Enjoy, beautiful people :)
The door was unlocked when he reached it, and Gilbert was immediately on edge, his keys dangling uselessly from his fingers.
I swear, if there's been a robbery on top of the morning I've just had-
He rested on hand on the doorknob, his other reaching around to grab his bag off his shoulder.
If all else fails, why don't you just go ahead and knock them out with a backpack full of dirty scrubs, he thought sarcastically. Though it didn't stop him from gripping the bag even tighter anyway.
He eased the door open, praying it wouldn't squeak, and peered around it.
A small blur of dark curls pounced at him, knocking him backwards. For a second he flailed, trying to grasp the small, wriggly body that had latched onto him, his mind running a million miles a second. When his mind finally caught up to his body, he looked down at his captured leg.
"Delly?"
"Hi Uncle Gil!" the five year old replied through a gap-toothed smile.
All of the air rushed out of Gilbert's lungs as he relaxed, reaching down to lift the little girl onto his hip.
"You nearly scared me to death, Miss Delly," he fake patronised, scrunching his eyebrows down at her. "Where is that father of yours?"
"Right here, Blythe," came Sebastian's deep voice from the kitchen doorway, where he stood with an irritatingly amused smile on his face. "Never seen you scramble so fast at the sight of a child," he chuckled. "Are all those patients putting poor Gilly on edge?"
Gilbert rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut behind him and shifting Delly to his other hip.
"Don't know what you're talking about," he quipped, stepping past Bash into the kitchen. "But I do know that I am starving." He let out a nervous laugh as he placed Delly down on the kitchen counter, earning him a confused look from his brother.
"You all right there, Blythe?"
Gilbert's eyes shot up. "Who, me? Yeah," he ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I'm fine. Just tired. I wasn't expecting you."
"Sorry about that, brother," Bash said, and Gilbert let out a grateful breath at the subject change. The last thing he needed was for his brother to add him to the list of things he had to care of. He had enough on his plate as it was.
"Mary is caught up in work from last night, and I need to go real soon too, so I thought I could drop Delly here for you to watch?" Bash had the decency to look mildly embarrassed at not asking before showing up.
Gilbert smiled, rolling his eyes. "Well, you're lucky I'm home then, aren't you?"
Bash smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thank you, brother. I owe you big time."
"How about the last seven times I've watched her?"
"One day, I will pay up," he answered, batting his eyelashes innocently.
"I'm sure you will," Gilbert noted wryly, not believing a single word of it. He spun to Delly, who was grinning happily, swinging her feet against the cupboards. "Would you like some food, too?"
Bash came forward to kiss Delly on the head, giving his brother a brief hug before he escaped out the front door and into the bustling morning.
"Can we eat sprinkles?" Delly asked innocently.
Gilbert turned towards her with his eyebrow raised. "Do sprinkles have nutritional value?"
"Newtonal value?" she asked, scrunching her face in confusion.
"No, we don't do physics in this house. It hurts my brain too much."
Gilbert laughed at Delly's uncomprehending gaze. "Are they healthy?" he tried again.
"Of course they are," Delly answered, matter of fact. The earth was round. Sprinkles were healthy.
"Then we must," he smiled down at her, "eat the sprinkles."
She only looked mildly unhappy when Gilbert served her up sprinkles ten minutes later with a side of real eggs, bacon and spinach.
He would never understand the appetite of a five year old.
She grabbed the plate off him greedily, already picking up a fork to go for, no doubt, the sprinkles first. Gilbert chuckled, setting his own plate down and sitting opposite her at the small table.
"So, Delly," he started. "How's school holidays going?"
Delly looked up at him through a mouthful of eggs and sprinkles. "Ish good," she mumbled around the food. She shoved another forkful of food into her mouth before continuing, "Bessher shince I sheen you shough."
"What was that?" Gilbert asked poking her nose with his finger. "I don't speak sprinkle language."
Delly smiled, her eyes lighting up in that gorgeous mischievous way that had captured him five years ago in the hospital room. She swallowed. "I can teach you if you-" she trailed off, her eyebrows pinching together.
"What's up, Delly-girl?"
She reached forward and closed a small hand around his finger, bringing it closer to her face. "What's this?" she asked.
Gilbert looked down at his hand captured in hers, doing a double take at what he saw there.
A red smudge; clear as day.
"Ummm…" he answered eloquently. "Don't touch that, I think it might just be blood. I, uh… fell over before."
Going directly against his instructions, Delly ran her hand across the mark. "Doesn't look like blood to me, Uncle Gil."
Now that Gilbert was looking at it closely, he had to agree with her. It really didn't look like blood at all.
"And who's the doctor here?" He said instead, pulling his hand out of her grasp and picking up his fork.
Delly mimicked him, reaching for her own fork and leaning her head towards his over the table. "I will be one day."
