A continuation of Lessons Learned (though hopefully you can still read this first and understand what's going on). While I recycle some ideas from Kindred Spirits, these fics take place in a separate continuity.


Early snow drifted outside the living-room window, at times seeming to dance in response to the meticulous notes parading from the piano. Beethoven's 32 Variations on an Original Theme in C Minor, WoO 80 — evidently, Beethoven noticed a friend playing it later on in his life, but Beethoven did not recognize it and was surprised to discover "that piece of folly" came from his own mind. Nevertheless, over a hundred years later, Schroeder found it relaxing to play, along with the whole catalog of WoO pieces when he tackled them in sequence.

Actually, anything that gave him a challenge allowed him to relax. As long as he focused his mind on his music and pushed away his other problems, he could force himself into a state of equanimity. He needed that right then, especially with what he had done a few days ago — and just thinking about it made his stomach feel like a shriveled-up balloon. He zeroed in on his piano, trying to block everything else out.

Unfortunately, he could not completely throw himself into his music today. Sitting at the nearby card table, his lifelong friend, Charlie Brown, looked up from a stack of baseball books which he had brought over from the library. While the round-headed young man tended to be easygoing and passive, a certain light of determination appeared on his wide face when he became focused on his favorite sport. The drivenness of his passion, mingled with the familiarity which he had maintained with Schroeder since the latter was an infant, could even make him lay aside his milquetoast sense of politeness long enough to bug the younger musician while he was practicing.

"How much longer are you going to be at it, Schroeder?" Charlie Brown asked.

"I'm trying to see how many of Beethoven's WoO pieces I can do in order from memory," Schroeder replied without looking back at him. "Some of Beethoven's best gems are hidden in them, you know."

"How about this gem?" Charlie Brown returned testily. "It's called a diamond, and it's found on a baseball field. Ever heard of it?"

"The season is months away, Charlie Brown."

"That's hardly relevant."

Although both had aged out of the original baseball team years ago, Charlie Brown had faithfully maintained it as coach and manager, recruiting the next wave of children to hit the neighborhood. Despite his own busy schedule, Schroeder dutifully acted as a part-time assistant coach each spring, helping his old friend every Wednesday and on alternating weekends (as long as it did not conflict with any last-minute band practice at the high school), while their mutual friend, Linus Van Pelt, took on the assistant-coach duties on days when Schroeder could not make it.

Where Charlie Brown had not been much of a pitcher on the old team, he was an excellent coach, and he worked well with children, cultivating their talents and encouraging those who were struggling. While he had always been a dogged kid, pursuing baseball no matter how many times he lost, the increase in victories since he had retired as pitcher seemed to make him more of a fanatic. It was not unusual for him to call Schroeder at a random hour with some new idea, and he did not balk when Schroeder shouted at him that it was still November.

Despite Charlie Brown's sometimes tiring zeal, Schroeder enjoyed being connected to the game, since he could not have joined the high school's baseball team and stayed in the concert band. He could thus humor his friend (to a degree) and listen to Charlie Brown rattle off baseball strategies while Schroeder alternated his attention between sports and Beethoven.

He had already reached the triple digits of Beethoven's WoO pieces when he heard the front door open without a knock or a jangle of keys. The sound of a feminine and straightforward gait in saddle shoes followed, narrowing the identity of its owner to just one person. The next moment, Lucy Van Pelt, Schroeder's other closest friend, meandered in, one hand stuffed in the large pocket of her yellow winter coat while the other carried a stack of envelopes.

The sight of the envelopes reminded Schroeder of something which made his stomach clench, but he kept his features calm as he nodded to her, able to find refuge in the familiarity of the moment. Lucy had been visiting his house since they had been small children, and even after she got over her crush on him, she continued to visit him at least once or twice a week.

"That's pretty," Lucy complimented as she came over to the piano. "I don't think I've heard that one before. What's it called?"

Schroeder inwardly jolted, realizing too late what he was playing, but he kept his eyes fixed on the keys.

"It's one of Beethoven's WoO, meaning a work without an opus number," he answered vaguely. "In this case, it's his WoO One-Twenty-Three."

"Sure, but what's it called?" Lucy asked. "A lot of his works still have a title or a common nickname."

