Dudes! I can't believe I've made it this far, haha. I wrote this chapter wayyy back when I first started this story and I'm finally getting to post it! Exciting stuff.

To the anons!

Joanna: I'm glad you like the story and as always I'm happy to hear that Walter and Una seem in-character to people :) Yeah, Una's story has always bummed me out, so I have to give her a happy ending! (Although there's one more chapter, so there's still time for me to kill everyone off, mwahahahaha, etc. :P) Ty for reviewing!

Marz: Ty ty! I think I'm just really predictable (or we all want the same things for Walter and Una), because your speculations are always weirdly correct, haha. I'm glad you liked the chapter, bar wanting to inflict physical damage on Walter :P Dude just can't catch a break.

Zuzi: Thank you :) As always, glad you liked it and I'm glad that the tone and such that I'm trying to convey seem to be coming through ^_^ Also, re: Walter's POV, there are some deleted scenes I'm thinking of putting up later? So you might get to read that, if I ever stop being lazy.

Tiny Teddy: Thank you! ^_^

Title from "Abound" by Andreas Sahar/Vienna Teng.


so i ask you to meet me tonight

"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile!" the Clow girls sing as they leave the manse, joined hands swinging.

"Yes, do smile, Una," Rosemary says. She comes to stand at the door, waving Helen and Grace down the road. Una, next to her, can only press her lips together. Rosemary shakes her head, loops their arms together as they turn back inside.

"I daresay you might take over my lessons for the rest of the year," Rosemary says. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

Una smiles at her stepmother. It is hard to ever see Rosemary as old - even approaching her middle age, she is still bright-eyed and sweet. Some people, perhaps, never grow old - Rosemary in her delicate kindness, Mrs. Blythe in her silly, flighty ways.

Una does not believe she will ever be one of them. She has always felt old - and tired, so tired, eaten alive by worries and fears. Moreso than ever, these days.

Rosemary sits down on the old, high-backed chair that creaks and groans under everyone's weight but never quite breaks, tugging Una down to sit near her. "Una," she says, "if I were to ask what's on your mind - would you be honest with me?"

Una's fingers go to her collar, pinching the skin under her dress away from the bone as she thinks. Her first instinct is to lie - only tired, only a bit worried. But she is so tired of lying and hiding, of pretending words and actions mean nothing.

"I've tried to be subtle," Rosemary hurries on at Una's silence. "I wanted you to come to me, but - I am worried. You seemed so happy, and then all of a sudden…" she trails off. "You know I will always listen to you, Una."

Something in her voice, or perhaps her understanding eyes, breaks Una. She presses her face into her hands, feeling all of the tension and worry of the past few months seep out as tears.

"Oh, darling," Rosemary murmurs, moving to sit next to her on the sofa, stroking her hair.

"Rosemary, I believe I am having a love affair," Una chokes out, laughing through her tears at the absurdity of her words. How ridiculous this all is! Did Faith ever cry this way over Jem?

Rosemary's hand stills, but her voice is even. "With Walter Blythe?"

Una nods, smiling stupidly as she wipes tears away. So Rosemary knows - perhaps always knew. Everyone knows, even old Elder Clow. Her carefully-kept secret - the secret she never even wrote about in her diary, for fear someone would find it - is exposed. To her surprise, it is a relief.

The whole story spills out, Rosemary giving sympathetic little hums, even laughing at a few parts. Una hesitates when she comes to kissing Walter in Father's study, but gives in and admits that, too. Rosemary's eyes widen - Una knows that such behavior might be expected of Faith or the Blythe girls, but never of her.

When she is finished, though, she feels strangely lighter, as though all her secrets had held actual weight, pinning her down. Rosemary's arm comes around her shoulders, and Una leans into her stepmother.

"It is confusing, isn't it," Rosemary muses. "Love, that is."

Una nods against her shoulder, another thought occurring to her. "How long have you known?"

"Oh, it was only a suspicion," Rosemary says, tucking a strand of hair behind Una's ear. "Ever since you were children - the way you used to follow him around a bit. But I never really knew until he came back. You two were spending so much time together - and you seemed happier than you have in a while - and then suddenly you went back to looking so worried and pale. I thought perhaps you two had quarreled."

"Quite the opposite," Una murmurs, remembering the warmth of his mouth on hers, the way he had looked at her. She sighs. "I don't know what to do, Rosemary."

"Ah, you think the old maid does?"

"You were only almost an old maid," Una corrects her, half-smiling.