Gilbert smiled, ruffling her curls. "I don't doubt it at all."
oOoOoOo
It was late afternoon when Mary flew into the apartment to find her daughter sitting on an exhausted looking Gilbert's stomach, watching cartoons.
"Delly, dear," she called with a smile. "Uncle Gil isn't a couch."
Gilbert peered up at Mary through his lashes and yawned. "I don't know, Mary. I think it's in my job description as best uncle ever." He reached his fingers up, tickling Delly's sides, laughing as she shrieked and fought to jump away from him.
Mary swooped down and scooped Delly up, giving her a kiss on the nose. "I'm so sorry I'm late," she said to Gilbert, eyes creasing apologetically. "Thank you again for watching her. You must be exhausted."
He was. His long needed nap had been pushed back by nearly ten hours, and he had a shift starting the next morning; but he couldn't quite bring himself to really mind.
"Delly's always welcome here," he said with a grin, wearily pushing himself up to a sitting position. "How about you? You look tired, too."
Mary sighed slightly, plastering a small smile onto her face. "My boss is asking for way more projects to be finished by Friday than I think is physically possible."
"I'm sorry," Gilbert said, standing up. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Mary laughed. "Not unless you became a professional at drawing building designs in the next 24 hours."
"Never underestimate me," Gilbert warned good-naturedly. "Though yes, I suspect you're right. I am terrible at drawing."
Delly nodded seriously. "He is, mumma," she agreed.
Gilbert stuck his tongue out at her.
"Thanks anyway," she laughed. "Now get some rest, you look dead off your feet."
"Aye aye, captain," he saluted, stepping forward to give Delly a kiss on her curls and Mary one on her cheek. "I'll see you both soon."
He walked them to the door and leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly as he watched Mary try to wrestle Delly into her booster seat.
"But I'm a big girl now!"
"Not yet, you're not, Missy."
"Uncle Gilbert doesn't make me use a booster seat!"
"Uncle Gilbert doesn't have a car." Mary shot him a fond look over her shoulder as she finally got Delly on the inside of the closed car door. "Family dinner this weekend!" she called. "Don't miss it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he called back, waving as she got into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb.
When they were out of sight, he collapsed back into his house, the walls feeling too quiet without Delly's no nonsense banter and giggles. He dragged his feet to his bedroom, dropping facedown onto the bed. His finger itched slightly where the peculiar red mark had shown up, and he itched it absently with his thumb.
He closed his eyes, letting the weight of his eyelids drift him into dreams full of arching trees, sprawling forests and red.
Red hair like flames.
oOoOoOo
Gilbert's first thought when he woke was that he was in the middle of one of those trippy inception dreams where you wake up from one dream, just to find yourself stuck in another one.
Why can't you just wake up all the way like a normal person?
He seemed to be in a dark room that smelled distinctly of moss and dirt. Soft sunlight filtered through the overhead thatching- were they… leaves?
Gilbert scrunched his eyes shut again, ready to ride out this second layer of dream before his alarm inevitably went blaring to catapult him back to his bed.
He breathed in. Out. Once.
Twice.
He cracked one eye open again.
Still here.
Feeling disgruntled, he sat up; taking note of the rough pile of blankets he was lying on. He could hear birds chirping nearby, and the faint cracklings of what could have been a fire.
He reached one hand over to his other arm and pinched the skin on his inner elbow.
Ouch! Bloody…
Gilbert blinked.
Blinked again.
That hurt.
He looked down at his arm, double checking that he had actually pinched himself.
He did it again.
Ow, what the hell?
With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he jumped from the makeshift bed and spun wildly in a circle, taking in the small, musty room.
Where the heck-
Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the walls were made of heavily packed dirt, as though the room had been dug out underground. A small array of pots lined one wall, with bunches of –were those vegetables?- piled upon a long piece of wood which looked to serve as a low bench. Loose pieces of paper, covered in dark ink, littered across the floor and sprawled over a small table.
It was clear enough that he was not in his room anymore.
The room had a small opening just slightly above eye level, with a makeshift plank leading up to it. Soft green sunlight filtered through the door, just like it did from sections of the roof, and Gilbert figured the opening was probably only covered by a couple of strategically placed vines.
"I know, Princess Cordelia, but what else am I possibly to do with him?"
Gilbert started at the voice, pressing himself flat against one of the damp walls as though it could swallow him up out of sight. The voice had come from outside; a lilting, bright voice that sounded so painstakingly familiar, but which he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Don't be daft," the voice continued. "I wasn't about to leave him out to die."
Gilbert strained his ears, listening for the other side of the conversation, but only silence met him.
Maybe she was on the phone?
"But I need him," the voice stressed more quietly, as though trying to convince the person on the other end of the line. "He can help me; I justknow it. Didn't you see the mark? He's like me."
Gilbert glanced down at his finger, rubbing across the red stain that still had not left. He wondered if that was what the voice was referring to, though if it was, he couldn't imagine he'd be any help whatsoever. Nothing in his medical expertise even gave him a hint of what the mark could be.
