Hey dudes! Since I'll be traveling most of tomorrow and generally doing things that don't involve being online (to my horror, tbh), this is up a bit earlier than usual! Sorry for the break. =/ I don't want to talk at length about what I don't like about this chapter (since I've found people don't tend to notice such things until you point them out), but I will say that I basically wrote a chapter, called it done, then realized on Wednesday that it would serve better later on in the story. So, uh. Sorry for any awkwardness.

Reviews! As always, thank you for taking the time to let me know what works, what doesn't, etc etc etc.

Marz: I don't know that it's implausible - to me, personally, the idea that Una is frequently overlooked, her general timidity, as well as my own interpretation that she doesn't reveal much emotion, would make it very easy for people not to notice her feelings for Walter. But I think Rosemary, being close to Una (or that's how I think of their relationship, based on Rainbow Valley), might notice things about her that others don't. :) And I'm glad you liked Mary! She's one of my secret favorites - she's definitely rude and mouthy, but good under it all, as you said. And she's a breath of fresh air compared to the more idealized Blythe/Meredith kids, imo. Thank you for the review!

Guest: Wow, thank you for your kind words. See my thoughts on Mary Vance above; I'm glad you liked her even though she annoys you. I'll work on portraying Rilla and Una's friendship more consistently - at this point, they're not ~BFFs~ but they've realized they have more in common/understand each other better than they thought. But I'll try to make that come through more clearly. :) As for Stripey...~*~you'll see~*~

By the way, I made a Walter/Una fanmix, which is posted over at my tumblr (and livejournal, and 8tracks). If you're interested in more shippy stuff, links and all that are in my profile. Also, I feel bad about not being able to respond to anons until I get a new chapter up, so you can always send me a message through tumblr or LJ or whatever if you want to talk. :)

OKAY, CHAPTER NOW. Title from "Eric's Song" by Vienna Teng.


with each passing day

The next few days pass quietly. They all tiptoe around him, watching him like an explosive about to go off - but he isn't going to. (Duds, they'd called them, in the trenches.) Dad constantly asks about his scars, his leg, as though he thinks he'll find something that all the other doctors hadn't. Or perhaps he thinks he can fix Walter from the outside in, fix everything with his capable doctor's hands, as he always has. But this isn't typhoid fever or burns from the brush fire. These scars are within.

Mother hovers, almost nervously - Mother who is never nervous around her children, but then, they had always been so good before. She asks how he is, constantly, but all Walter can do is murmur that he's fine, he's fine. Susan, too, doesn't seem to know what to say to him anymore.

Only Rilla still treats him the same, but she slips out of the house more often, down to Rainbow Valley or over to a friend's house. Walter realizes that he is no longer the confidant of her sometimes silly but always earnest confessions - it brings an odd, dull pang.

When the newspaper and the mail come, every day like a clockwork, no one says a word. Walter sometimes catches them whispering, but they see him come in and quickly switch the topic to something ridiculous and asinine. As if he really believes that they were so intensely discussing Carter Flagg raising butter prices by five cents.

He is in the kitchen one morning, after everyone has gone, staring out the window - the sun is out today, perhaps it's out "somewhere in France" as well, the mud will be gone and soon it will just be dirt, unpleasant but easy enough to brush off, won't suck men down into it like an anonymous grave, they can't even pull the bodies out to identify them -

"Walter?"

Rilla sits down next to him, Jims in her lap. Walter shakes his head, tries to clear it. The war baby beams and makes a grab for Walter's gray hairs, stark against the black. Walter has to smile.

Rilla takes this as a good sign, because she begins to speak. "Walter, please tell me what's wrong."

Walter starts. He hadn't been expecting this - not from Rilla, anyway. And he can't tell her, can't tell his sister all that he's seen - she is his youngest sister, the baby of the family - it doesn't matter how much she grows, he'll always need to protect her, and he wants to protect her from this.

"I wish I could, Rilla-my-Rilla," he says gently.

She looks at him with her large, girlish eyes, brimming with sympathy and hope. "Why not?" she asks. "I don't understand - your letters - you seemed so -" she bites her lip. "You seemed so…certain. 'Keep faith.' You told us that. And now - "

"I know," he says. "I thought - " he inhales. "Things were different, then, little sister. Before I saw what war really does." He looks down at his hands, and Rilla reaches over and takes one in her own. "I should have died over there."

