As always, thank you all so much for the reviews. They're really helpful and very kind. :) To the anons:

Marz: Eep, thank you. I think Una's strength is easy to forget - it's only giving a passing mention in Rilla of Ingleside, and of course it would manifest itself quite differently if Walter had lived. But yes, Walter was pretty blind. I think LMM wanted to point out how Walter was slowly gaining notice of Una, but there were points where you wondered if he noticed how he was talking about her. (But then, Walter is also similar in temperament to Anne, and we all know how oblivious she was.) And I'm glad you liked that line, amusement or not. :) I think it would've been interesting if Walter had lived in canon, simply because WWI shattered so many illusions and ended a sort of idyllic time (for that part of the world, anyway) - Walter was suited for that simpler life, but you have to wonder how he would have survived in the new, harsher world...well, anyway. I won't get into all of that. Thank you for reviewing! :)

Guest: Oops, that line is from the poem "Aftermath" (which LMM wrote "as" Walter), which shows up in The Blythes Are Quoted. Walter is haunted, but there isn't one specific person - at least, not in a way that matters to the plot. Sorry for the confusion! And yup, Walter's stubbornness will be...a thing. I'm glad you liked the chapter! ^_^

Title is from "Untouchable" by Girls Aloud. (Don't judge me!)


a heart shouldn't beat so hard

When she returns from Ingleside, Una finds that she is trembling. She makes her excuses to Rosemary, and sits on her bed for a long while, fist pressed to her stomach. She told Walter about her mother. Why had she done that?

She had wanted him to know, of course. Wanted him to know that she understands, in her own way. Help him.

But perhaps she had been selfish. Burdened him with her own tragedies, bound him to her with that knowledge. She gives a little shake of her head. What's done is done. It doesn't matter why she had done it.

And it's a relief, she finds. She had never told anyone about those awful, final moments with her mother - Father thinks she doesn't remember, but how can she not? Sometimes she thinks she can still feel her mother's arms locked around her, her embrace going cold. Nobody would have understood - until now. Maybe she'll tell Jerry and Carl, too, when they come back, when they've been as close to death as she has.

He hadn't told her everything, of course, and Una's not sure he ever will. What he had told her had come out in half-formed sentences, broken with pauses and stammers. Not like the way he had told them stories in Rainbow Valley.

And the things that she heard - that he'd seen. He hadn't tried to paint her a picture, and Una has never had the imagination of Nan or Walter - but she can feel. When she thinks of what Walter has gone through, she cannot suppress her shudder.

After she's collected herself, she goes back downstairs to help Rosemary with dinner. Una likes cooking, although not as much as baking. There's something comforting about its precision, the measuring of ingredients, the little hourglass she sets to make sure she doesn't burn the food.

She feels Rosemary's eyes on her the second she comes into the kitchen. She studiously ignores it.

"What are we making?" she asks.

Rosemary silently hands her the pamphlet of wartime recipes, and Una gets to work, peeling and cutting. They're silent for a while, the only noises being the thunk of knives against the cutting board and the hiss of boiling water.

"You've been doing very well with the Clow girls," Rosemary says, out of the blue.

Una nearly cuts her hand - again - in surprise. "Really?"

Rosemary laughs gently. "Yes, really. Mrs. Clow says their playing at home is very nice. And they like you."

"Oh." Una stares down at the counter, feeling her face warm. She is unaccustomed to praise - to attention in general. Compliments have always made her nervous. She wants to ask for more - what do they like about her? Do they like the way she teaches? Do they think she's kind? Do they like the songs she gives them? But it feels like too much to ask, so she bites the words back. "They're good girls."

"So are you."

Una darts a quick look at her stepmother, but Rosemary is calmly mixing the sauce.

"You went to see the Blythes today, didn't you?"

Una nods, then remembers that Rosemary isn't looking at her. "Yes."

"Did you see Walter?"

"Yes."

Rosemary gives a small smile. "Good. I know it's hard, with the Blythe girls - and Faith - away. Mary Vance is rather far away now, and Rilla's so much younger than you."

Una bristles, though she's not sure at what - the implication, perhaps, that she has no other friends (although she doesn't). Or perhaps it's the comment about Rilla. "It's the same difference as between me and Walter." She pauses. "And Rilla's - nicer - than she used to be." It's not quite the right word - Rilla was never cruel - but Una doesn't know how else to put it.

"I suppose not," Rosemary muses. "I suppose I meant that she never spent much time with your little group, growing up. I'm glad one of your old playmates is back."

Una smiles a bit sheepishly. Rosemary always means well, is always kind to her. "It's not the same, but…" she trails off, uncertain of what she even means to say.

