Special shout out to Caprubia, for her chronological reviews. It was so cool to read what you thought as you read each chapter. It always fascinates me to find out what parts resonate, and what parts annoy. I liked 'the best mirror' line too. I was thinking back to college days when we would try on each other's clothes before we went to a party. Now where were we? Oh yes, stranded on some floating ice...

CHANGE of HEART

...

Anne could scarcely recall how she made it to the top of the remaining slab. All she was aware of was the massive iceberg, once so beautiful and now terrible to see, passing within a few feet of them. The slab she lay on rocked and groaned, then alarmingly some sheared off. If she could have heard anything above the thumping of her heart she would have made out Murtagh's faint call as the boat carried him away.

Only then did she notice the ice was not cold, and the reason for that was because she was lying on Gilbert's chest. His chin was drawn up, his eyes looking back, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her.

"Gilbert, you'll be soaked right through–" Anne attempted to get off him.

"Don't move, not yet, we don't know how stable this hunk of ice is."

Anne knelt up between his legs and dared to look around. The surface was mercifully flat and about ten feet in diameter. She rested on her haunches and reached for the reindeer coat.

"We can sit on this at least, the inside is waterproofed and the fur will help to keep us warm until Murtagh comes back."

Gilbert said nothing, but he did help Anne spread out the coat, his movements slow and steady, before they both sat down. He became aware of a bobbing motion and realised the ice they were stranded on was moving. And there was nothing, he had absolutely nothing to guide it in any direction, supposing he had the strength to do it. The slab must have weighed tonnes, and while it dismayed him to think they were floating aimlessly, he was a little cheered to know it would not easily break.

"The food basket is still in the boat," Anne said a while later, "I hope Mr Murtagh leaves a little for us. I guess if we get hungry we could always lick my shoulder."

Gilbert could barely raise a smile, and hunkered down deeper into his coat. It was past four o'clock now and the sun was a long blade of light hovering over the horizon. Once it left the sky they would be in real danger, not only because they would not be able to see where they were going, but because of the coming cold. He thought it was Anne's teeth that were chattering, and realised they were his own. After all his exertions, his body was covered in sweat. Sitting here in the dying light on a solid block of ice, every drip of perspiration felt like it was freezing on him.

"Oh Gilbert," Anne was on her knees once more. "I can't see that plume of smoke anymore, but... I do see a light."

"Yes," he muttered, "the shore ice is only fifty feet from us, and the Island only a hundred more, and we're stuck."

"We're not stuck," Anne was adamant. "We're waiting. That is a very different thing. Mr Murtagh will come back for us–"

"Anne, he could be anywhere by now, and he'll never be able to find us in the dark."

"So, we save our breath for the coming night, and then we take turns calling out to him. He'll hear us, I know he will..." She faltered as her voice caught and she took a deep wet sniff. "This is my fault," she said. "You tried to tell me–"

"Of all the times for you to ignore me, why Anne, why?"

"I didn't ignore you, I weighed what you both had to say and formed my own opinion. Murtagh believed it was safe, and while I know you are considered the expert in many fields, Gilbert, even you have to admit someone else might know more than you when it comes to crossing the Strait."

"What has any of that to do with jumping down into the boat when I begged you to?"

Anne looked askance. "You think I'm sorry about that? How could I be, I would rather be swallowed up in a whale with you than left alone."

"But you wouldn't have been alone, you'd be with Murtagh."

"It would feel like being alone, I know that much," Anne dug in. "You and I, well we're..."

Gilbert's hazel eyes went wide. "You're not going to say friends, are you?"

"Better than friends." Anne's cheeks rose up from the depths of her scarf. "We're kindred spirits."

And they were, Anne saw this now. Gilbert Blythe was just as impulsive and stubborn as she was. How freeing it felt to realise this, and even better to say it out loud. Perhaps now was not the best time to say such things, but then again when better? She couldn't tell how Gilbert felt on hearing her come to this realisation, and wished he would at least smile again.