Capillary inflammation?
But it had the wrong texture, was the wrong colour. There was no raised skin to indicate a rash, and the colour was simply too bright to feasibly be blood related. He shook his head, wishing he could flick through some of his medical books to see if anything showed resemblance.
Ruby would probably know what it was.
Ruby. Work.
Shit.
Gilbert looked down at his wrist, expecting to see his watch there, but groaned when he realised he had taken it off playing with Delly the night –at least he thought it was the night- before.
A quick check of his pockets also showed that his phone was nowhere to be found.
He was a dead man.
The sun was bright outside, indicating that it was probably nearing the middle of the day, or at the very least was way past 6am, when his shift was supposed to start.
Hey boss, sorry I'm late, I woke up in a rabbit hole.
Gilbert needed this job.
Shit shit shit-
He looked towards the door –could he call it a door?- contemplating his chances of sneaking out without alerting the voice that lay just outside.
Odds one to three thousand, he thought glumly.
"He'll feel much better after some broth, I'm sure. Poor thing looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks."
The voice was clearer now, as though moving closer. His stomach grumbled briefly at the mention of food, but he quickly shook it off.
You've been kidnapped, and you're thinking about food?
Now was his chance. If he could grab the person as they came through the door and push them down the shallow ramp, he could take off fast enough to get away.
His Doctor's instincts cringed a little at the thought of hurling a human being down a ramp with the sole intention of stunning them enough to give him time, but he figured they had it coming, considering they freaking kidnapped him first.
He hoped to God they weren't one of his regular patients.
He quickly dashed to the wall next to the door, pressing himself against it so he would be out of sight upon entry, but also in prime position to trip the ankles of the unsuspecting kidnapper.
A rustle of leaves indicated their presence, the curtain of vines twitching as pale hands holding a tray and a small bowl pushed through. Gilbert tensed, waiting for them to step through. One boot came into sight as they ducked down to fit through the small door, followed by-
Gilbert froze.
Red hair.
Not just any red hair. Red hair that had haunted his dreams the night before. Red hair that he didn't think he'd be forgetting anytime soon. Licks of fire that flowed down around the face and across the shoulders of a slight girl.
In a moment of panic, Gilbert reached out a hand and tripped up her boot, watching as she stumbled with a gasp and fell in a heap to the other side of the narrow plank, the bowl of soup spilling over the front of her dress.
"Hey!" she shouted, scrambling to her knees as Gilbert took the opportunity to launch himself onto the plank and duck his body through the door and outside.
He didn't dare look back, cursing his bare feet as he stumbled through a small clearing and into a nearby tree line. He forced himself to ignore the scratches from the leaf litter and twigs decorating the ground that would no doubt give him grief at a later point, pushing forwards to put as much distance as possible between him and the girl.
The forest he found himself in sparked no familiarity, and Gilbert tried not to think too hard about it, visualising an endless forest far away from civilisation and any help. Even if he had his phone, he doubted he'd even get any reception out here.
When he could no longer tell which direction he had come from, his feet slowed, coming to a stop next to a tree. He tried to even out his breathing, imagining that he sounded like a loud wild animal at this point, and would be far too easy to track down if the girl was searching for him. Grimacing, he lifted one of his feet to inspect it closer.
Ouch.
"You weren't wearing shoes when I found you," a voice noted simply from behind him.
Gilbert spun, raising his hands ready to fight against the girl. She didn't even look out of breath.
How the hell had she-
"You don't want to do this," he warned.
The girl looked up at him, confused. "Do what?"
"Whatever it is that you are doing…" Gilbert said, his voice slowing towards the end, uncertain.
What was she doing?
The girl took a step back, eyeing him up and down warily. She wore a dirty brown dress that looked straight out of the pages of a medieval fairy-tale, and her long red hair was half covered in a bandana. A large stain marred her front where the bowl of soup had landed on her, its tray still dangling easily from her fingertips. She was small; slight. But not as young as Gilbert had first thought. Not that he could really tell her age at all, he noticed with unease. Her blue eyes looked deep and knowing, as though as old as the trees surrounding them, but her face showed no signs of age; pale and freckled, and glowing slightly as though lit up from the inside. She stood balanced ever so slightly forward, as though an invisible wind were holding her up against her back. It gave the impression that she was floating there, her hair curling and dancing like it was caught in the tides. The effect was so real that Gilbert had to drag his eyes down to her boots to double check that they were solid against the forest floor.
"I brought you soup," she said plainly. Again, her voice was tinged with something that struck all sorts of bells in Gilbert's mind, but he could not for the life of him remember where he'd heard it before. He'd certainly never seen the girl outside of the dreams he'd had last night. He was sure he would've remembered.
Although, now that he thought about it, maybe they hadn't been dreams, and were rather memories of his kidnapping. That made more sense than dreaming up an imaginary girl that happened to be real.
