Author's note: A day late it comes, the third chapter of this that have somehow managed to interest you so much. I really did want to update it yesterday and was quite excited about it - but then, of course, I got stuck editing this beauty for you, and for more than half a day. I do hope that you will like it, even though I have some doubts about it myself; but there is no point mulling over it when I am quite sure I could not make it any better than it is right now.

There are two chapters written after this one - keep your fingers crossed that I can work on the sixth and make it as good as I wish and sooner than within a month.

Thank you to all that have been supporting me on this journey, both with this story and others I wrote. You really are amazing, my friends.

God bless you, my Kindred Spirits,
annewithagee

Chapter 3
 Two Kindred Spirits and a journey of four steps

In the years to come Anne's thoughts often wandered back to that fateful afternoon, playing with the question of who had proven to be more unrelenting on that particular time of misery and hurt, never quite able to give a certain answer to her query.

Was she the one in the lead, with her astonishment and disbelief that had naturally followed Gilbert's sudden offer and then the protest that had derived directly from them in turn? Or had the palm of victory been his, as he had so obviously ignored both, standing resolutely by his proposition, deaf to the reasoning she had so desperately thrown at him back then?

She had always known him to be stubborn, and to a degree that could only be rivalled by herself; so how could she be surprised to see him act like this that day?

"For the last time, Anne, this isn't about either of us being comfortable or not," he had told her then, depriving her of her last argument. "I can easily imagine that you'd rather go back with Stella or Priss, but you know that it won't work this time and I know that you're not going to delay your return only because my company is less pleasant than theirs."

She had protested to that, too, telling him frankly that this particular aspect of their journey had been the least of her concerns, but accepted his general plan eventually.

It was agreed upon that Gilbert should come to Patty's Place shortly before eight the following morning and that they should set off to the Kingsport train station together from there. Again, Anne wanted to oppose – this time, however, she would have had to battle all four of her friends, who undoubtedly would emphasise the advantage of such solution most resolutely – and she was certain that at this point she could not successfully battle one.

She agreed and then she excused herself when only she thought it appropriate, explaining that she should pack before it got dark and that more than anything, she needed a proper rest before her trip. She found Gilbert's eyes and, unable to think of words that could express the enormous gratitude she felt, she gave him one, lasting gaze, praying to the Heavens that he could understand the message it was supposed to carry.

He did; he answered it with the weakest of smiles and a silent promise that he would be there for her, for as long as she needed him to.

And now here she was, dressed up in her old grey travelling dress, standing by the gate of her second home, waiting. The morning was bright, the sun shining down on her, its beams warm and gentle against her pale, freckled skin. It was a fine morn, a beautiful morn; and yet, for the first time in her life, Anne could not feel appreciate it at all.

She noticed Gilbert come down the street with a small satchel and immediately felt guilty as she thought of her own suitcase, so much heavier than the little bag he was carrying with him. She knew he would take her ridiculously big luggage as soon as he arrived at the gate and that she could never find a way to talk him out of it.

She sighed with exasperation. Sometimes she wished that Gilbert Blythe hadn't been such a consummate gentleman all the time.

As she mused over the matter, the young man in question reached his destination, having come to a stop right in front of her. He offered her a smile and pushed the gate open.

"You are up early," he said in lieu of a greeting, his voice void of astonishment. "I am fairly sure we weren't supposed to meet for another quarter at least."

"Well, in that case we are equally ill-bred," Anne retorted readily; it was disconcerting to think how easy it was to fall into this kind of banter with him, so many months apart and at the time so unfavourable as this, yet at this point, she was far too tired to worry about that, too.

Gilbert chuckled lightly. "I must ask you not to repeat this to my mother, Miss Shirley. She pales at the very thought of me behaving inappropriately, she might end up with a heart attack if she ever heard that I did."