"So, you trust me then?" he said at last.

"Why else would I follow you?"

"And will you keep following me?"

Anne tilted her head and gave a nod. "Yes, I believe I will."

He allowed himself a moment to take this in, before he got on his knees and took off his coat.

"Gilbert, what are you doing, you'll freeze?"

"I know, and you will too. But see the sun there, that tiny sliver above the hill, that light is all we have left and it's up to us to make the most of it."

"What are you suggesting, we can't make camp here?"

"No," said Gilbert sadly, "we can't. There's nothing for it but to swim for land. We'll have to remove as many items of clothing as we can bear to lose, and stuff them into the mail sack."

"They'll never fit."

"Then we leave them behind. The possibility of finding shelter outweighs the certainty of freezing here."

"Don't talk like that."

"We have to face facts."

"But I don't want to face them, and besides we might not have to. Murtagh could find us–"

"We can't wait for Murtagh anymore."

Gilbert was down to his longjohns now, the rest of his clothes were piled up in as neat a pile as his shaking hands could manage.

"D-do you need help?"

"Gilbert, you don't understand, I cannot swim."

"I know you can't, but you've seen me, right, tangled up in the pond weed on the Lake of Shining Waters? If I can handle that, surely I can manage a little naiad like you?"

He tried to smile, hoping to see an echo of it in her face. Even the swift tilt of her nose would be something. Anne remained panicked and pale, but he noticed her begin to unbutton her coat and took this as her assent.

"Quick as you can," he encouraged her.

"I can't make my fingers work..."

Gently, Gilbert guided her hands away and worked at the buttons down her front.

"I can manage the rest, myself," Anne said, softly, glad the falling sun had hidden her face.

Gilbert stuffed their boots into the mail-sack but it wouldn't hold anymore. He was about to tell Anne they wouldn't be able to take the rest of their clothing, and a looming fear about crossing the shore ice in soaking wet underthings began to take shape in his mind.

Anne was down to her under-petticoat, her bare toes disappearing in the reindeer fur. She had piled up their clothes upon it and was endeavouring to fold the rubber side into a sort of parcel.

"Anne, that's brilliant," Gilbert said, "here, let me help you make it smaller."

He pulled his suspenders out of the pile of clothes, and wrapped it around the coat to make it as tight as he could.

"I'll take this, if water gets in it will act like an anchor, can you manage the mail?"

Anne nodded, and gingerly placed her bare feet on the ice. They were already so cold she could scarcely feel it, and hoped the coming dip in the sea would prove the same.

She was breathing deep, trying to ready herself, when she heard a plop and saw Gilbert had slipped into the water. The reindeer coat was high around his neck.

"Anne!" he hissed, "sit on the edge and try to ease yourself down. Quick now, we're losing light!"

Anne saw there was no readying herself for this, and dangled over the edge. A piece of ice plopped into the water, and she soon fell next. Her face went under and all thoughts of protecting the mail-bag went out of her head. The air within her lungs felt as though it had frozen solid, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, she couldn't tell which way was up. Everything was sharp, stinging, burning. Then a strong, long arm slipped under her and lead her to the surface.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Gilbert said between clenched teeth.

Anne wondered how he could make the shape of words, let alone a sensible sentence.

"We're heading that way," Gilbert croaked, his legs flailing wildly, his eyes on the pale sun lighting the shore ice. "Whatever happens, follow that light and kick. Kick with everything you've got..."

He lurched forward, Anne gripping tightly to his shoulder. The pack on her front offered some buoyancy, but she knew it couldn't last for long. When he paused for a moment, Anne tried to ask why but not one sound would come out.

"Ice," he muttered, his voice was ragged, and his legs pulsed back and forth.

Then with another great surge they moved forward; Anne forced herself to kick. She looked up, the sky was now a pearly, purplish colour. I'm up there, she told herself, I'm not swimming, I'm flying. The sun is warm on my wings, the wind I float on like a soft mellow breeze...