"I saw," he answered slowly, eyes taking in her stance as his mind tried to assess if she was likely to tackle him down and drag him back to the hole. "Sorry for spilling it on you."
The girl furrowed her eyebrows, the beginnings of an annoyed expression ghosting across her features. "I'm sure you are," she retorted sharply.
Gilbert put his hands out in front of him as though calming a wild animal. "I'm very grateful for the soup. But you see, I'm really late to work and I need to go now." He made sure to keep his voice low and gentle, thinking that maybe the girl was perhaps not quite sane. Why else would she drag a body through a forest and dump them in a hole only to bring them soup the next morning? He took one careful step back, keeping his hands outstretched. Maybe he could just inch away…
"You won't get far without shoes," the girl noted. "I suggest you stay here."
Gilbert smiled emptily. "I'd prefer not to, if you don't mind, ma'am. I'm just going to-"
Fire flashed through the girl's eyes.
Gilbert gulped. "-Stay here," he finished quietly.
"Good choice." The girl darted forward, grabbing his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip. On instinct, Gilbert struck out, grabbing the closest thing to his other hand and pulling.
The girl cursed loudly as Gilbert tugged on the chunk of hair, spinning on her heel and cracking the tray in her hands straight over his head.
Bloody-
Gilbert blinked dazedly, blindly pushing out a hand to steady himself against the tree. His other wrist was still caught firmly in the girls grasp, and he tugged on it slightly, stumbling a little when she let go.
The girl stood frozen, a look of horror etched into her features. The tray lay discarded at her feet, broken haphazardly into two shards.
"You have quite the arm there, don't you, Carrots?" he muttered irritably. His mind was whirling, barely noting that now was probably the perfect time to get up and run because the girl looked fixed to the spot, her eyes round as saucers.
The girl's face scrunched into confusion, shaken back to earth. "Carrots?" she declared.
Gilbert gulped. Perhaps it was not a great idea to poke the grizzly red head.
She bent down to pick up one half of the tray and Gilbert barely remembered trying to duck before the earth rushed up to meet his face and everything blurred to black.
oOoOoOo
Anne hadn't meant to hit him. Again.
It had just simply… happened. She swore it.
The man was sprawled at her feet, his cheek sporting a brand new shiner from the hands of her tray. Anne winced, dropping the tray to the ground before kneeling by his side.
It wasn't her fault that he had freaked out and tugged her hair. And it certainly wasn't her fault that her arms had simply acted upon their own accord at the mention of carrots.
"Most carrots are purple, anyway," she grumbled under her breath, reaching out a shaking hand to push the curls out of the man's face. His eyes were closed, long eyelashes splaying across his cheeks.
He was quite beautiful, really, she thought. In a strange sort of un-belonging way.
Anne knew all about not belonging, but even she had to admit that this boy had taken the cake. Everything from his intelligent, searching eyes, to his bizarre looking clothes, to the mark on his finger. He didn't belong here, and Anne knew it.
"But where did you come from, then?" she whispered, peering closer at his face.
She had found him that morning, resting unconscious in a pile of leaves near her hut. He had looked almost out of a fairy-tale, curled up like an offering from the earth gods. She had pushed and prodded him, trying to wake him, and when it was clear that nothing was bringing the boy to light, she had hefted him onto her shoulders and dragged him the short way back to her hut, where at least it was warmer.
Anne rolled her shoulders at the memory. He had been extraordinarily heavy.
And apparently extraordinarily ungrateful for her hospitality.
She supposed that he had no way of knowing that she was simply being hospitable. For all she knew, he could have decided to take a nap amongst the leaves of his own accord. But somehow she doubted it.
She recalled the odd expression on his face as he had fled her hut, and then again when she had found him running in circles in the forest. Scared. Confused. Probably not aware he had been running in circles.
He didn't belong here.
She pressed her fingers to his pulse point, letting out a breath when she felt his heartbeat steady under her touch. She collapsed back to a seat, crossing her legs in front of her. She had half a mind to leave him here. She was in no rush to lift his heavy body back to her place for the second time that day. Her eyes drifted to his mark again, and she reached out to lift his hand closer to her face.
It was uncanny.
Downright uncanny.
She pushed up one of her sleeves, looking down at the identical mark that spread across her wrist. Same shade, same shape, same size.
No one had had the mark but her in centuries. She didn't even want to start thinking about what it could mean. But she couldn't help the small flutter of excitement that erupted in her stomach.
Finally, someone like me.
She was shaken out of her reverie as the boy groaned loudly, rolling his head on the ground.
Anne dropped his hand like it had burnt her, watching cautiously as the boy's hazel eyes blinked slowly open.
"Wha… what?" he mumbled, incoherently glancing around at his surroundings. Anne held her breath as his eyes locked on her, widening in recognition. He opened his mouth as though to yell when Anne launched herself forward, slamming her hand over his mouth.
