did you?"

He shakes his head mutely. Why people think that? That they're all together, laughing and joking and romping through the trenches as though it's all some childhood game? They're tossed together with men they would have never spoken to, if not for the war, men from towns Walter had never heard of and cities on the opposite side of the continent.

But they do not know that.

Alice is as cheerful and dimpled as ever, although sometimes her smile falters, and Walter knows she has worries and fears, too. Every now and then, she catches him watching her and touches his hand. It doesn't quite warm him, but it is - nice.

"I worried about you," she says quietly, when Nan and Di are setting up the piano to sing. "I suppose I've always felt responsible for you - " her mouth quirks " - ever since I had to save you from my brother and Fred Johnson."

Walter gives a short laugh, but it comes out easily. "I'm fine."

"But your leg - and your skin - " her hand comes up, and Walter pulls back before she can touch him. Then he feels foolish. Perhaps she hadn't meant to do that at all.

"It's healed," he says quickly. "And - I've gotten used to it."

Alice leans her chin on her hand. "How different you are," she muses. "I read 'The Piper,' you know. I don't believe I'm talking to the Walter that wrote it."

He shrugs, tracing a pattern on the carpet with his shoe. "No, I suppose I'm not."

Alice nods and when she turns to Walter, there are tears in her eyes. "What do you suppose Andy will be like? All our friends?"

Walter opens his mouth, then closes it. What can he say? He feels useless and weak when faced with their expectations. He suddenly misses Una, wishes he could press his palms into hers to steady himself.

Thankfully he is saved by Di and Nan, who have found the sheet music. They gather around the piano and sing as though it is any party, the kind they always used to attend together. Di's arm is around his waist and it is almost like old times.

Almost.