"As long as you don't betray me before Marilla," Anne answered in the same blithe tone, before realising to whose judgement she had just referred. She looked away, abashed. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. I'm afraid I'm not going to be the most amusing companion today."

"I never expected you to be," he assured her candidly as he stepped closer and bent to take hold of her suitcase. "This is a terribly small baggage, Anne. Are you sure you've got everything you need?"

Anne smiled at him sheepishly. "I was afraid I had taken too much, actually, seeing how all you've got is a satchel."

"Well, seeing how I don't need to worry about petticoats and corsets, it's quite natural that my baggage is smaller – I should be worried if that wasn't the case." He finally straightened up to his full heights and looked squarely at her. "So, is that really all? Are you ready to go now?"

Anne nodded in confirmation and after giving the little cottage one last wistful glance, she finally left the dear place behind.

As they strolled up the street in silence, Anne was once again reminded that even though she herself made a terrible travelling companion, Gilbert did not. He didn't bore her with unnecessary talk, mindful of her worries that must take precedence over whatever he might have wanted to discuss… and making sure she could still sense his supportive presence at the same time. One minute it was a glance meant solely for her to see; in another it was a word, a thought voiced for no other reason than to rouse her from her musing when he saw it was growing too morbid to do her any good.

Beside that blissful day of Diana's wedding, it was the first time in over two years when he was not a stranger, passed on the street with nothing more than a courteous nod, nor the one that would pass her in such manner. She didn't dare to call him her friend, even if his readiness to help her seemed to prove that her that he still considered himself one – but she realised with joy that he had remained the same Kindred Spirit she had recognised in he so many years ago.

The one to whom she had already owned so much.

Her thoughts wondered towards Phil and the conversation the two girls had had shortly after Gilbert had left their little home last night. Anne hadn't been surprised by the impression he had made on her friends; they had always considered it their duty to bring up his many virtues, especially when Anne herself was there to listen, as if she hadn't been aware of them for a much longer time. Yet, there was something about what Phil had said that night that had stuck in her memory particularly.

"I hope you'll thank him properly tomorrow, Queen Anne," she'd scolded her then. "Just because Gilbert would walk around the globe and back for you doesn't mean he does not deserve to have his work acknowledged."

Then, she had only smiled at her friend, too weary to say that if there was anyone for whom Gilbert might want to walk the Earth, it was Christine Stewart, not her – now, as they walked together she realised just how unfair her judgement had been.

Gilbert Blythe would have walked the globe and back for anyone who needed him to – and then he'd refuse to receive as much as a 'thank you' for doing it.

Anne felt a sudden pang of uneasiness when she thought he might have missed the thankfulness that seemed so obvious to her. He had appeared to understand her quiet messaged the previous eve – and yet, how could she be sure?

I suppose there is only one way to find out, she thought gravely to herself, and out loud she asked, "Gilbert?"

He responded with a hum and a curious glare in her direction but said nothing more. Anne drew in a deep breath.

"You know how grateful I am for this, don't you?" she inquired eventually in a hushed voice.

Gilbert's eyebrows rose as soon as she'd uttered the question.

"Anne, you have nothing to be grateful for," he opposed gently.

"You know that's not true!" she contradicted him in a much firmer manner, looking away and gritting her teeth. "I know you weren't planning to go back for another week – more than that, if the rumours about the Cooper Prize winner's obligations hold any truth to them. And still, you disregarded all that to help a girl to whom you had hardly even spoken for the previous two years and who had treated it you in the same, if not worse, way. I am thankful, Gil; you can't even imagine how much. And it hurts me to think that I can never repay you for doing all this so please, at least let me thank you."

"If that's what you need," he answered somewhat absently, after a pause so long that Anne had begun to believe that he would make no answer at all. But then he turned towards her again and with all of his usual zest, he continued, "But Anne, I really don't want you to think of it in this way, in terms of some heroic deed I have made for your sake. I saw a person in need and I did the only thing I could think of. It wasn't heroic; it was decent, that's all."