Rosemary picks up. "No, I suppose not. But I'm sure it's a relief." She tilts her head at Una. "I know what it's like to wait, you know."

Of course. Martin Crawford. Una must have heard the story a thousand times when they had first come to the Glen - one of the old legends of the small town. People had stopped repeating the tale so often after Rosemary had married her father, and Una had almost forgotten about it.

"I forgot," Una murmurs. She wonders briefly if Rosemary thinks - if Rosemary knows - that Una cares for Walter the same way she had cared for Martin Crawford.

Rosemary puts her spoon down and reaches over to brush Una's face with her hand. "I'm glad you - we - have him back. And that you have someone to talk to. I know Rilla and Mary Vance can sometimes be - " she crinkles her nose and lets the sentence hang.

Una smiles, though she feels a bit guilty at laughing at her friends. "I still have you."

Rosemary studies her. "As long as you know that."


The next day, Una finds herself hesitating as she walks up to Ingleside.

Be brave, be brave, be brave. She repeats the words to herself, tries to hear them in her footsteps and the rhythm of her breathing. She can feel her soul shrinking within her, all her worries and fears swirling around in her head. What if they don't want to see her? What if she's bothering them? What if they see through her, know the buried-deep reason that she's visiting?

She tries to suppress her worries. There is nothing suspicious about her visiting the Blythes. Likely they won't think much of her visit - won't think about her at all.

She inhales sharply and goes to the door. It opens before she can reach it, and Rilla is pulling her inside before Una can react.

"I saw you from the window," she says. "I'm so glad you came by."

Una blinks. "You are?"

"Mm. Well. There hasn't been any news in a while, so - we're trying to talk about other things, but Susan, especially, won't let it go. You know how she is."

Una does know, and she nods. "What can I do?"

"Oh, just sit and let's chat," Rilla says, tugging her along, into the living room. "I'll call down Walter and we can be frivolous together. Also," she drops her voice. "Susan's trying to teach me to bake. I've managed to cook a few things, but baking is absolutely out of the question for my abilities."

Una finds that a laugh bubbles out of her at that, and takes a seat while Rilla rushes up to get Walter.

"Una!"

Mrs. Blythe has poked her head in. "Back so soon?"

Una quails at having her frequent presence pointed out. She doesn't mean it that way, she reminds herself. "Yes. There's not much to do at home right now."

"Of course," Mrs. Blythe smiles. "Bruce is getting older. I'm sure Rosemary's relieved."

"Very much." Una pauses and then adds, "I think she's sad, though. That he's growing up so fast."

"It's a hard thing for any mother," Mrs. Blythe says. Her face becomes serious. "And this is a hard time for children to be growing up."

Una doesn't know what to say, so she only nods. Faith had always found it so easy to talk to the Blythes' mother, had slipped into the family as easily as if she had always been one of them. Una likes them, of course, but she feels horribly strange, sometimes, in their big house with their smiles and their laughter. She really only feels comfortable around Shirley - sometimes Walter - and now Rilla.

Speaking of. "We're here," Rilla announces, sailing in. Walter trails behind her, and when he sees Una, he smiles.

Una's heart gives a horrid thump at this. She can't ever recall Walter smiling at her - at only her. She tries to ignore it.

"How have you been, Una?" he asks.

"Fine," she says, automatically.

Rilla nudges her foot. "Just 'fine'?"

Una shrugs. "I don't do much. You know that."

"None of us do," Rilla says with a sigh. "Oh! But Dad's thinking of buying an automobile, so that should be nice and distracting."

"Susan doesn't approve," Walter puts in.

"Susan's scandalized by all the newfangled technology," Rilla says with a little laugh. "She approves of aeroplanes - because Shirley's flying one, of course - "

"How is Shirley?" Una asks, before she can stop herself. "He doesn't write often." She'd almost forgotten him, and feels horribly guilty - Shirley, who never pushed her to talk, who she could always count on to walk with her when everyone else was paired off.

Rilla rolls her eyes. "No, he doesn't. It drives Susan quite mad. I suppose he's all right."

"Training can be busy," Walter says quietly. Rilla twists sharply to look at him, but he doesn't catch her glance. "There's not much time to write. Especially now." He gives Una an odd look. "He hasn't written to you?"

"No," Una says. "I haven't written to him, either - so it's not only his fault."

Walter gives a little shrug. "It's more intense, now, I would think. They need more men, and they need them quickly."

"That's true," Rilla mutters. "Well, I suppose he'll write soon enough. He knows Susan's waiting." She makes a face.

"I hope he likes it," Walter murmurs. "Flying. It must be nicer than - fighting."