Rosemary smiles too. "I think Walter is the one you should ask. I know you can," she adds, when Una tries to protest. "You are so much braver than you know. Do you think your father and I would have survived, these past few years, without you to help us?"

Una feels herself quail under praise, as she always does. But some strange steel in her spine holds her upright, and she finds - she can believe Rosemary's words, just a bit.


She and Rosemary do the cleaning and cooking, passing dishrags and measuring cups between them. They do not speak of Una's confession - there is nothing more to be said. Every now and then, they catch each other's eye and smile. It reminds Una of the early days of - could it be called a courtship? - between her and Walter: the secrets shared, the easing of their burdens. How good it feels, to tell things to people. Una does not want to forget this.

Bruce comes home as they are peeling carrots. Once, he would have offered to help - now he skips by, book-bag thumping against his legs.

"Are you quite busy, Bruce?" Rosemary calls after him.

"Uh-huh," he says, doubling back to stand in the doorway. "I suppose I should tell you - " he has the grace to look shamefaced " - I didn't do my sums today because Harry Lewis and I were looking for ant colonies and didn't hear them calling us back in - well, Harry says we were hunting ants, but I don't think so - just looking for them. Anyway, Teacher said she wouldn't be cross with us as long as we turned in the sums tomorrow - so I am quite busy, Mother."

Una has to cough to cover up her laughter.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Bruce says, poking his head back into the kitchen. "Una, there's something for you."

"Hm?" Una says, only half-listening.

"I saw Walter Blythe on the way home," he says with all the casualness of someone who does not know the great events of which they are a part. "He asked me to give you this."

Una drops the knife - thankfully onto the counter this time - turning mechanically to receive the folded paper Bruce presses into her hands. It is a small note, but Una knows its contents before she even opens it - she herself had delivered one just like it, years ago.

Walter Blythe asks her to meet him tonight, by the brook in Rainbow Valley.


It is still summer, and the sun is still not quite below the horizon when Una sets off for Rainbow Valley. It is quiet - so quiet, the air still, as though all the world is holding its breath.

Walter is not sitting as he normally is; he is leaning against the White Lady, face obscured by shadow. He looks up, though, when she approaches, and she sees the worry on his face, the exhaustion. How difficult it has been for them, unable to talk to each other, she realizes. Perhaps they have ruined everything, perhaps she has ruined their friendship by pushing too far.

But no - he is looking at her again, and Una thinks - perhaps nothing is ruined at all.

"Hello," he says quietly.

"Hello."

They both hesitate, then. Una finds herself rocking back and forth on her heels, swaying, trying to arrange her thoughts. She leans forward and almost has the strength to speak; she leans back and swallows the words.

"I don't quite know how to begin," Walter says finally, when the silence stretches horrible and taut. "I'm a little afraid of you, you see."

"Afraid of me?" Una almost laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it. "Whatever for?"

Walter shakes his head, continuing as though she hasn't spoken. "I can pretend, sometimes," he says, slowly. "I can walk - and talk - as though I'm a man, as though I haven't done - haven't seen - all that I have. There are days where I can believe it. But I'm not."

Una remains quiet. He wants to say more; she can sense it.

"And you - are so kind," Walter says. There is an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice. "I have come to realize - that I care for you." The words come out so slow and measured - Una wants to shake him, make him speak faster, let her know quicker.

"I care for you," she says, softly - just a bit fiercely.

"That's it, though," he says. "I can't - I am not - I won't ever be right again, Una. "

"You don't have to be," she says, realization dawning on her. He can't think - that she would reject him, that she doesn't care for him the way he is now. How could she not? She has loved him for so long, loved him even as half the Glen thought him a coward, treasured every letter he wrote, thrilled whenever he found the time to speak to her, listen to her. As if any of that has changed.

"But I should be," he says. He looks at her for the first time since she's come to stand next to him, his face more serious than it has been in a while. He looks, for a moment, as haunted as he did when he had first returned, and Una shivers.

"I can live with myself, most days," he continues. "But to ask anyone else to live with me - it would be unfair. You deserve to be happy."

"No, listen to me," Una says - Walter's eyes widen at the sharpness of her voice, but Una is too far gone to think of that. "I have loved you since we were children - since the day I saw you at the train station! I would be happy with you. Do you think I care for - any of this?" She suddenly wants to touch him, make him realize, and she reaches up to his collar, fingers finding the shiny, taut skin where he has been burned. She has never touched him there - not before he went, and not when he returned - and is surprised by the smoothness of the skin, how unlike Walter it feels. But not revolted, not alarmed.