She threw her arms out. Gilbert grunted.

"K-keep them on the bag."

He sounded exhausted. Anne tried to bring her arms in. They wouldn't obey but at last her jaw stopped clenching.

They stopped again.

"Ice?" she murmured. She was feeling very sleepy too.

Gilbert remained silent, his head resting against the edge of the shore ice, his body shaking as though he was being electrified.

Slowly, Anne reached out and felt its edges. There was a crisp layer of snow upon it that crumbled under her fingers. She slipped her head from under Gilbert's arm and loosened the pack. That was shoved onto the shore ice, before she summoned what strength she had left and flopped up on the surface. Gilbert was heaving hard, but his breath barely made a cloud anymore, and his skin was horribly pale.

"Get out," Anne barked.

He didn't seem to hear her, so Anne got up on her knees and untangled the reindeer coat from his shoulders. It was monstrously heavy, the bottom part leaky salty water all over him. The shock of it brought him to his senses, and soon he lumbered up next to her.

They lay on their sides, face to face, their breaths coming out in shaking pants.

"T-that wasn't so bad, was it?" Anne murmured.

"You did good, Anne" he said. "You did good."

...

It took a long while to untie the reindeer coat. The tail end was soaking wet. Gilbert threw it over Anne while he searched for their boots. He pushed Anne's bare feet into hers, but was unable to tie them in any way. His, he put on next, then stuffing the rest of the clothing down his sagging longjohns, he wrapped his own coat over his head and shoulders.

"I can't see a light anymore," Anne said.

"We will," said Gilbert firmly. "We keep walking, we don't stop. Agreed?"

Anne nodded, Gilbert linked his arm around hers, and they marched forward though they could not feel their feet.

Gilbert's plan, and probably Anne's, was to stop at the first house they found and ask for help. But when they came across a tiny fishing shack, they both stopped there and peered through the small window. They knew it was likely to be empty. Such places were used by fishermen, who would camp out for a few days in order to bring in a good catch to sell in the village.

The door was unlocked, as they usually were, and the inside while basic and rather dank, was neatly kept. Folks round these parts had a tradition of keeping these cabins fit for prompt use should someone find themselves in such a situation. No one who kept a shack would dream of leaving it without cleaning out the small stove and filling the wood box with fresh stacks of wood.

A narrow bench lay next to the stove, and a lantern with a stubby candle end was nailed to the wall. There were only three matches left in a small box beneath it. Gilbert used one to light the candle while Anne attempted to grab some kindling from the box. She was shivering uncontrollably now, and her fingers were tight and white. The reindeer coat dripped onto the rough board floor, and she was overcome with a need to use the pot.

Anne left the cabin quickly, Gilbert guessed why. When she came back in she expected to see Gilbert breathing into the fire he had started in the stove. Instead he was on his knees and peering inside it.

"Is there a problem?"

"There's something in the stove, I heard scratching in the chimney."

"Rats?"

"Maybe, but I'm fairly sure it's a bird."

"Can you reach it?"

Gilbert held out a hand which was covered in soot.

"Oh Gilbert, is the bird trapped in there–how could it even get in?"

"I dunno." Gilbert slumped back on his knees, "but there's no way I could light a fire now and listen to the creature burn–oof!"

He fell onto his rear as Anne rushed to embrace him. Her skin was cold through her soaking petticoat, and her curves pronounced and soft.

"I'm so glad you couldn't do that, I could never do it either."

"It's going to make it much harder to get warm."

Anne pulled back a little, her arms still around his neck. "I know how to stay warm with no fire. The asylum never had fires in our rooms and we would all pile into bed together."

Gilbert turned his head, his lips brushing against her wet hair. "I doubt that bed would hold us both," he said of the narrow bench behind them.

Anne caught his reticence; for someone who had boldly leapt into the sea he was being very careful now. "If you're thinking of properness and what Marilla would say–"

"It isn't that, it's..." He looked back at the empty stove as the scratching within the stovepipe started up again.