"Oh, but that only makes it worse!" Anne bristled at his response, throwing her arms in the air with despair and thus missing the smile that appeared on Gilbert's face at the sight she gave. "Really, Gilbert – couldn't you, just for once, put your own needs before someone else's? Especially when it's about someone you shouldn't care about in the first place?"

"I can think of more than a few times when I put my need before yours, Carrots," he answered patiently. "And it never resulted in anything good; same goes for my relations with other people. And as for those whom I choose to help – why can't you just assume that what I'm doing right now is simply about aiding a friend, so the most natural thing in the world?"

Anne sighed a little too wistfully for her own liking. "Would you still call me that?"

Gilbert's face grew serious in an instant, as he looked at her and responded to her enquiry in a most solemn tone. "Forgive me Anne, I thought I had made myself clear on that matter. I was obviously talking about Marilla here."

Too such a statement Anne could not remain indifferent. At first, she was too surprised to do much more than blink in shock; a piercing, somewhat pained glare followed as she brought herself to look at her companion after another while. Her grey eyes searched his in hope of an answer as she knew she could not trust her lips to speak; but for all this time, Gilbert's countenance remained unchanged,

And then he broke into a grin, the widest and most sincere she had seen him wear in months. Her eyes widened in astonishment – Gilbert's smile turned into the softest of chuckles.

Once again, Anne Shirley found herself at loss for words.

And how was it that it was almost always him to make her feel so?

"I'm so sorry, Anne, but I simply couldn't pass a chance like this," he apologised immediately, even though his voice was rather lacking of the remorse he was supposed to feel. "And of course I still consider you my friend; I know we haven't been on the best terms lately – I still haven't quite forgiven you for that dance at the Convocation, mind you – but it doesn't mean you can no longer count on me. Besides, were the roles reversed, I'm sure you would do just the same. And you wouldn't want my gratitude, either."

Anne blushed slightly at his statement.

"I wish I could be this sure," she said hesitantly. "Not to mention, I can hardly imagine you needing my escort back home at any point."

"True, but what if my mother fell ill and I for some reason could not go to her? Wouldn't you look after her for me?"

"Of course I would! That is…" she faltered again. "I would, if you both wanted me to. I don't believe Mrs Blythe would welcome me as her nurse."

"My mother adores you, Anne," Gilbert said seriously. "And she has always cared for you deeply, I know she has – I guess she just can't help caring about her son more. And… she doesn't know, doesn't understand everything… no one does. But if she has ever said anything that hurt you -"

"She has said nothing that I didn't deserve," Anne interrupted him with the same determination ringing in her voice. "Although the truth is, she hasn't spoken to me much lately – but again, I cannot blame her for it. And it's not even close to what I had in mind."

Gilbert glanced at her questioningly. "What is, then?"

"The fact that I'm not sure I would be brave enough to offer you my help. I would give it to you if you asked – but I can't promise I'd be bold enough to suggest it myself."

"Well, then I suppose it's Providence work that it is you needing my assistance, seeing that I am as bold as ever," came Gilbert's even answer, to which Anne could not respond with anything more than a nod, before she looked away to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes at his comment. Gilbert scolded himself quietly for his tactlessness and almost as if lead by the same Providence he had mentioned before, he reached out for Anne's hand and squeezed it gently. "She will be alright. I know she will and more importantly, I think you know it, too."

He let go of her hand as quickly as he had taken it and for a moment Anne wondered whether he had made the gesture at all – or whether it was a trick of her mind, another daydream summoned in order to ease her pain as it had been so many times before. She shook her head discontentedly.

Gilbert was very much real; his kindness was real, too. She had no reason to doubt either.

"I really don't know what I'll do if she isn't," she admitted at last, her voice barely a cracked whisper despite the best of her attempts. "I tried to imagine it once or twice, but Gil, I just can't."

