This might be the last chapter, im still deciding. Let me know if you would like me to go on a little longer (Just to close the story more officially, overall the story is over)

Thank yall sooooooo much for your words and support. They make this whole process so much more enjoyable. I love writing (obviously), but knowing that people not only read my words but enjoy them is a truly incredible feeling. Those little reviews, even the one worded ones, just a quick response, truly make my day. Very, Very grateful.

Happy holidays everyone!
-A.G

Gilbert lay in his bed, the window propped open beside him. Sweat dribbled down his forehead, and settled between the crevices of his neck and nose.
He shivered from the chill in the air, then sweat profusely from the bitter heat.

He was sick as a dog, and he knew it.
And yet it was the last thing on his mind.

"Anne"
He whispered her name. It rolled off his tongue like it had a million times before, only this time it took off the weight of months of pretense, walls, ignorance, and false hopes.
She was everything to him now as she had been everything to him before.

He still saw her at St Joseph's. The image of her face and her skin and her dress all etched in his mind so impossibly realistic.
Little details he thought he had forgotten, the way she clutched her hands when she was nervous, the way her eyes smiled even when her lips didn't.
The way she wasn't wearing a ring.
He laughed bitterly.
She was married by now; he was sure of it. Somewhere across the ocean in a perfect little house with her perfect little husband who woke up to perfect little smiles and was comforted with perfect little kisses.
Jealousy, like a torrent, came crashing over him. Bitter as it always had been, just as suffocating as he remembered. Time had not healed the wound.

Gil stood suddenly, his sheet slipping carelessly off the bed.
The shelf beside him tumbled to the floor and he shoved it, watching the books spill out.
"God- dammit!" He shouted hoarsely, swiping his hand across the ledge, glasses shattering as they fell to the floor.
He was delirious, and he knew it. Yet the anger in his veins, the pain in his heart-
Why couldn't he fall in love with someone that loved him back?

...

Anne was running.
Running
People a blur as she passed, Elodie's words swimming in her head achronologically, like snippets of a conversation. She hardly heard her words anyway; she was too preoccupied with her one command – fight for him.
There was... some girl?
"Your hair... your eyes... Gilbert always talking to...familiar... an old friend that wasn't really..."
It hadn't made a difference. She loved him, and whether or not those feelings were reciprocated he needed to know.
He deserved that much.

She found his building with ease. It was dark and rusty, oak trees framing the rickety fence. The windows sat on their broken hinges, snapping in the breeze rhythmically. Moss crept up the building's spine like cobwebs and they gently unfurled as they touched the ground.
It was alive; water leaking down its side as it rested in puddles, reflecting the pale sun's fading glare.
Leaves danced recklessly by her feet, before running off in the wind.

Anne snapped out of her haze, and raced up the broken steps.
She hadn't the time for distraction, even the beauty of the world that she was so fond of came second to Gil.

.

"Can I help you?"
Anne whipped her head around, and placed a hand on her chest to steady her pounding heart.
"Gilbert Blythe- Do you know which room is his?"
The woman, pale and stout, in her mid-50's nodded slowly, eyeing Anne,
"You cannot go up to him though. No females are allowed in the bedrooms. I'm sorry, you-"
"I'm his wife!" She blurted before she could stop herself. She had come too far to let pesky old housekeeping rules stand before her.

The woman eyed her suspiciously "I wasn't aware he was married. He never mentioned such a thing."
Anne smiled meekly, "Yes well, he is completed his residency so far from home. It's a bit of a sore topic, I am here to surprise him."

The woman's face relaxed, as she waved Anne to follow her up the carpeted stairs.
"Your Gilbert is a fine man. A true gentleman. Always helping elderly folk cross the street, carrying bags for them."
Anne smiled. Of course, he was.

The hallway was dim. A candle flickered weakly in its sconce, illuminating the flat ridge of the woman's forehead, shadows spilling across the lower half of her face. She stopped before the last door.

"Well here we are, Mrs. Blythe. Let me know if you need-"
A crash ricochet off the door in front of them, and the pair jumped back in shock.
The woman eyed Anne nervously, "Be careful dear" She murmured, patting her arm affectionately before slipping away.