"Definitely a bird," Anne said. "It had better be a rare one."

Gilbert stood up and took the reindeer coat from her shoulders. "We'll lie on this, but first..." He blew out the candle.

"Why did you do that for?"

Gilbert's longjohns landed with a wet slap on the floor.

"If we lie on the fur in what we're wearing, that will get wet too."

"Oh."

She heard his undershirt slip from his chest and up over his arms.

"Do you want any help?"

"No, no," Anne murmured, and shaking she peeled her petticoat over herself.

In the meantime, Gilbert had lain himself on the fur coat. Anne shivered in her chemise and bloomers, then kneeling felt about for where Gilbert lay. He sucked in a breath as she nestled into his back, and pulled their coats over them both.

Gilbert stiffened, when all he wanted was to nestle into her body too. Was it only last week that he told himself that dancing with Anne was the bravest thing he would ever do?

"Is this fine?"

"Yep." His voice was tight.

"Can I–that is, can I put my arms around you, just to keep warm?"

"Sure," he murmured, then, "try and rest. I'll keep an eye out for our bird."

...

Anne was quiet, her breath in short puffs against his neck. Gilbert's eyelids were becoming heavy, the pull in his chest even heavier still.

"Are you awake?" she said a while later.

"I am."

"That's good. It isn't safe to fall asleep yet, not after the shock of the cold. I should have remembered before, but I wasn't thinking straight."

Neither was Gilbert. As Anne spoke he recalled that they still had a good portion of their clothes in a pile somewhere on the floor. The rubber interior had protected most of the reindeer fur and no doubt his trousers and her skirts. He had forgotten about them, and now he wished he had not remembered. The last thing he wanted to do was move, to lose Anne's heat and her softness. He was very aware of her breasts pressed tightly into his back and her bare arms snaked around his middle.

"I'll talk for a bit, how about that?" Anne sounded on edge too. "Only you must talk back, so I know I haven't bored you to sleep."

"You could never do that," Gilbert smiled. He waited for Anne to go on, and when she didn't he thought he might as well. "I've been thinking about what you said about this being your fault, because now I think on it, it might have been mine."

"How so?"

"It was something someone said to me. As a matter of fact, it was Roy." He felt Anne stiffen at the mention of his name, though her arms stayed where they were. "When I last saw him, he made me promise to remind you to name the boat. Then when I found you I forgot all about it. But it's supposed to be bad luck."

Anne said nothing, there was just her breathing, warm and shallow against his neck. She withdrew one arm and looked up at the ceiling. The bird started scratching again.

"Did he mention anything else to you?"

"He did."

"So you know he and I are..."

Gilbert reached for her arm and placed it over him again. "Keep it where it was," he said. "I'm cold."

"Do you not want to hear about it?"

"I didn't bring him up so you could tell me, if that's what you're thinking. It's nothing to do with me."

"Oh, but it is," Anne burst out. She lowered her head then, her cheek hot against his shoulder blade. "He couldn't help notice the way you and I..."

"Are kindred spirits?"

"Well," Anne equivocated, "he didn't put it exactly like that. In fact, I doubt he's ever heard such a term before. It's not something Roy would understand."

Though it remained unsaid, Gilbert knew Anne believed he understood what such words meant. And an hour ago he would have agreed. His heart had leapt when Anne called him that. He was so fired up he barely felt the cold of the ice beneath his feet, and used this warmth to power them both through the sea. But now, half naked and so close, and her breath, hot and constant on his skin, he was beginning to feel that being kindred with Anne was not how he truly wanted to be. It was better than friends, which was certainly more than he could ever have hoped for, even as recently as this morning. Anne had glared with such scorn and ordered him out of the room. He would never have guessed that over the course of one day they would have ended up together like this.

"Gilbert, please say something?"

"I–ah," he faltered, "I'd say Roy understood you well enough."

That was the wrong thing to say. Anne yanked herself away and sat up.