"Some German name. I'll have to look it up again."

He promptly abandoned his personal WoO challenge and switched to the much safer Piano Sonata No. 21 from memory, a little louder than the opening pianissimo chords usually required.

"He says as if Beethoven didn't originally title all his works in German," Lucy commented, shaking her head with a slight smile.

Instead of plopping beside Schroeder on the bench as usual, she strolled over to the table and took the seat across from Charlie Brown, laying the envelopes down.

"Well, boys, the mailbox in the school's newsroom was filled with letters almost exclusively for Doctor Lucy today," she announced, beaming with pride. "The new assistant editor was impressed."

"Congratulations," Charlie Brown smiled.

Schroeder looked over his shoulder, studying the pile.

"Are you going to read them all now?" he asked warily. "Here?"

"Why not? They're all signed with nom de plumes, so it's not like you'll automatically know who everyone is," she reasoned. "Besides, since you're a photographer for the paper, Schroeder, that makes you and me colleagues."

Schroeder jerked his head pointedly toward Charlie Brown. "What about him?"

"Charlie Brown wouldn't reveal any delicate secrets," Lucy answered evenly. "He knows I'd slug him."

Her friend nodded with a rueful smile. "She would."

Lucy winked at him before pulling out a letter. "Actually, I was considering asking you boys if either of you would be interested in being ghostwriters when I have a letter that's too tough for me to answer. That would cover any issues of doctor-patient confidentiality, once you guys sign my NDA."

Schroeder feigned surprise. "What could possibly stump the great Doctor Lucy?"

"Baseball," she answered.

Charlie Brown sat up, a huge smile creeping over his face. "My time has come."

"Better late than never," Lucy teased. She passed him two envelopes. "These readers are feeling nervous about the upcoming baseball season. Write out a response, and I'll review it. If it meets the standards expected of Dear Doctor Lucy, we'll publish it in a future issue."

"Wow, a sports psychiatrist," Charlie Brown murmured, pleased, as he opened one envelope flap. "What a career path!"

"I figured you'd be able to make sense of all that sports gobbledygook."

"Gobbledygook," Schroeder repeated drolly. "Is that a medical term now?"

"Anything a doctor says can become a new medical term, sweetie," she replied. "And for you, Schroeder, I have a letter from someone who says they're having trouble with their" — she opened the flap and scanned the top portion of the letter — "theremin lessons? What in the world is a theremin?"

"An electric musical instrument invented by Leon Theremin," he explained without missing a note of the sonata, "where you play without touching it."

Charlie Brown goggled at him. "How on earth does anyone manage that?"

"Antennas and the heterodyne principle."

"No wonder this guy is so distressed then," Lucy observed. "Would you be interested in giving a fellow musician a pep talk?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"I knew I could count on you, sweetie."

She rose and crossed over to the piano with one of the envelopes, laying it on the top of the piano. Schroeder gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement before his eyes returned to the keyboard. Lucy propped her elbows on the piano lid, resting her chin on one hand. Schroeder glanced at her again, meeting her studying gaze.

"What?"

"Oh, just listening," she said mildly. "I like your interpretation of this piece. Very powerful, but a little anxious too."

"That's Beethoven for you," he answered, but he slowed the tempo slightly.

She leaned forward. "What goes through your mind when you play that, Schroeder?"

Schroeder shrugged. "Depends on the day, I guess."

"I see." She regarded him with an odd sort of smile for half a minute before she twisted herself around to address both of her friends. "Speaking of letters, maybe you boys can help me with a little mystery. I recently found a love letter in the Dear Doctor Lucy mailbox."

Schroeder's head snapped up. "A what?"

"You know, those letters written by people to the ones they love?"

"I know what it is," he muttered, but he looked more distracted than insulted.

Charlie Brown raised an eyebrow. "Someone sent a love letter to your advice column?"

"Well, what amounts to a love letter," Lucy clarified, heading back to the table and reclaiming her chair. "Some guy wrote to ask me for advice about a girl he likes. Maybe you guys can help me figure out who the guy is so that I can help him out one-on-one instead."

Schroeder slowed his playing even further, narrowing his eyes. "Doesn't that go against the whole idea of a nom de plume?"