"Shhh," she whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you." She tried for a smile, hoping it came across as comforting and genuine.
Judging from the cornered expression reflecting in the man's eyes, she thought she may have failed the comforting thing.
She tried again. "I think we might have started out wrong." She cleared her throat. "My name is Anne. Spell that one with an E, please. And I am going to remove my hand very slowly so that you can tell me your name." She inched her hand back, biting her lip and pushing her hair over her shoulder and well out of his reach.
The boy breathed in deeply, eyes never leaving hers. "Who are you?" he breathed.
Anne tilted her head to the side, confused. "I just told you. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert," she held her hand out for him to shake, "at your service."
He didn't take her hand, his eyes instead darting to the side as though searching for escape.
"I'm not really sure what you're doing here," she tried again. "Or where you came from, for that matter. But I'm sure we could be of help to each other. For one thing, you look positively exhausted; and I must say, no matter how tired you are, taking naps in the middle of the forest this time of year is highly un-recommended. Though surely you already knew that because you seem smart and-" Anne stopped, biting her tongue.
Stop rambling. You're scaring him.
She smiled again, nervous. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," he replied cautiously, still staring at her like she had three heads. Was there something in her teeth?
"Oh," she whispered. She breathed in to speak again before letting the air drop from her lungs. "Is your head okay?" she asked, looking down at her hands awkwardly.
The boy reached up a hand to his head, gingerly touching his cheek. "No thanks to you," he grumbled.
"I'm terribly sorry," she apologised, leaning forward a little in earnest. "I don't quite know what came over me."
"Did you also not quite know what came over you when you decided to kidnap me?" the boy asked sarcastically.
Anne felt her eyes widen. "Kidnap you?" she asked, indignant. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that saving you from the freezing forest and the wolves was considered kidnapping."
"Of course it-" the boy trailed off. "Wait, what did you say?"
"The wolves would've found you very tasty, I'm sure. And it sure would've saved my back from carrying your sorry backside to someplace warm to feed your scrawny self," she chipped.
The boy just looked at her underneath scrunched eyebrows.
Perfect, scrunched eyebrows.
Focus, Anne.
"You didn't… you didn't take me from my house?"
"Why on earth would I take someone from their house. Not that I could get close to a house anyway; knowing how the village acts up every time I get within sight of them…" she stopped herself. Maybe the less he knew about her… peculiarities, the better.
"That's exactly what a kidnapper would say," said the boy suspiciously, sitting up slowly.
Anne blinked. She supposed he had a point there. "Fine. Go off on your own, then. See how long you last without shoes and with that mark tipping everybody within a mile off."
The boy paused, "Mark?"
"On your finger," Anne pointed. "A flashing red light for everyone, everywhere."
"You know what it is?" the boy asked, breathless.
"Of course. Who wouldn't?" She chose not to mention that she had one herself. That had landed her in deep water too many times before.
Best divulge as little information to the strange boy as possible.
"I wouldn't…" the boy muttered quietly, shaking his head. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" Anne shot back, crossing her arms. Did this boy really have that short of a memory that he couldn't remember Anne Shirley-Cuth…
"Gilbert." The boy interrupted her thoughts.
Anne blinked, looking across at where he had finally pushed himself into an awkward half sitting position. His eyes were locked on hers in the most disconcerting way, warm pools of golden hazel. She glanced away, instead resting her gaze on his dark curls. It was strange indeed for a wearer of the mark to have such dark hair. From the stories they were all… she looked disdainfully at her red curls.
Horrid colour.
"Gilbert," she repeated, shaking her head out of her thoughts.
"Anne," he mumbled, eyes still locked on her as though trying to figure out some grand mystery. Her name sounded eerily familiar uttered in his voice. "And where am I, exactly?" he asked.
Anne looked at him, not quite understanding what he meant. "As in, which town are you closest to? Or are you asking which kingdom you're currently in? Because, sir, if you've forgotten which kingdom you're part of I'm afraid I may have hit you much harder than I thought."
"Kingdom?" Gilbert's eyes went wide.
Anne was more than concerned now. "You're in Lord Philip's kingdom," she said weakly. Had she really whacked him that hard? "But you're closest to the town of Avonlea, about a two day trek from here."
"Kingdom…" Gilbert repeated, his eyes glazing over.
"Yes. You know. Your King."
Gilbert shook his head, running a hand through his curls as though in distress. "Okay, lady- Anne," he corrected himself. "I don't know what is going on here, but I've had a crazy few days, and I would just really appreciate it if you could just tell me how to get back to Toronto," he looked up at her, eyes pleading. "Please."
Toronto?
The desperate look in his eyes was almost enough to make her want to brave the village and sneak into the library to search through all the old maps. Almost.
"I have never heard of the town of Toronto," she said gently. "I'm sorry."
"It's not a town," he insisted, eyes wild. "It's a city. In Canada. The country."