"No," Rilla says. She squeezes his hand, hard. "You had to come back to us. You had to come back and - and write more poetry and show us all the beautiful things in Rainbow Valley and not call me 'Spider' - oh, Walter, what we would have done if you had died! Please don't say things like that."

Walter smiles at her, then gently lets go of her hand, pressing it back into her lap. "I knew it would never be an adventure like Jem thought, but I really did think - that I could make a difference there. If I had died, perhaps it would be so. But surviving - when so many I knew didn't. Living with this - knowing I've killed men - this is what it's like for me, Rilla-my-Rilla."

Her eyes are wide. "You had to," she says, and he knows she's trying so hard to understand. "The Germans - "

" - are just like us," he finishes, tiredly. He pushes back his chair and grabs his cane. "I'm sorry - I'm exhausted. I think I'll take a nap."

Rilla watches him go, clutching Jims to her chest.


Rilla has disappeared when he wakes up from his fitful sleep; Susan says that she's gone to town. She doesn't come back until nightfall, and even then she seems distracted.

The next day, he wakes up late. He blinks for a moment, staring at the bright sunshine streaming through the window - it must be almost noon. It is the first time that he hasn't woken up with the dawn, the way they had to - over there.

His body hurts most in the mornings; skin stiff and protesting as he stretches; leg aching. Perhaps it will always be so. You can't change it, he reminds himself. Jem wouldn't try to - he would probably accept it in that easy way of his, as he has to everything that comes his way. Jerry, too, and Ken. Why can't he be more like them?

"There you are," Susan says, a bit brusquely, when he comes down to the living room. Walter had apologized, but there is still something fraught between them. She doesn't know, he knows, but - he cannot forget her words. Perhaps he doesn't want to, wants to hold on to his anger.

Mother is there, and Rilla, and Una Meredith. Walter blinks. He hadn't been expecting to see her - hasn't seen her since he came back. She is sitting with Rilla, knitting - whatever it is they're knitting, as though such a thing is perfectly normal. He shakes his head. No, it's not Una that's out of place. It's him.

"Good morning, Walter," Mother says. "I think," she adds, standing, "that we should leave the young people alone. Susan?"

Susan gives them a sharp look, as though daring them to get into trouble the moment her back is turned, but she and Mother bustle off to the kitchen. Walter sits down carefully, feeling the muscles in his leg cramp and then relax.

Una puts her knitting down as soon as she sees him. Rilla doesn't - Walter recalls her determinedly telling Mother that she was not giving up on the knitting - though she offers him a small smile. "You slept late."

He nods. "Sorry."

"No one's upset," Rilla says. "Mother thought it was better - you've been waking up so early."

"Habit," he says. At this, Una's eyes flick up to look at him.

"From - the army?" she asks. Her voice is so soft, he almost misses it.

He nods.

Rilla looks between them, then puts her knitting on the table.

"I'll go help Susan with lunch," she says. Una starts to get up, too, but Rilla stops her.

"No," she says. "I'm the host - hostess - you sit there and don't do a thing, Una Meredith."

Una looks like she wants to protest, but she acquiesces. Rilla bustles out, and then Walter is alone with her. He finds himself studying her, the way he hadn't at the train station. Has it really been two years since he's last seen her - really seen her?

Unlike Rilla, Una stopped growing long ago, still as slight at twenty as she was at fifteen. Her hair still hangs in a long, thick braid, as she has worn it since she became too old to plait it in two - somehow, Walter cannot imagine Una ever worrying over trends the way Nan, Di, and Rilla do.

She's sitting quietly, not quite looking at him, eyes fixed on the table between them. For a moment Walter feels contempt - is everyone in the Glen that afraid to look at him? They wouldn't have lasted a day in the trenches. Then he recalls that Una has always been like this.

"Well," he says.

Her eyes flick up again, and her mouth twists into a small smile. "We haven't seen you," she starts.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes automatically.

"No, don't be - " she stops, makes a noise that almost sounds like a laugh, if Una were to laugh. "I only meant - how are you?"

"I think I should be asking you that," he tells her. "I heard - I'm sorry about Jerry."