"I'm nothing if not a hopeless romantic," Lucy sighed dreamily. "How can I call myself Doctor Lucy if I don't do everything in my power to aid those who look to me for guidance? It's like when I help Charlie Brown role play scenarios he's nervous about."

"What does the letter say?" Charlie Brown asked.

She reached for the one at the bottom of the stack and carefully pulled it out. She withdrew the folded letter and shook it open, waving it around for the boys to see. It was a single page, and it had been typed.

"Untraceable, in theory," she declared in her showman tone.

"Theory?" Schroeder lifted his head, wearing a perplexed smile.

"Well, as a psychiatrist aspirant, it should be no surprise that I have the brains to figure out who wrote this," she declared. "But first, tell me what you guys think of this letter."

She cleared her throat, making a funny little show. Schroeder continued to play, but his foot moved to the una corda pedal to soften the music as Lucy read aloud.

"Dear Doctor Lucy,

I have fallen for a close friend. The kicker? She used to have a huge crush on me, but she lost interest years ago. Back then I kept pushing her away, so now I can't work up the guts to say anything; however, a bunch of guys are starting to notice her. She's cute, smart, mischievous, confident, fun to be around, driven, and a lot more than I can list here, so it's no wonder other boys would be interested, and she has no reason to turn any of them down while I'm floundering on what to do.

If I don't say something soon, I might lose her forever, but if I mess this up, I might ruin our friendship. How can I win her heart and stay her friend?"

Lucy paused, as if for dramatic effect.

"Then our anonymous Romeo signs it as 'Mr. Too Little, Too Late.' Isn't that cute?"

She shook her head, smiling.

"What are you going to say?" asked Charlie Brown, propping his chin on his hands.

"I haven't fully decided yet." Lucy leaned back until her chair balanced on its back legs. "My initial reaction was something like, 'Dear Mr. Too Late, What you are describing is a classic case of Dog in a Manger Syndrome—"

"What?"

The music stopped, and Schroeder twisted on his bench to stare at her.

"You know, like the old Aesop Fable," Lucy explained. "A dog couldn't eat the hay in a manger, but he growled at all the sheep and cattle that wanted to eat. It's the 'if I can't have any, you can't have any' mentality."

Schroeder narrowed his eyes. "Kinda harsh to say to a guy who just poured his heart out to you, don't you think?"

"Especially when you don't have all the details," Charlie Brown pointed out. "You don't even know what the girl's side of the story is."

"As I said, it was my initial response," Lucy replied with an unabashed smile. She linked her hands behind her head. "After some thought, I started to notice a few parallels to certain people I know" — singing the last part.

The boys stared at her.

"Who?" asked Charlie Brown.

Lucy allowed her chair to fall back onto its front legs, and she leaned against the table, resting her chin on her laced fingers. She batted her eyes at Charlie Brown.

"Who, indeed?" she hummed, wearing that mischievous smile.

Charlie Brown blinked at her, comprehension slowly dawning on his round face. "...Why would I send you an anonymous letter asking for advice when I already tell you all my problems?"

"So that you don't keep running up your tab," Lucy teased. She walked two fingers across the table and onto his hand. "You already owe me two-hundred and forty-nine dollars in nickels, you know."

"Well, I most certainly did not write that letter," he insisted, pulling his arm back. "You know typewriters and I get along about as well as me and the old kite-eating tree."

"You could have dictated it to Linus or Snoopy," she pointed out.

"But what would be the point?" he asked, lifting his arms in a big shrug. "Every time I have girl trouble, I let you know in no uncertain terms."

"Unless you had good reason to be diffident this time around, especially if it's in regards to the girl's identity."

"Like…?"

"Ohhh, someone who you sincerely considered marrying at some point," she smiled, patting her glossy hair.

Charlie Brown rolled his eyes, grimacing. "You would bring that up."

Schroeder gaped at Charlie Brown. "When did that happen?"

"In my defense, I was seven or eight at the time," he muttered, looking more annoyed than embarrassed to remember such a dark spot in his youth. "Lucy got the bright idea of encouraging me to run for president someday, just so that she could be first lady and remodel the White House."

"Yeah, but then I realized I could just run for president myself, so I broke off our engagement." Lucy chuckled fondly. "My, I was a brash young thing, wasn't I? How did you ever put up with me, Charlie Brown?"