"I think so," Una says, before she can stop herself. "I think - it's something that I think we'd like to do even after the war. When the fighting stops - we'll want to keep flying." The thought comes out jumbled and awkward, but Walter nods like it makes sense.

"I'd love to fly," Rilla sighs. "But being in an aeroplane can't be anything like being a bird, can it?"

"No," Walter says, and Una is surprised to hear some of the old dreaminess in his voice. Rilla seems to hear it too, and a small smile breaks over her face. "I used to imagine it and - I don't think they could ever be anything alike. Even if they were - I wouldn't want to fly over Europe now. Even if I were a bird."


Una stays longer than she expects to, talking with Rilla and Walter. As though they're all friends, the way Faith used to talk with Jem and Jerry, Nan and Di. It's nice, she thinks. Nice, to simply be with them. She presses her hand to her chest and finds that there's a pleasant, warm glow there.

Walter walks her to the door, then hesitates. "I'll walk you home," he says. The words tilt up at the end, like a question. Una ducks her head to hide that her face is turning red.

"If it's all right," she says, but he only smiles and shifts his weight a bit.

"Exercise helps," is all he says, and then they are off, walking up to the manse side by side. Like Jem and Faith, or Nan and Jerry.

But not truly, because we are friends, Una scolds herself. If she tricks herself into thinking that this is more - well. She won't.

Walter cannot go through Rainbow Valley without support, and he does not suggest it - Una wonders if he doesn't want her to hold his arm, if it would be too strange. Or perhaps he thinks it is asking too much of her. Instead, they go around the road, in view of the town and passersby.

"I'm glad you came back," Walter says.

Una looks at him sideways, but he is not looking at her. "Of course."

"The things I told you - I thought maybe - " He shakes his head. "I don't want to upset you."

Una gives a little shrug. She wishes she were brave enough to reach out and touch him, but she keeps her hands pressed to her sides. "I wanted to know. I still do," she corrects herself.

"I know," he says. "Sometimes I forget that - sometimes I forget." He gives her a look. "And I didn't want to make you worry about your brothers. Or Shirley."

He's left out Jem, though Una supposes that's well enough, for she has never been close to the eldest Blythe boy. "I don't think anything could make me stop worrying about them," she admits. "But - it helps. To know what's happening to them. I think being in the dark - for us, that's the worst part."

Walter nods. "Then I suppose I'm glad to help." He pauses. "But you know - I don't want to - it's selfish of me to talk only of myself." He tilts his head at her. "How are you, Una? Really."

Una hesitates. She is fine, she had not lied to Rilla about that. Perhaps not ecstatic - but then, is anyone these days? But she is not crushed with sadness, either. Not now.

"All right," she says. "Maybe a bit worried. Not just the war - little things, too, sometimes. I have to come up with a plan for the Clow girls' lesson tomorrow."

"Yes," Walter says. "You're a teacher now, too." There's almost amusement in his voice.

Una shakes her head. "Not like you - and Faith - and everyone. It's just two girls."

"Better than a whole classroom, perhaps," Walter muses. "But then - you're good with children."

Has he noticed that, thought about her? Or is he just repeating something that Mrs. Blythe or Miss Cornelia said?

"Children need care," Una murmurs. "I suppose I like to care for people."

Walter gives her an odd smile. "You're good at that, too." He pauses. "But - caretakers need care, too. You listened to me. If you ever want to talk - I'll listen, too."

Una can't think of a good response to that, so she only nods, feeling her face warm. Walter lets her fall silent, and they walk through the town quietly. One of the Kirks gives them an odd look, but Una finds she doesn't care much. No one ever gossips about her anyway.

Walter's breathing is heavy when they start up the manse hill, and Una steps closer.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes when she takes his arm, giving him the slight strength she has.

"Not at all," she says, quietly. She wishes he wouldn't apologize - none of this is his fault. She wants to tell him so, but the words stick in her throat.

Walter walks her to the gate, and touches her arm before she turns away. "Una."

An awful jolt goes through her, like lightning - or what she imagines lightning must be like. She keeps her face neutral. "Hm?"

"It's good to have you come by - to have someone who understands," he says. "I'd like it if I - we - saw you more often."

"We haven't seen each other much, since the Rainbow Valley days," she agrees. She's surprised that the words have escaped her mouth. She'd only meant to murmur something commonplace.

"No," he says, thoughtfully. "And things have changed so much. Perhaps we ought to get to know each other again."

Another jolt. In this moment, Una feels that her heart and her nerves are terrible traitors. "I'd like that."

They part, and Una forces herself not to look back when she goes up the path to slip inside the house. She misses, then, Walter watching her, his face thoughtful, lingering at the gate even after she closes the door.