She only nods, looks down. Walter wants to tell her that it's for the best, he'll be kept out of the fighting while he recovers, but he's not sure if that will truly be a comfort. Perhaps it only seems that way to him, because of what he knows.

"It's been a while," she finally says.

"That's my fault," Walter says slowly. "I thought I'd see you earlier. That's why I didn't write."

She presses her lips together for a brief moment. "I did wonder," she admits. It's a bold statement, for Una. He feels a slight sensation of guilt - it flickers in his stomach and then dies like an unfed flame.

"Faith said she'd heard from you," she adds.

It occurs to Walter that Una probably thinks he'd ignored her for Faith, and the thought is more unpleasant than perhaps it should be. He hasn't thought of Faith - not the way he used to - since he left for the front. But then, Una never knew he thought about Faith at all.

"It's only that - I'm not very good company, these days," he says.

Una tilts her head at him, looks him in the eye for the first time since he's sat down. "I'm never very good company. So I suppose it's all right."

Walter nods, and they sit in silence for a moment. It is almost comfortable, but then.

A strange, sudden noise comes from the kitchen - loud and sharp, it sets Walter's ears buzzing and his heart racing. Because he knows that sound; it's the sound of the shells, and it's too close, they should find cover, but it's too late - they should be dead - they would be dead if they were in the trenches. They are not, he realizes. He had forgotten, for a moment.

And Una is staring at him now, eyes wide and confused. Walter blinks, shakes his head to clear it, then realizes from the throbbing pain in his leg that he has done - something. Jumped, perhaps, or some other sudden movement.

"Sorry," he says.

"It's - don't be," Una says. "What - "

"Nothing," he says sharply. "Nothing."

She doesn't look as though she believes him - he knows she doesn't - but she lets it pass without mention. When Rilla comes back in with a little tray of sandwiches, Una merely moves over to let the younger girl sit without comment.

"Don't go in there," Rilla warns. "I broke a plate, and Susan is scandalized."

They chuckle at that, but Walter feels Una's eyes on him for the rest of her stay. She leaves shortly after they finish the sandwiches, murmuring something about Rosemary and piano lessons. It sounds like an excuse.

Rilla frowns as she watches Una leave. "Did something happen?" she asks.

Walter shrugs. "Nothing," he repeats.


Nan and Die come back from Kingsport a few days later. Una Meredith joins them at the train station, to Walter's surprise. Then he scolds himself: as though Una would avoid Nan and Di, her oldest friends, simply because of him. Selfish.

"Hello," she says when she sees him, in her quiet, Una-like way.

"Hello."

"About the other day - " she starts, but Walter shakes his head to stop her.

"I'd rather - not talk about it."

Una looks mildly surprised, but continues. "I only wanted to say - I didn't leave because of you. I really did have to help Rosemary. That's all."

Walter cannot think of what to say - he feels guilty for misjudging Una, who has never had anything but the best of intentions - as far as he knows. Thankfully, the train comes in and Nan and Di step off, diverting everyone's attention. Nan's face visibly relaxes when they tell her that Jerry is out of danger, but she is still silent all the way home. Di has to fill the space with chatter about Redmond and classes and the Red Cross. Una is coming back with them for dinner, and she smiles and nods at Di's anecdotes, but Walter can feel her eyes on him. It sends an odd shiver down his spine that he can't quite explain.


Susan fusses over Nan and Di as always. Nan is oddly subdued all throughout dinner, and she slips away when the dishes are cleared - to Rainbow Valley, Walter thinks. When she returns, her face is blotchy from crying - Nan, who rarely sheds a tear for fear of red eyes.

They're only staying a few days - it turns out the real reason for the visit is for Di to entreat Dad in person to allow her to become a VAD, like Faith.

"No," Dad says, without even missing a beat.

They are gathered around in a circle, seated on cushions, cards scattered between them. In truth, Walter is rather sick of cards - he can't count all the hands he played at the front. But he won't tell them that.

"Why not?" asks Di, trying to shuffle and losing control of the deck. Walter takes it from her; he's learned to shuffle almost expertly. "Faith is over there - she says it's good work - and it would help - " She darts a glance at Una, but the other girl offers no help.