"I tried to believe the best version of you would pop up eventually," he answered sincerely before he frowned again. "But I still didn't write you that letter."

"Oh, I figured that," Lucy laughed, waving her hand. "I just wanted to make sure."

Charlie Brown rolled his eyes, but he made no retort. Lucy picked up the letter again, lightly swatting it with her other hand.

"My next guess," she said, "is that this letter may have actually come from my own brother's typewriter."

Schroeder had been listening to their exchange with a frown, but now he sat up a little.

"Linus?" he repeated.

Charlie Brown shook. "Impossible. He's liked Lydia for years, and she's never chased him."

"Did I say it was Lydia he was after?" Lucy paused with a smirk, looking from one boy to the other. "Just the other day, we were talking about Sally's new boyfriend, and he said he never thought Sally would ever get over her crush on him. A mighty big coincidence, don't you think?"

"Linus and Sally?" Charlie Brown looked doubtful.

"Stranger things have happened, Charlie Brown," Lucy countered. "When I joked that the new guy gets to be her Sweet Babboo, he made a face, like he didn't like the idea."

"Or it's just a knee-jerk reaction to the nickname," Schroeder countered, "like Pavlov's dog."

"Possible." Lucy laid her hands on the table, looking rather like a lawyer making a case. "But doesn't it make sense? Sally used to follow Linus around everywhere. Linus was always complaining about her unwanted attention, but they stayed good friends. Now, she's cute and popular with boys—"

"Not that popular," Charlie Brown scowled.

"Popular enough," Lucy grinned, poking his arm. "But you know my little brother. He can't just come out and ask his big sister for advice on girls, now that he's a high-schooler. Plus, he might think I'd tease him mercilessly about it. Or I'd tell Sally before he's ready to confess."

"A fair concern," Schroeder said dryly.

"Now, listen to this piece of compelling evidence." With eyes gleaming in triumph, Lucy pointed to the typed text. "You know how the letter E is the most used in the English language? Linus's typewriter has worn down so much that the tops of the lower-case e's are kinda cut off — just like in this letter!"

Charlie Brown's eyes bulged. Schroeder stood and strode over to the table, and Lucy laid the page on the table for them both to examine. Just as she said, the tops of the lower-case e's were all cut off.

"So much for being untraceable," Schroeder murmured, crooking his finger on his chin.

"Linus isn't the only guy to have a typewriter with weird keys," Charlie Brown pointed out.

"Maybe," said Lucy before she reached across the table to poke him on the nose. "But if his best friend — and Sally's responsible big brother — were to go over to my house right now to hang out with Linus, undercover, then said best friend — and responsible big brother — could check out the ribbon on the typewriter, and that would prove whether this letter came from there."

"The ribbon?" Schroeder stared.

"Me?" Charlie Brown blinked several times. "Right now?"

"Why not?" Lucy grinned.

Schroeder grimaced. "Lucy, you shouldn't invade Linus's privacy like that."

Lucy turned her head, unabashed. "Clearly, you're an only child."

"I just mean you could be wrong," he said firmly. "Then you'll be embarrassing him — and Charlie Brown — for no good reason."

Lucy raised her hands. "Do you think I have no good reason? The person who sent me this letter wants my help, but they had to do so anonymously. If that's my own baby brother, he wants me to help him. He needs me to help him. So, wouldn't it make sense to help him?"

"I'm just saying you could have gotten it wrong," Schroeder said, folding his arms. "There could be a thousand typewriters across town with goofy e's. Or Linus could have loaned his typewriter to a friend having girl trouble, and they wrote the letter."

Lucy tilted her head, studying him. "That would be a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?"

"But it's possible."

"Well, all it takes is one look at the typewriter ribbon to know for sure," Lucy answered reasonably. She returned to Charlie Brown with a sweet smile. "How 'bout it then?"

"I think Schroeder's right," he answered. "I can't invade Linus's privacy like that."

"Not even for Sally?" Lucy challenged. "Your baby sister who looks to you as a role model (for better or worse)?"

He raised his round head, looking stern. "As her big brother, I can certainly talk to Linus and ask what his intentions toward her are. That would not be crossing any lines. Then I could ask if he typed the letter."