Anne's heart was in her stomach. Blood pounded in her ears so loudly, she was sure her head would implode.
With a pale hand, she knocked

...

Something thudded against the door.

He ignored it, arching his hand back as another book sailed across the room.
He was no longer running from the pain, he was embracing it- head first, like falling into icy waters.
But the cold, bitter to the touch as it raced its way through its veins, was unbearable and now that he had fallen, he had no strength to get back up.

The delirium of his sickness sat like fog in his mind, blurring his vision and his conscious.
He could hardly think straight and with every whisper of the shrinking logical part of his mind, begging him to stop, to think about what he was doing, he felt a tide of nausea stronger than the pain of the shards cutting into his feet.

He didn't want to stop.
The masochist within him reveled at the broken objects, objects that meant something to him once, that sat littered on the floor.

He liked the thrum of adrenaline in his fingertips; the scratching of chapters being ripped from its binds as they sunk silently, obediently, to his feet. His fingers itched and he gripped the last teacup in the cupboard and smashed it against the wall, glass like hail as it rained down.

He laughed, delirious and unfamiliar even in his own ears, his voice scratchy and taunt like a wire ready to burst.
It was too late.
He already had.

...

The doorknob turned easily. She had knocked and knocked, until fear bubbled too high in her stomach.

"Gil?"

The apartment was a disaster. Pages, torn in pieces, littered on the floor. Glass lay so thick over every surface that they sparkled in the evening sun, porcelain dangled off the broken cabinets like chandeliers.

He stood before her. His face was yellow, nearly white. His eyes, usually warm and bright, stared back at her dull and lifeless.

He was shaking slightly, his fingers trembling
"YOU" He snarled, his lips curling vehemently.

Anne had never in her life feared Gilbert. He was too sweet. To the children at church, to the rabbits in the woods. The birds sung his praises; the fall leaves clung eagerly to his feet. The ones who were lucky enough to be touched by his love, were loved with all he had, and those that weren't- he still cared deeply about.

Now he stood before her. His eyes bleak, fever stained his cheeks, and anger his lips. But he was still Gil. And she loved him just the same.

"Gil I-"
"Get. Out." It was not a request. It was a command, and the hope festing in her heart flickered out, smoke curling in its place. Elodie had to be mistaken; this man was not a man in love.

Her eyes filled with tears and she let them. She had no strength to fight them. She had nothing at all.
"No."

He took a broken step in her direction, teetering slightly like a drunk. His voice, shattered like the glass by their feet as he whispered,
"Why can't you leave me alone? Why can't you let me move on?"

Anne choked a sob, and the tears dribbled down her face, burning as they touched her tongue.
"Because I love you Gilbert! Don't you get it? Can't you see? You were right, all along you were right! I never loved Roy! It was you, it always only been you!"

Her shoulders heaved, and a cry escaped her worn lips
"I know, Gil. I know. It was selfish of me to come, selfish to intrude in your life. But I- I can't. I can't live without you, I can't sleep, I can't think... The days are grey and bleary without you in them." Her voice was hardly audible, just above a whisper, but she knew he could hear "They mean nothing to me now."

He took a step in her direction, his face unrecognizable.
He reached for her slowly, long, tan fingers circling her wrist. It was wrong, all kinds of wrong, but she couldn't care less. Not now. Not after all this time.
Her pulse thrummed under his touch, and his head jolted up to her at the beat, staring at her, shock spilling over his features.
He reached his palm ever so gently to her cheek, the callouses of his fingertips, scraping her jaw.

And the veil lifted from his eyes, the fog dissipated, the sun rose in his irises and she saw Gilbert wake.
His thumb hovering over her bottom lip and he stared at them in wonder "You're real. It's really you."

His eyes glinted softly, warm and golden, golden golden. The ridges of his cheeks stretched softly, and the dimple that she always admired smiled down at her. His voice was hoarse from sickness, scratchy and sore, but she heard is words loud and clear as if they were magnified before her eyes.

"You came back for me."

prop. LA Mont.