"It's too dangerous, for one," Dad says. "England's not safe - if something happened to you - " He sighs, face drawn. "We've just gotten Walter back, Diana. We can't send you, too."

"But - "

"No," Dad repeats.

Una is looking between them, and quickly stands. "I think I should be heading back," she says apologetically. She inclines her head at the doctor. "Please tell Mrs. Blythe and Susan 'thank you' for the dinner."

Gilbert laughs. "You don't need to be so formal, Una." He winks. "I'll pass the message on."

Una moves towards the door and Gilbert jerks his head at Walter. Walter blinks, then realizes he should walk her. Has he forgotten everything about being normal? He scrambles to his feet, groping for his cane.

At the door, Una turns to him. "Walter," she starts. "Are you really alright?"

He looks away. "Goodnight, Una."


Di is on the sofa when he makes it back, curled up and looking pensive. There's something distinctly displeased about the set of her shoulders. She's not sulking - exactly - for Di despises sulking, Walter knows. But she's not happy, either. She looks up when she sees him come in, offers him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

It's been a while, Walter thinks. Things between them had been - not quite the same, before he left. Di had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the war effort; Walter had shrunk from it. Their talks had been - strained, as they both tried to avoid the topic - but what else had there been to talk about? Some of their old comradeship had returned when he'd enlisted - they'd both been so proud, and so relieved that the wall between them was no longer there.

But now - now.

He offers her a hand, tries to remember what to say, how he used to comfort her. "Would a ramble through Rainbow Valley help?" He doesn't need to - never has needed to - ask if something is wrong.

She looks up at him, eyes bright, gives him a sheepish smile at having been caught in a mood. But she takes his hand and they go out to the moon-drenched valley.

"I haven't been out here, you know," Walter says. "Since I've come back."

Di peers at him. "Why not?"

He shrugs, the moonlight illuminating the small action. "The ground's too soft. Can't walk here," he says, a bit rougher than he intends to. "On my own."

"There's Rilla," Di says. "Or Mother and Dad."

"They're busy."

Di is silent, and Walter wonders if he's upset her, said something wrong, perhaps something selfish. He clears his throat. "Why do you want to go to Europe so badly, Di?"

She makes a frustrated sound, nearly stomping over a patch of grass. "It doesn't matter."

They never used to be this way, never used to have to coax answers from the other. "I think it does."

She sighs, her grip on his arm tightening. "I'm not doing enough. Not for the Red Cross, or Jem or Shirley - or Jerry or Carl." Or you. Somehow Walter hears it, though it goes unspoken. "I just - I just want to be there. Like you were."

Walter winces. She doesn't know, she doesn't know. And he can't tell her, can't strip away her dreams. The truth has already burned him. He can't let it happen to someone else.

"Mother and Dad already have two children 'over there'," he says, as gently as he can. "I would still be there, if it weren't for my leg."

"It's my decision," she says. "And I don't care what happens to me, if - oh!"

Walter's not sure what's happening, only that Di has tripped, her grip dragging him down. Like before, like in the mud, if you fall off a plank, fall into a shell hole - no, he can't let that happen, he's let it happen too many times.

"Walter!"

Di is picking herself up clumsily; Walter is still holding her arm.

"Ow," she says, and he blinks, realizes he has her in an iron grip, trying to save her from an illusion.

"Sorry," he says. "God - I'm sorry."

It's Di that blinks now at his oath, eyebrows knit in concern. Walter tries to ignore it, scramble back to the topic at hand.

"Perhaps you don't care," he says. "But Di - I've been there. It's not - you can't - " He doesn't know how to continue.

Di purses her lips. "Walter," she says. "What aren't you telling me?"

Walter stares straight ahead. His leg is beginning to ache from walking. They ought to sit down. "Things are different. I still haven't - gotten used to being back. I wouldn't want it to happen to you," he says. "That's all." It's not entirely a lie.

Di studies him. "We tell each other everything, Walter." She gives his arm a little shake. "You're Wordsworth and I'm Dorothy, remember?"

He laughs a little at their childish nicknames, when his literary ambitions were only fancies - he's a published poet now, though sometimes he forgets.

"Not this," he says. "Let's not worry about me, Di."

She tilts her head but lets it pass, as everyone has learned to do. Choose your battles, as Mother sometimes said.

And Walter had chosen.