"What if he lies?"

"Linus isn't like that."

"Well then, if you're so sure that's the right course of action, hop to it then," Lucy insisted, rising. "If my brother has girl troubles, then we should help him deal with them. You and me, his best friend and his only sister."

"Maybe I will," Charlie Brown murmured, getting up as well.

Schroeder reached for his arm. "I really don't think Linus was the one who sent that letter, Charlie Brown. It doesn't make sense."

"It's worth pursuing," Charlie Brown reasoned, touching his chin. "If Linus didn't send the letter, there would be no harm in me just asking him. If he did, then it'll be better for him to get advice directly from me, instead of waiting for Lucy to write her answer for the school paper."

"An excellent point!" Lucy agreed. She then winked at Charlie Brown. "You know, Charlie, if Linus ever did like Sally, that would mean you and I might share nieces and nephews someday."

"I'm well aware of that fact."

Her smile broadened. "But they would say Aunt Lucy is their favorite."

"Don't be so sure," he replied, spinning away. With his hands in his pockets, he started for the hall, but then he stopped. "But if Linus is Mr. Too Little, Too Late, wouldn't that mean I'm taking from your advice column?"

"He's my brother," Lucy replied, waving a dismissive hand. "It's on the house."

Charlie Brown nodded and continued on, and he could be heard grabbing his coat from the tall rack before he exited. Alone with Lucy, Schroeder shook his head.

"I think you're going a little too above and beyond the call of duty as an advice columnist," he told her. "What's wrong with just answering the guy's letter? He wants advice for talking to his friend about his feelings, not a full-blown investigation."

"And waste the school's resources by reprinting the letter for hundreds of copies instead of dealing with the problem myself?" Lucy countered mildly.

"And if Mr. Too Little, Too Late isn't Linus?"

"Look at it again," she returned, standing. She was about five inches shorter than Schroeder, but she had a commanding way about her as she zeroed in on his agitated gaze. She held out the letter. "Read it to me yourself."

He winced and spun away.

"Whoever wrote that letter to you is hoping for an honest answer, Lucy," he said in a gruff voice. "It's a hard place to be when you start to develop feelings for someone who means the world to you, but you're afraid of losing her altogether. You want to be brave, but if you mess this up, she may stop liking you as a friend, and that would be worse than never dating her at all."

"It's a sticky situation," she agreed, not at all offended by his scolding. She laid the letter on the table. "What would you tell him, Schroeder?"

He shrugged. "If I knew, I would be an advice columnist myself."

He stepped back over to the piano but did not sit, running a light finger over the keys.

"To tell you the truth," he said, "I don't think that really sounds like something Linus would write."

"To tell you the truth," she said, "I was seriously hoping it wasn't him."

He whirled around. "Then why make a big deal about Charlie Brown going over to your house?"

"One, I wanted to make sure," she said. "Two, it was a convenient way to get Charlie Brown out of your house."

She reached into her pocket and fished out a flat spool of typewriter ribbon, holding it for Schroeder to see before she tossed it onto the table next to the letter.

"I already checked Linus's typewriter," she said, holding his gaze. "If Linus didn't type that letter, and Charlie Brown didn't type that letter, who did?"

Schroeder rolled his shoulders. "Why are you asking me?"

She tucked her arms behind her back and stepped up to him, halting once there was about a foot left between them.

"I tried to borrow Linus's typewriter a few days ago," she said evenly, "but he told me you had taken it."

Schroeder jolted, feeling his insides lurch. He started to stammer out a denial, but Lucy's steady gaze said she was not so easily fooled. Defeated, he exhaled, slapping his forehead and letting his hand fall over his eyes.

"Always an overlooked detail…" he grumbled, humiliated.

"So, who is she?" Lucy asked mildly.

Schroeder peeked through his fingers, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Well, I won't pretend you didn't have more than one admirer," she said. "For all I know, you could have written to Doctor Lucy about Freida."

His hand dropped to his side, and though his skin flushed, he straightened his shoulders.

"It's not Freida."

A sparkle appeared in her eyes, but she spoke in a calm voice. "So, what brought this on all of a sudden? You're not the type to write love letters. 'Too mushy,' remember?"

He cringed, looking away.