"And I don't think that you should," he opposed again. "I mean it, Anne. It won't change the situation in any way and it certainly will not help you get through it. If anything, it will tire you even more; and what's the point in you coming to Green Gables in such state? If you want to nurse Marilla back to health, you'll need every ounce of strength you can muster, so I suggest you don't waste it on pondering over things that are not going to happen. Not to mention, Mrs Lynde will never let you anywhere near Marilla's bed unless she's convinced that you came back from Redmond with your own condition unscathed."

"I know all that!" Anne cried out impatiently. "But I can't just stop worrying, either. Oh, this is such a vicious cycle!"

"My own experience tells me that in such cases it's usually the best idea to forget of both parts and focus on something else entirely; preferably the matter at hand. Now that would be to get you safely to Green Gables, as soon as possible. What do you say that we focus on that first and worry about the rest later on?"

Anne nodded in agreement and picked up her pace as they neared the Kingsport station. The rest of this part of their journey passed in an almost perfect silence, with neither of them feeling the need to sustain the conversation, nor bumping into friends who might try to strike up a new one; even though it did seem for a moment that they had seen Charlie Sloane's hat flicker between the others.

"Don't worry about this one," was all Gilbert had to say on the matter. "There I no way in this world that Charlie would be up so early in the day."

Their time on the train was equally, if not more, quiet, with Anne gazing through the window, restlessly awaiting the sight of the harbour from which their ferry took off – and Gilbert watching her, steadily, insistently, stubbornly even, wanting to guard her when she was too disturbed to do it for herself.

When they finally reached their destination, Anne as good as jumped from the train, leaving a slightly dazed – although by no means surprised – Gilbert to hurry after her. Almost blind with her agitation, she missed a step on her way from the platform and would have fallen flatly had Gilbert not managed to catch up with her just in time to prevent that from happening.

"I'm sorry," she muttered with embarrassment, her eyes strangely driven to his fingers, that for some reason were still squeezing her elbow, even after so many moment's she had taken to easy her breathing. "I probably shouldn't have rushed like this. I'm a little too giddy for it right now."

"You are tired, first and foremost," Gilbert contradicted her gently. "Be honest with me: when you excused yourself yesterday, did you really go to sleep as you said you would?"

Anne flushed at his question, although she couldn't quite point out the reason why; it must have been the morning heat finally getting to her.

"Well, I did try to," she admitted after a moment's hesitation. "Of course, I had to pack first, but since I only needed a few most necessary things, that didn't take too much of my time. I still managed to get to bed at a ridiculously early hour – the problem was, getting to bed and getting to sleep can be two very different stories."

"Don't I know it," Gilbert said with a small, lopsided and slightly pensive smile.

"I thought I was exhausted enough to fall asleep as soon as I touched the pillow, but apparently, it was my misery that took hold of me that night. I tried to fight it – tried to think of some trifles and nonsense… but it wouldn't do. So I got up and dressed and went out to the orchard, hoping some exercise and fresh air would help – unfortunately, all in vain."

"I'm sorry to know that, although I can't pretend I don't understand. I had my share of sleepless nights, back in Alberta… And more than a few after we came back. It can be difficult to get your own body to cooperate under this kind of stress." He paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Still, you might like to try to talk yours into resting now. It will be a few hours before the ferry reaches Charlottetown, so unless you have some great reasons against dazing off a little under my watchful eye, you should try to do just that."

As she had done many times during the past two days, Anne opposed to the idea presented to her, proudly announcing that she could easily manage herself after one sleepless night and that she would not risk her reputation by taking a nap in a distinctly public place. Mrs Lynde would think she had gone mad no doubt; and in all of his gallantry, Gilbert had to quite literally bite his tongue to stop himself from asking his companion when on Earth had Mrs Lynde's preaching about propriety ever stopped her from doing anything she wanted to do. Anne's stubbornness only lasted until she reached her seat, however; as soon as she did, she sank into it, her eyelids suddenly heavier than they seemed to have been for a really long while. She fought it for a time; but her body was too tired and her mind far too troubled for that fight to be a long one.