Walter bows his head but does not push her away. He does not say anything, either, and Una recoils from the intensity of her emotions.

"I only - I only mean to say - that I still care," she says weakly. What is it about Walter, that all of her feelings come slipping out around him? She cannot hide her feelings with him, as she is always able to with others.

Love, she reminds herself, and almost laughs. Of course.

Finally, Walter lifts his head, and even in the lengthening shadows of sunset, Una can see the light in his eyes. His hand comes to cover hers on his collar, and he threads their fingers together.

"So then," he says, and all that he leaves unsaid is spoken in his face, in his eyes. He leans his cane against the White Lady and reaches up to cup her face. "May I?" he whispers.

Una almost laughs - as though he has to ask. But it means something that he does.

"Yes," she says, and then his mouth is on hers once again. It is nothing like before - it is better, now, made sweeter with the certainty between them. Something warm and aching has opened up deep within Una, pushing out all her shyness and fear, and she wraps her arms around him quite shamelessly, pulling him closer. He laughs, too, breath warm on her mouth, and holds her in return.

When they part, he touches his forehead to hers, bending almost comically low - Una knows she is the shortest of all the Blythes and Merediths.

"I am not easy to live with," he says - calmly. "Una - for all I have told you - there is so much more that is a part of me, now. I want for you to know - I don't want you to be disappointed."

Una is quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. He does not mean any of this lightly, this she knows. But she also knows that he is still thoughtful and kind, still sees her despite her plainness, hears her despite her quietness. That is what matters.

The words tangle in her mouth, though, as they always do. "But the good things about you, Walter - those haven't changed," she says. "And - they are worth everything else." She turns her face up to him, letting her mask slip away - she has arranged it so carefully, ever since she was a child, knows how to make her face calm and placid, slate-blank and unreadable. Una lets all of her emotions come to the surface, praying he will see them.

And Walter does see, she can tell, his face relaxing as his eyes search hers. Always, always, Walter has been able to read her, know what she means to say though she can never quite say it. That hasn't changed, either.

"Besides," she adds, cracking a small smile. "I am not so easy to live with, either. I am resentful - and hateful - and I can't cook nearly as well as Susan. What do you think of that?"

Walter smiles and just shakes his head, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. "I think - that I love you," he says simply.

"And I you," Una whispers. They bend together, the setting sun casting their shadows over the brook till they meld with those of the trees, and they remain that way for a while.


"Since we were children?" Walter repeats incredulously, some time later.

They are ambling through Rainbow Valley, quite unconscious of time and other earthly matters. Walter's arm is around her waist, and Una feels almost perfectly content. There is still a war, she knows - a war that may last for years. Her brothers may never come back home. But she has something, now, to hold on to, and - if the flood comes, she will not be swept away, and that makes things - all right.

"Are you going to cast it up to me?" Una asks with a smile, ducking her head. "I don't think I hid it as well as I would have liked."

"I never knew," Walter marvels. "But then - perhaps I did know. I thought of you, you know, while I was 'over there.' Of your letters - the little things you said. I saw you so clearly, sometimes - as though you were very near me."

Una does not say anything. Her heart feels full to bursting at his words, and she lets herself lean into him. His hand is warm in hers, and she feels - not for the first time this night - the thrill that this is how things can - will - be. She could kiss him again if she wants to - can kiss him all she likes, now. The thought is so bold that she blushes - but then, what is there to be shy about, either?

They wander for a while longer, letting the night fall over them as they talk and laugh and sigh, years of silence broken between them. The sky is turning dark blue; the lights have come on at Ingleside. Above them, the moon glows bright in the sky - only a crescent, a sliver. The first few stars pinpoint their way in the dark; they always remind Una of thin needles pricked through wool.

A thought has occurred to her. "Would you have said anything to me, if Father and Bruce hadn't come home, that day?" she asks.

Walter blushes. "We didn't - er - talk much, did we?"

"No," Una says. She can smile at the memory now - it is no longer horrible and tantalizing, only sweet.

"I didn't know what to do," Walter admits. "I wanted to see you - I did have to return those books, you know."

"I believe you," Una says with a laugh.

"I didn't know what it meant, at the time," he says, his voice soft. "I thought I would know, instantly, as they do in books - will you cast that up to me?"

"I think you did know," Una says. "You only didn't realize." And she doesn't care, she is too overjoyed to mind. And she cannot think of any other words, so she draws him close to her and kisses him again.