"What do you mean, that I made a mistake by breaking things off? Because I remember very clearly," that haughty tone had returned, "you saying–no you accusing me–of giving up the Island for him."

Gilbert said nothing, certain that whatever he might say in this moment was bound to be misconstrued.

"That hurt me deeply," Anne went on, "excruciatingly, especially coming from you!"

"Me?"

"At least I go back home, you haven't been back for years!"

"Anne, I was there last summer for Fred's wedding–"

"And when it was done you went back to Kingsport."

"I had no idea you kept such detailed tabs on my comings and goings."

"Don't hide behind sarcasm!"

"Stop picking fights!"

"I don't do that!"

"Yes, you do. Anytime I get close, you scramble for reasons to get away."

"That's exactly what you do," Anne was fired up now. "Anytime you have a chance to go to the Island you find an excuse to stay away. After the wedding, you made me think you were going back to Christine, when the whole time she was engaged to someone else!"

"You're mad about that? Anne, I told you about Dawson weeks ago."

"Why didn't you tell me last year?"

"While you were hanging off Gardner's arm?"

"I never hung off his arm!"

"Yes, you did, like his pet!"

She was standing now, so was he, both shouting into the dark. His feet tangled in a sleeve of the reindeer coat and he fell back against the stove. A whir of wings filled the air and a small panicked shape darted around the room. They heard it strike one wall and then another, Anne shrieked in fear for the bird's safety. She tried to find the door, but Gilbert got to it first. He yanked it open, and sensed it shoot past him.

Gilbert stood there looking out for it against the night sky. He could see the light of a farmstead not more than a quarter of a mile away, and thought about throwing his clothes on and walking toward it. Then Anne was there in the doorway, her fingers wrapping around his. Her hands were icy cold.

"We should light a fire now."

"I think we already did," he said, and clenched her hand tight. "Anne, I don't want to fight anymore."

"I don't mind," Anne spoke very softly, "in fact, I missed it. I might as well admit I have missed you too. When you came for me–"

Gilbert spun round to look at her, and saw starlight reflect in her great grey eyes. He swallowed and held her hand even tighter, as if it would stop him falling.

"How do you know I came for you?"

"Because it's exactly what you would do." She dropped her gaze and stared at their hands. His knuckles were white, just as they had been when he clutched the iron rail. "That day... at the orchard–"

"You don't need to remind me where it was, I remember."

"That day–when I told you I liked you better than anyone else. I meant it, Gilbert."

She looking up at him and the yearning he found there was hard to ignore. But the last time he jumped to conclusions he landed on his knees.

He shut the door, moonlight from the small window lit upon her pale face.

"I like you too," he kept his voice light, "After all you did save my life."

Anne snorted. "Thank you for the compliment, but there is such a thing as being too modest you know. It wasn't me that got us to the shore ice."

"But you were the one who thought of the reindeer coat, without that we'd both be icicles by now."

"True..."

"Which part?"

Anne shrugged uncomfortably, her thoughts turning to Roy. "I was agreeing with you. It has been known to happen, you know. " She looked away to the pile of clothes and the mail bag in a shadowy corner. "Let's light the fire then, we better dry our clothes."

...

Shirts, skirts, trousers and stockings were lined up on the bench, and a steamy smell of cedar perfumed the shack. Gilbert lay on his side on the floor, Anne before him, the reindeer coat beneath them both. She was looking at the stove, listening to the wood inside it crackle and hiss. Every so often Gilbert would reach over her to feed it another precious piece of fuel. When he did, the coppery light lit up his body, throwing his muscles into relief.

"You're covered in goosebumps," Anne said, "do you want a turn closer to the fire?"

Gilbert returned to his place behind Anne's back and tucked his knees into hers. "You think it's safe to sleep yet?" He knew he couldn't if he wanted to, and would have cursed himself if he did.

"Not yet," Anne said, "not till we're completely warmed through. Shall I tell you a story, I've been working on one–"

"You're writing again?"