Anne just shook her head mutely. What on earth was this boy on about?
"Across the seas is the kingdom of Pravia," she tried, shrugging her shoulders. "Is that near your Canada?"
Gilbert just stared at her, jaw dropped and face blank. "This can't be happening," he muttered to himself, sitting up straighter and rubbing his hands down his face. "I'm still dreaming. I'm still dreaming."
"Well, if you're dreaming, then I must be too," Anne supplied, though she was pretty sure that she was not. "I pinch myself when I'm not sure if something's real." To demonstrate, she pinched her inner elbow, watching Gilbert's eyes trace her movements.
"I've already done that," he said absently, pushing up the sleeve on his strange garment. It looked soft and far too large for him, and behind his head was some kind of thick fabric hood, but it was attached to the shirt instead of a cloak. She looked down at his exposed arm, where a small purple bruise lay on his inner elbow. He pinched it again. "But I'm still here," he looked around. "Wherever here is."
Anne felt a wave of sympathy well within her at the lost look in the boy's eyes. A kindred spirit, she felt.
"Perhaps we should go back and get some tea, and when you're feeling better we can work out how to get you home," she said gently, reaching out for his hand. Wherever home is, she barely stopped herself from saying.
Gilbert looked at her a moment, maybe deciding whether she was trustworthy, or maybe deciding if tea with a fiery red head who wielded a tray a little too well was the smartest idea, she wasn't sure.
He hesitated a moment before taking her hand, his grip warm and gentle. He muttered something along the lines of stupid guy and haunted house so low that Anne could barely hear.
"What was that?" she asked, pulling him slowly to his feet and letting him lean slightly on her shoulder as he wobbled, still dizzy from his blow to the head.
"Nothing," he shook his head, taking a deep breath before taking a step with her. "Just… promise me I'll live for more than twenty seconds." He let out a humourless laugh.
oOoOoOo
Gilbert wasn't sure why he was letting himself lean on the strange girl- Anne- as they stumbled in the direction, he assumed, of the hole. Back to where this whole nightmare had started.
Maybe it was the unveiled earnest look in her eyes; the way they flashed with every emotion flickering behind them as though she didn't even try to hide what she was thinking.
Either that or she's a damn good actress and a damn good kidnapper, he noted wryly.
But her confusion when he had mentioned Canada had been real. He was sure of it.
So where the hell was he?
He bit his tongue against the pain as his foot crunched down on a sharp twig, grimacing. Anne noticed his tension and glanced up at him, the question in her eyes.
"I'm fine," he muttered, looking away.
Those eyes were dangerous, he knew that much. Like the stories of dragons who trapped their prey with their gaze, or of mermaids who lured their victims to drowning. Nothing good could come of those eyes- of this girl. She was just not… quite… normal.
He shook his head from his thoughts, trying to focus on putting one foot in from of the other as they stumbled through the underbrush. His head was still pounding, and his cheek smarted where the tray had collided. Anne was stronger than she looked, that much he could grant her.
"So… Anne," he started awkwardly, grimacing as he stepped on some bristles. She was right; he wouldn't have made it more than a few kilometres barefoot. "What do you do?"
Anne was quiet, and Gilbert could almost feel her confused gaze on him.
"How do you mean?" she said finally.
"You know, uhh…" Gilbert rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. "Do you have a job, or… something?"
"A job?" she echoed, her mouth forming the word like it was foreign.
"Yeah, a thing you do that you get paid for?"
He glanced down to see Anne biting her lip, her gaze firmly on the ground ahead of them. "No. Not paid," she said.
"As in you do work, but you don't get paid? Like… volunteering?" Gilbert tried.
Anne just shook her head mutely.
"Right…"
"I write," she said suddenly, shutting her mouth instantly as though willing the words back inside her.
"That's… that's cool," Gilbert tried to sound encouraging. Her silence was almost driving him as crazy as her rambling had. "What do you write?"
"Stories."
Gilbert looked down at her with an eyebrow raised, waiting for her to elaborate.
She didn't.
Be like that then.
He lasted exactly five more steps before the silence grated at his nerves.
"What kind of stories?"
Anne huffed, scrunching her nose up. "None of your business," she said shortly.
Gilbert let go of her, holding up his hands in surrender before stumbling a little and collapsing back against her shoulder. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry," he said, only half meaning it. Truth was, he absolutely intended to pry, and pry as much as he could. He was the one that had been kidnapped, or… or something, and woken up in her house. Not the other way around.
Anne looped an arm back around his waist, supporting his weight. "No, I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm not used to people…" she trailed off.
"Asking questions?" Gilbert finished for her.
She glanced up at him quickly before fixing her stare back to the red and orange leaves under their feet. "Yeah, something like that," she mumbled.
Gilbert nodded, fixing his own gaze down in a failed attempt to avoid stepping on anything particularly pointy.
Ouch, dammit.
