Big thanks to VickyP16 for encouraging me to earn my T rating.

Revised for clarity re: Nan.

August, 1914

Realism and Romance

"Rilla put on her georgette gown, knotted up her hair and bound a little double string of pearls around it. Then she tucked a cluster of pale pink baby roses at her belt. Would Ken ask her for a rose for a keepsake? She knew that Jem had carried to the trenches in Flanders a faded rose that Faith Meredith had kissed and given him the night before he left."

Rilla of Ingleside, Chapter 16: "Realism and Romance"

Faith Meredith had devised a plan, but in the event, she hadn't needed it. Without prompting, Di Blythe had proposed — rather forcefully, it must be said — that all the youth of Ingleside and the manse spend the evening at the shore, save the parting couples. Perhaps Di had read Faith's mind; perhaps she had only woken that morning to find that Nan had knelt at the window all night.

Rilla had protested a bit, but Walter had steered her by the arm and tactfully confided that he had something very particular he wished to ask her on their walk down to the harbour, thus sweeping away any vestige of resistance. Carl and Una had even fetched little Bruce along with them, so there was virtually no chance of anyone wandering through Rainbow Valley unannounced. There would be time enough for public goodbyes tomorrow.

Firefly time found Faith and Jem intertwined in a little dell bordered by rose bushes, most of the blossoms blown and disintegrating, raining down red and pink at the slightest provocation. It was as romantic a spot as anyone might wish, but, truth be told, Faith valued the sheltering hedges of thorny vine more than the flowers themselves. In fact, she found herself wishing the roses gone — their sickly perfume cloyed, threatening to mask the lower scents of sweat and salt that she wanted unalloyed.

"Wait . . . stop . . ." Jem gasped. He pulled away, breathing raggedly. Putting her hands away from him, he sat up, drawing his knees protectively toward his chest.

Faith smiled languidly, cheeks flushed and glowing. She reached a hand up to stroke his jaw, fingers as light and gentle as the August breeze rustling the leaves overhead. "You alright there?"

"Yeah," Jem panted, shying away from her hand. "Just . . I . . . just . . . gimme a minute."

His collar hung open, and the first two buttons, but no more than that. Whatever anyone might imagine, in the two years since Gull Island, Jem had never let her get at that third button, nor any others.

Faith sat up as well, but she did not bother to smooth her skirt, nor comb the petals from her hair. She rested her cheek against his heaving shoulder, wove her arm through the gap at his elbow. This was not a night for unsaid things.

"What do you do?" she asked quietly, "when you want me and can't have me?"

Jem snorted and shook his head. "You don't want to know."

"Don't I?" Faith asked. "Then perhaps I will tell you what I do." She leaned in close, the better to whisper in his ear. "I wait until the whole house is asleep, and then I hike my nightdress up over my hips, and . . ."

Jem pulled away from her, smiling, but shaking his head. "Don't tell me this, Faith."

"Why not?"

"Because you have an awfully high opinion of my powers of self-control."

That made her laugh. "I'm sure your self-control is equal to any situation," she said. "But I was wondering more about your imagination."

"My imagination?" Jem asked, regarding her with surprise.

"Yes," Faith replied, lips curved in mischief. "There are certain . . . rules . . . that we must abide by, even as an engaged couple . . ."

"Oh, I'm aware; don't worry."

"But, given the circumstances, I think we might find some imaginative way to abide by the letter of the law."

Jem's eyebrows had disappeared behind his red curls. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Wordlessly, Faith reached across his body and took his hand in hers. With lingering tenderness, she kissed each finger, pausing to press his palm to her cheek before she guided it beneath her hems. Jem hesitated for a heartbeat, but Faith met his hazel gaze without teasing for once, and he complied without protest.

He was too hesitant, and she had to press and pilot his hand with her own until he was convinced that she was not as fragile as he supposed. But Jem Blythe was a quick study, and it was chemistry that gave him fits, not anatomy.

Faith nuzzled into his neck, whispering soft words of encouragement and instruction until he settled into a rhythm that left her incapable of coherent speech. Then she purred against his throat, her breaths a series of little catches that came closer and closer together.

The rose-laden glade faded into legend, part of a distant and half-remembered world of little consequence. If concrete objects continued to exist beyond the aura of her incandescent skin, Faith could not perceive them.

When she melted against him at last, Jem held her close and steady.

"I could get used to that," he whispered into her hair.

Faith did not answer, but infused her shuddering breaths with an accent of amusement. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to discover her own fingers embedded talon-like in the placard of Jem's shirt, two open buttons evidently enough after all.

"I don't know where you are right now," Jem said from a long way off, "but you look like you're having fun there."

"I'm right here," Faith breathed. "Come join me."

He made a throaty sound only distantly related to laughter. "No, I don't think so."

She disentangled her hand from the fabric at his chest and and reached again, but he caught her wrist and held it firmly away from him.

"No. I'm not kidding, Faith. Touch me right now and you'll be on your back so fast . . ."

She smiled a hair's breadth from his cheek. "Don't tempt me."

"No. Not like this."

"Alright," she agreed, letting her arm go lax in his grasp to show she would not press the point. "How about I just stay in this general vicinity," — waving a slim hand to indicate everything above his gaping collar — "and leave you to your own devices?"

Jem appeared to give this suggestion more careful consideration than any decision he had ever made, which, given the past month, was saying rather a lot.

"You'll . . . let me . . ."

"Let you?" Faith pulled back far enough to look Jem in the eye, a bit of her customary snap returning. "I'm not doing you a favor. I'm entirely selfish, I assure you."

He smiled at that, hazel eyes twinkling. "Are you?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I want a memory I can look forward to."

"And that's the memory you want?" Jem asked, vastly amused.

Faith took his face between her hands and kissed him unhurriedly, lips still pliant in the aftermath of his embrace. "Will you remember me like this?" she asked.

"Always."

"Then return the favor, won't you?"

Jem shook his head, not in refusal, but in recognition of the palpable hit. "Alright," he said. "But you keep those hands where I can see them. Deal?"

Faith grinned her agreement and ended all further conversation with a kiss worth remembering.

Later, when they lay among the fallen petals, Faith stretched a lazy hand above her head and plucked a small, pink rose from one of the wild bushes bordering their clearing. With a smug smile, she brought it to her lips and gave it a decorous peck.

"Take this," she said, dropping the blossom onto his chest. "And if anyone asks about our farewell, you can say that I kissed a rose and that you carry it with you always."

Jem laughed with abandon. He gathered her to him and buried his face in her golden-brown curls, grinning. "God, I'm gonna miss you, Faith."