It was the first time in her young life when she would not watch for the shoreline from the upper deck.

All through their journey, Gilbert stayed by her side, looking after his dear friend, making sure she would not wake to the horror of having drooled in her sleep as well as that no one would disturb the precious rest she was finally getting. And if at some point Anne's head fell lower, successfully though accidentally resting on his shoulder, it was a detail he was not going to share with anyone – including her.

They reached Charlottetown; they changed their means of transportation and reached Carmody next. The trip had gone smoothly until now… Now, when, being just a step away from home, they realised that this final stage of their adventure was to be perhaps more challenging than the other three together.

"There is no carriage," Gilbert announced grimly after returning from the stables back to Anne. "Nothing they can lend us until morning at best. I was hoping my parents would be here – I wired last evening, but I suppose it was not enough time for the word to get to them. I'm sorry, Anne, but I'm afraid we'll have to stay for the night."

"I can walk," she protested at once, not for a second considering delaying her arrival for a trifle of this unimportance. "I have walked this distance more than a few times now and not always during the day. I understand if you're tired – we can leave my suitcase in the inn for tonight and I'll have Davy pick it up tomorrow, or you may stay here yourself and I promise I won't think ill of it. But I am getting to Green Gables tonight."

"Alright, now you're just plain ridiculous," Gilbert answered her tirade immediately, letting out a sound that came dangerously close to snorting. Anne's eyes widened in astonishment at his highly improper comment, and she opened her mouth to tell him plainly what she thought of it when he cut her off with a simple yet resolute, "I have not come all this way here to let you wander off alone when you're most tired. You're not going to Green Gables on your own; but I certainly won't slow you down by persisting on staying here."

Surprised as she was – and a little ashamed of her clearly incorrect assumption as well – Anne nodded with understanding and gratitude and set off towards her dear old home. Rested after her nap on the ferry and fuelled by the proximity of her final aim, she had no reason to slow down her pace. It was as feverish as her tangled, dizzying thoughts; so much that Gilbert, who had at last begun to feel the exhaustion of the previous few months – and his own lack of sleep on the preceding night, which he had so conveniently forgotten to mention – found himself struggling to keep up with her.

They were both relieved to see the contour of Green Gables homestead looming in the distance before them.

When they finally reached the porch and stopped before the door, Gilbert felt fairly certain that Anne would run straight through it, forgetting his silent presence altogether as she darted past the kitchen and upstairs to greet her weakened guardian. Anne, however, did no such thing; she froze in her place, instead, raising her hand to knock and then lowering it again in an instant.

Her skin was pale and her eyes were glistening when she turned her head towards him. "I can't do this, Gil."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, but she gave him not time to answer to her words in any other way.

"I can't do this," she repeated at once, gazing at him expectantly, vulnerable and afraid, as if she'd been trying to search for help she did not think she could find. "I can't open this door. What if it's too late? What if we came all this way only yo find it was all for naught, because she… she… Gilbert, I can't open this door and hear that Marilla is -"

"She is going to be fine," he interrupted her fiercely. "Marilla is strong, and she is stubborn and she would never leave before seeing you, pneumonia or not. And now that you're here, you can nurse her yourself and then she'll truly have no choice but to recover."

He took a step forwards and for the second time in one day – and for the third in two – he took her hand in his, caressing her fingers with all the care and gentleness he had in him, before he leaned towards her and whispered, "I've never believed in nursing fake hope but I can't let you lose yours just yet, either. And Anne, I know you are scared and hurt and unsure. But whatever news awaits you behind this door, the best you can do is try and face it now. And you are not facing it alone."

Somehow, Anne found herself believing him. She nodded in agreement and gave his hand her own little squeeze.

And then she straightened up, took a deep breath and… she knocked.