They fell into a lulled silence, punctuated only by Gilbert's pained muttering under his breath and heavy footfalls against the leaf litter. Anne herself didn't seem to make any noise as she walked with practiced ease, boots barely leaving a trail on the trodden ground despite carrying half of Gilbert's weight as well as her own. Gilbert decided not to linger too much on how that was feasibly possible. People did not float and that was that.
Anne's steps slowed to a stop, and Gilbert looked up to see they had reached the small clearing.
No.
His brain short-circuited, and he could almost hear the whirring between his ears as the motherboard came to a freaking crash.
It couldn't be.
But it was.
The damn tree.
He must've been in such a rush to escape before that he hadn't noticed it. Anne's house was dug out from under a certain large, but not ginormous, very familiar Magic Faraway Tree.
"I'm going crazy," he declared with a laugh that sounded a little manic even to his own ears.
"Absolutely lost the plot."
There was no way he had somehow hallucinated this exact tree into existence yesterday.
Unless…
What were the chances he was still hallucinating?
"I've got a fever," he noted absently, pressing a hand to his forehead. "That must be it." He almost felt relieved at the explanation. There was no such thing as magic sparkly trees, and there was no such thing as nymph-like red heads that walked through forests without disturbing a single bloody leaf, and there was definitely no such thing as-
Anne's face loomed in front of him, blue eyes wide and concerned. He became dimly aware that she was calling his name hesitantly, waving a hand in front of his face.
He locked eyes with her, marvelling at the reality of his imagination.
Dang, Blythe. Whoever told you your imagination sucks-
Gah!" he yelled as Anne tugged on a lock of his hair. "What the hell was that for?"
Anne took two hurried steps back, eyes wide and innocent. "Sorry," she stuttered. "Sorry. You… umm… you looked- I was just trying to… ummm… I thought you were having some kind of… sorry." She wrung her hands in front of her, rocking back and forth on her heels, a ball of awkward energy.
Gilbert felt all the tension leave his body. He grinned at her easily. "It's fine. It's not real anyway," he laughed. "I guess I deserved that."
Anne went noticeably pale, her freckles stark against her cheek. "Gilbert…" she said softly. "Are you quite sure you're feeling alright?"
"Me? Never better! This is a whole new medical field that I simply must look into in greater depth once I wake up." He looked down at his hands, clenching and opening his fist, relishing in the sensation. "Simply marvellous."
Anne took a cautioned step forward. "I'm not sure I'm quite following."
"Isn't the human brain amazing," Gilbert rambled on, caught up in the excitement that maybe he wasn't crazy. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this and he would wake up tomorrow and everything would be-
God, he really hoped he wasn't one of Ruby's patients right now.
"It can create a whole world inside itself, and place you in it as though the experience was happening in real time, with real sensations," he went on. "Don't tell me that isn't remarkable."
Anne nodded mutely, hands stretched in front of her the same way his had been when he was regarding her like a wild animal. "Remarkable, yes," she agreed absently, taking a step closer and gently grabbing his wrist. "Why don't you come this way, and… tell me more about this… hypothesis of yours. Did you say, medicine, was it?"
"Medical research," he corrected her without thinking. "But yes, I practice medicine. Can't say I've experienced much on the receiving end of it, though."
His mind was tripping over itself so fast that he barely noticed Anne pulling him along and seating him on a log by a smouldering fire. His mind mentally documented every paper he'd ever read on the topic of hallucination and sensational mental states, and he berated himself for not paying close attention to that particular topic during his med school days.
A warm clay cup was pressed into his hands, and he brought it to his lips, sipping gratefully as he formulated hypothesis after hypothesis, scrapping them all before they'd even been fully formed in his mind.
"Just wait til Ruby hears about-" he froze mid-sentence, his cup halfway to his mouth.
If he was experiencing all this… what were the chances that he would ever be able to research it? Who was to say he wasn't currently lying on a hospital dead, as good as brain dead to the outside world.
Shit. That would really suck.
The thought was like sobering cold water flushed through his veins. He thought of Delly, her face so bright and joyful, so full of love and life. He would never forgive himself if something happened to him and he couldn't be there for her. Couldn't watch her grow up, lose her next tooth, learn how to make bacon and eggs with sprinkles for herself, graduate Primary school, High school, eat ice-cream with him after her first heartbreak, kick ass through med school and finish with flying colours…
The thought left an uncomfortable ache in his chest, and he rubbed it absent-mindedly.
He looked to Anne. "I need to figure out how to get out of here."
Anne was blowing gently across her own cup, but she looked up with a start when he addressed her. She nodded slowly, eyes still flitting across his figure. "Back to Canada?"
Gilbert nodded, then shook his head. "Well yes. But no. You see, I think I may be caught in some crazy dream or hallucination, or something just quite extraordinary, but which probably does not bode well for the health of my actual body. I believe that I am already in Canada, I am just not aware."
