a/n: A rather depressing one that I apologize ahead for. I always wondered at the funeral in the movie verse of AoGG and Gilbert so…I know Gil's character is particularly dark in this one but I also think he might have thought these things just because his relationship with Anne was a long time in coming. Everyone gets discouraged sometimes and Gil had to wait years to get his girl – he almost died for goodness sake! So…I'm sure he had some hard days.

Also, sorry if some things aren't right I was writing this from memory and it hasn't been edited but I've been getting some hits lately and I wanted to do something. I'm in an AoGG mood so there might be more coming!

Do review though and tell me what you think PLEASE, it would make me happy!

Disclaimer applies.

Empty Skies
'It is not the proper sort of weather for a funeral.' Gilbert Blythe thought absently as he pulled right cuff of his black suit further down around his wrist. 'It should be raining.'

The sky was a clear blue and the birds were singing in the trees, hopping around from branch to branch. The small chapel shined a bright white in the sunlight. The sun itself burnt heat into the back of Gilbert's dark formal suit. The wind ruffled his hair, pushing dark curls into his eyes.

He stood lined up next to his mother, who was sniffing quietly into her lace handkerchief, and Mr. Colvy, who was staring solemnly into the distance. The wind had pushed the man's black hat slightly eschew.

Gilbert looked away from the man with the faraway look in his eyes, he looked across the hole in the ground, the lowered casket, and then he felt his eyes become inextricably drawn to the dark clothed figure of Anne Shirley.

He had been glancing at her frequently throughout the ceremony- just to see how she was holding up.

When Gilbert Blythe had heard, four days ago, about the death of Matthew Cuthbert, over one of his favorite breakfasts of oatmeal and apple juice, he had dropped his spoon in surprise:

"What?"

Clank, went the spoon, and Gilbert had stared for a moment at his mother and then sullenly at the rather large oatmeal spot on his blue shirt all the while trying to think of nothing.

"I know, it is a horrible tragedy, though Rachel said she thought he had had the signs of ill health for a while." His mother reached over with a kitchen towel to wipe oatmeal bits off the table and to push his apple juice farther away from the table's edge.

'That's ridiculous!' Gilbert wanted to shout, a spurt of irrational anger suddenly hitting him right in the chest, he moved his stare to his cooling oatmeal. 'Rachel Lynde doesn't know anything, she's an old gossi- oh God, Anne!' This last part was accompanied with a short gasp as Gilbert Blythe's epiphany hit him.

Anne. Anne must be feeling horrible and quite suddenly Gilbert was not feeling so well himself.

Pushing the cold oatmeal away from him, lining it up with the apple juice on the table, Gilbert glanced up at his mother who was buttering some toast across from him while watching him with a knowing look in her eyes.

"When did he die?" Gilbert asked.

"Early this morning."

Gilbert was silent, watching as his mother methodically spread her butter and set the knife down quietly. His mind was very far away.

"Gilbert." Mrs. Blythe waited until her son's hesitant eye's met hers. After a moment and a searching look she spoke softly. "Gilbert, Anne was there in the field when Mr. Cuthbert died. She was with him."

Gilbert felt something akin to panic and a sick, guilty, feeling settled in his stomach. For some absurd reason his first thought was-

'I should have felt it.'

His hands clenched into fists in his lap and he felt the helplessness tighten his chest. A minute later his heart beat had slowed down and Gilbert was chastising himself about his reaction.

He had had no way of knowing what had happened, he said to himself. It was not his fault. And yet, that heavy knot in his belly would not go away.

'This morning,' he thought blindly to himself, jaw tightening. 'This morning, I was milking my own cows and I was complaining about my overalls being too short to one of them. This morning, while Anne was crying over Matthew Cuthbert in Green Gables' field, I was comparing her hair color to the sunrise. Never mind being so childish, I can't believe I wasn't there for her!' Gilbert choked on a hysteric laugh, jolting up from his chair and running out the back door when his mother scurried around the table to try and comfort him.

'Not that she'd let me.' He thought bitterly as he quickly strode across an open field, trying to draw in deep breaths of air. 'She hates me.'

The knot in his stomach clenched and Gilbert, lip's tight and staunchly ignoring the ache in his gut, picked up his work hammer, that he had left next to a half finished fence before breakfast, and began to re-nail the loose fencing that lined the road along the Blythe field.

Anne did not look well and the, now ever-present, knot in Gilbert's stomach grew heavier. The red-head had always been pale, with creamy skin that Gilbert loved to watch flush with anger or happiness. Today however, she was exceedingly pale and her skin stood out sickly against the black of her mourning dress.

Gilbert watched her throughout the ceremony, watched as she never cried but rather comforted Marilla who stood next to her in silent tears.

He watched as the funeral ended and hordes of people gave their condolences.

He watched as Anne's eyes stayed downwards even as the people patted her arm, and he watched as her face grew taunt and she looked away to the horizon line.

He felt sick and helpless and his hands shook as he dropped the wild flowers he had brought into the hole with the casket that had Matthew sleeping forever inside. The sun was really making him uncomfortable and Gilbert wondered if Anne felt as bad as he did about the weather situation, he knew she was that sort of person.

As the last of the people began to leave the cemetery, and Marilla and Anne began to turn away, Gilbert felt that panic that had been repressed for four days well up and try to suffocate him.

Walking away from his mother, who was speaking to Mrs. Lynde about something, Gilbert took several wide strides toward Anne Shirley. His mind was racing, abuzz with a pandemonium of thoughts on the weather, flowers, love, and red.

And Anne. Anne whom he knew he must speak to. Who he knew hated him, who he knew could never love him. Who he knew was hurting so badly her eyes were dying.

"I'm sorry." He said to her, to both of them but really just to her. He was standing as close to Anne as he could get without being forward and he still couldn't get her to look at him.

Not that she ever looked at him. The knot doubled in size.

Marilla gave him a nod of recognition and tightened her arm around Anne's. She said something back to him but Gilbert couldn't quite hear what over the pounding of his heart. He glanced at Anne, willed her to look up, and for a moment he thought she would.

But her eyes were too far away, and he knew that she was thinking of Matthew, thinking how he must have been the first man, the first anyone, to ever really love her.

He wanted to shout, You're wrong! You're wrong! But he knew she would not hear him.

Still, he whispered out another sorry for the things he could not say to her but spoke with his eyes – he knew his eyes said things from the way his mother had looked at him knowingly, from the way Marilla looked at him now.

He watched Anne walk away with Marilla and mused on how Anne was always walking away from him and never looking back.

'Someday,' he thought desperately, trying to ease the suspicious pressure behind his eyes that came from squinting in the wind too much. 'Someday, I might just forget to follow you Anne Shirley. Someday, when you love me, I might walk away.'

But these sorts of conversations that Gilbert Blythe had with himself sometimes were futile as he knew in his heart they would never come to pass.

Ala said the brilliant author as she tries not to cry. Well, I did warn you...and now I say review and the next one will be of Anne and Gilbert engaged and together and romancy...ah love!

...have I mentioned how much I HATE the spacing on this site? I GIVE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!