"Uh huh," she said shyly. "The girls know, but no one else. Don't worry, it isn't another tale of dastardly deeds–"

"And baking powder," Gilbert teased.

"No indeed." Anne laughed. "Just a little fairy story. I think I might write one on mermaids next."

"Or birds that nest in empty stoves."

"There's a bird in my story."

Anne's voice rang with quiet excitement that Gilbert thrilled to hear. He looked up at the ceiling lit up by the tiny stub of candle, but instead of the rafters he saw branches and clouds. And he was back to those days, under some likely tree, his fishing line in the pond and Anne beside him. A book she had brought with her lying unread, as she unravelled some romantic tale from her impossible head. It gladdened him in a way he could not express to know the Anne of those old days was still there. How easy it would be to return to how they used to be. His head told him it was enough, but his heart, oh his heart wanted more from her, wanted to belong to her and for Anne to give her heart to him.

"I knew it," she said, as her tale came to an end and was met with his silence. "I sent you to sleep."

She was clearly back in those old days too, and mocked him gently as she brought up all the times she had read to him or sang to him, only to find the boy next to her had drifted off to the land of dreams.

"Perhaps we should get up," she suggested, nudging his arm. "Oh, I know. We'll pretend we're back in Avonlea and following some dusky path. Remember when–"

"I don't want to play 'do you remember'." He sounded sad. "I'm content to be where we are right now. Tell me another story, that last one was tremendously good–"

"Ah, but that won't do, you'll fall asleep and I'll be alone. Look!" Anne stood up, and stretched her arms above her. "What tree does this remind you of?"

"I don't know," Gilbert lied. Anne was of course a silver birch, like the ones that lined Lover's Lane. She shook her head next, and let her long, wet hair trail down as she hunched her slender shoulders.

"Come, this one is easy. I'll give you a hint, it grows at Diana and Fred's new place."

"Anne, please sit. I promise I won't fall asleep. But we can talk if you like."

Anne resumed her place before the fire, sitting cross-legged, her face an animated as any sprite.

"It's Christmas Eve tomorrow, or is it today? Remember the time we went into the Haunted Wood to find a tree for Mr Harrison. And we turned up all pleased at our neighbourly selves, and he told us Christmas trees were pagan hocus-pocus?"

"When are you expected at Green Gables," Gilbert asked, guiding the conversation back to the here and now, "will they be worried for you?"

"I shouldn't think so. The lack of mail would have told them the crossings had been delayed. And if it didn't, Mrs Lynde certainly would. She knows when a baby is coming weeks before a new bride does. Oh, remember that time she–"

"My folks have no idea I'm coming," Gilbert leaned on his elbow. "I wonder how Murtagh is faring?"

"He'll be camped under his boat, feasting on lard. Ugh, now I've warmed up I can smell it on my skin. When we were hungry at the Asylum, we could tell each other stories about the great feasts we longed to eat. Oh!" Anne burst out laughing, "I just remembered that time you and I went hiking and forgot to bring any food. We ate the wind, do you remember? Great gusts of it, and you made a terrific loud burp."

Gilbert laughed despite himself, and said, "I think that was you."

"Well kindred spirits can allow for such things," her nose made a familiar tilt, "but don't you ever tell Diana..."

"Are you still worried for her?"

"I can't explain, there's this niggle I can't ignore, burrowing deep in my belly. Oh Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert!" she cried, leaping to her feet. "The mail bag!"

Anne scurried to the bench and the mail bag that had been kicked beneath it, and began untying the neck of the sack. "How could I have forgotten? The answer could be right here!"

"Anne Shirley, you're not going to look through Her Majesty's mail?"

"Try and stop me," she said.

...

Part of the impetus for this chapter was to make up for the disappointment some readers had about how Anne and Gilbert got out of the snow storm in Anotherlea. They made their way to the cottage and then Mrs Blythe turns up. I got the distinct impression from these readers that it would have been much more entertaining if she hadn't. So this is for you. I hadn't forgotten ;o) k