Anne looked at him like he had just told her he was Cerberus the three headed dog. "We're in Canada?" was all she seemed to be able to manage.
"You're not," Gilbert corrected quickly. "You're in my head."
The girl's eyebrows scrunched down, her eyes clear pools of confusion. "Gilbert," she swallowed. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, but I have no idea what you're talking about. All I know is that I woke up this morning, feeling very real, as far as I can tell, and I found you on my morning walk through the forest, just… lying there. This isn't in your head."
Gilbert just smiled. "That's exactly what something in my head would say though, to convince myself that I'm not crazy."
"I think you are crazy," Anne muttered, looking back down at her tea. "How did I get stuck with the crazy man?" Her utter was barely audible. She looked down at his hand and then back up at him, her posture straightening slightly as though an idea had just occurred to her. "I don't suppose you remember the beginnings of this… mental journey that you are currently embarking on?"
Gilbert nodded. "I do, actually. Your tree," he glanced over at her dug out house. "I saw it in an alleyway in the city. It was there, and I felt it, and it felt a lot like this, and then it was gone. All traces of it, gone."
Anne raised an eyebrow, but leaned forward a little, as though intrigued.
"Then I saw my niece," he continued. "So I must've been fine for a little while. Maybe I knocked my head or something? I don't know. I just went to sleep and woke up here. In your house." He paused. "How else would I have gotten here if you hadn't kidnapped me? Either this is in my head, or I'm somewhere that's physically impossible."
"Why would it be impossible?" Anne asked, tilting her head.
"Because you haven't even heard of Canada!" he stressed. "You look like you jumped straight out of a storybook."
Anne met his gaze. "So do you," she said.
Gilbert leaned forward, placing his cup on the ground and holding his head his hands. "I'm so confused," he groaned.
"Maybe the magic called you," Anne said in a small voice. "Maybe it decided it needed you here."
Gilbert let out a hollow laugh. "The magic?" he scoffed. "Yeah, and I suppose that the fairies thought playing a practical prank on the poor little doctor was a great use of their time."
"Don't be absurd," Anne quipped. "Fairies don't exist."
Don't let Tinkerbell hear you say that.
Gilbert just stared blankly at her.
"The magic calls us- people," she coughed, "with the mark."
Gilbert traced his eyes down to his red stained fingertip. Of all the things to hallucinate about, dyeing his finger red was really not something he thought his mind could conjure up. He smiled slightly at the memory of Delly tugging it closer to her face, her nose all scrunched up and her eyes inspecting it like the doctor that she so wanted to be one day, but so obviously was not yet.
Wait.
Delly had seen it.
Gilbert was glad he had put down his cup, because he was sure he would've spilt it all over himself otherwise.
"Delly saw the mark," he breathed.
Anne leaned in closer. "Sorry?"
"Delly," he repeated, a little stronger. "She saw the mark." But she hadn't been a hallucination. Surely not. He knew he must've looked crazed, his breathing speeding up erratically and his mind tripping over itself in an attempt- any attempt- to make what he was seeing make sense. "The mark was still there after the tree disappeared."
"You weren't born with it?" Anne asked, wide eyed.
"What? No! Of course not," he shook his head wildly. "It showed up yesterday, after I hallucinated your damn tree."
He watched as all the blood drained from Anne's face. She gulped. Put down her tea. "This is not good," she muttered, eyes never leaving his. "No one's ever been given the mark before. Her eyes took on a distant tinge. "Not in a long time."
Something close to dread settled in Gilbert's stomach, a dark hole expanding in his gut. For the first time, he let his mind- just a little- stray to the possibility that the strange girl was telling the truth. He had been transported by pixie dust to an alternate universe where people dressed like medieval peasants and lived under trees. And some magical force had stained his finger, for apparently no reason whatsoever other than he got curious about a hallucination and touched a freaking sparkling hole.
It wasn't possible.
It just wasn't.
And yet…
Delly had seen his mark, had asked him about it. And this girl- Anne. Her eyes rang with nothing but truth and honesty. If this was in his head, then she wasn't real. And she seemed… very real.
Gilbert had heard about the kind of tricks one's mind could play on you. Heck, he'd even studied it briefly and seen it first hand in patients. It wasn't out of the question that he was simply crazy.
But then it theoretically also wasn't out of the question that alternate universes existed and he had managed to get himself sucked into one.
Why are you even entertaining this!?
He shook his head, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. His brain felt weary, and the idea of other worlds wasn't as jarring as it ought to have been. "I think I need to lie down," he said weakly, standing up.
"Of course," Anne said quickly, jumping to her feet; no doubt noticing the lost expression on his face. "You can sleep inside."
Gilbert nodded absently, turning towards her house and ducking through the vines that made her front door. He stumbled a little down the ramp, eyes once again taking in the musty room.
This is just too weird.
He collapsed on the heap of blankets, hoping that sleep would just wash everything away.
Thank you all again xx