"It was Linus's idea," he sighed. "He said I should type up a letter to Doctor Lucy and get you to describe what it would take for Mr. Too Little, Too Late to impress the girl he likes. Then I could implement your advice and tell you everything then. He loaned me his typewriter so that there wouldn't be any handwriting for you to trace back to me."

"That actually sounds adorable," Lucy smiled. "I didn't know my brother could be so romantic. I'm almost disappointed it didn't play out that way."

"You are?" Hope flickered.

Her grin widened, and it looked like she would say something — but then she pivoted away and crossed back to pluck the letter from the table. She ambled to the center of the room, keeping her back toward Schroeder.

"So, boys are starting to notice me, huh?" She smoothed back her hair. "Exactly how many, Schroeder?"

"Does it matter?" He stepped after her.

"Well, I do have to be fair to all my admirers," she said lightly. "I don't officially have a boyfriend just yet."

His face fell. "Is that your way of telling me you're not interested?"

"You should know me better than that." Without a backwards glance, she held up his letter again, scanning his heartfelt text. "If I wasn't interested, I would say as much."

He straightened. Wordlessly, he moved closer. Stopping behind her, he leaned around her shoulder to peer at her face. She gazed straight ahead with a calm look.

"So, what are you saying then?" he asked.

She finally favored him with a coup d'oeil. "What are you saying, Schroeder?"

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear," he replied bravely.

She swiveled to face him straight on. She poked his chest, wearing a teasing smirk.

"I distinctly remember you saying that you wouldn't marry me unless I was the last girl on earth. Now, barring a drastic decrease in the population while we've been talking, you still have plenty of options, sweetie. Didn't you want to find some cutesy, super blonde who cooks macaroni and cheese, and likes to listen to string quartets at all hours of the night?"

"You're not going to hold a guy to what he said when he was eight, are you?"

"Oh, I'm not that petty," she hummed before she grew suddenly serious, "but I am going to give you a way out, Schroeder."

He frowned. "What?"

She held up the letter, looking rather business-like. "You said you didn't want to ruin our friendship, so this is your one chance to take it all back. If you don't think you'll still like me this way a month from now, let's call it quits before we start. No hard feelings."

He blinked slowly, processing that. Lucy Van Pelt was giving him the option to forget his newfound affections, something she would have never dreamed of doing back when she fiercely pursued him.

And yet — a small hope suffused through him — she had said nothing about giving herself the same out.

A smile began to spread over his face. "Are you sure you don't need to think about it too, Lucy?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it ever since I started suspecting you had sent the letter," she replied, tapping the end of the folded papers lightly against his shoulder.

"And?"

Lucy leveled her gaze with his. "To tell you the truth, I was pretty hesitant, because I didn't want to mistake feeling flattered with genuine affection. It'd be pretty lousy if I convinced myself I liked you only because I enjoyed the idea of you finally liking me."

"That's fair," he agreed, watching her expression for any favorable hints.

"Too many relationships flounder because of people being more in love with the idea of love, you know." She looked at her hands. "And I'll admit I was a little guilty of that as a kid. Really, one of the best things I could have done was to fall out of love with the idealized version of you which I had carried around in my head. Only then did I learn how to care for the real Schroeder. He turned out to be a pretty great guy."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"And then" — she leaned back with a theatrical sigh — "the more I thought of us being together, the more I began to feel that it might not be a bad thing, if we could figure it out. That's the real question, isn't it? Could we make it work?"

"Worth trying," he affirmed.

"Maybe." She tilted her head. "But I could not accept you in good conscience without giving you a chance to leave, Schroeder. If you still want to stay a bachelor like Beethoven, this is your out. Take it or leave it."

Her eyes looked so full of conviction, yet with a hint of that bossy little girl who used to climb on his toy piano and demand his attention, that Schroeder found himself almost laughing, which relieved the tension he had been experiencing in his chest. Without a second thought, he reached for her hands, and the letter slipped from her grasp. He threaded his fingers with hers, gently tightening his grip.

"Zärtliche Liebe," he said.

She blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"That was the Beethoven piece I was playing when you came in," he explained. "It means Tender Love."

"Ah." She smiled. "Is that why you got so flustered?"

"I wasn't flustered," he muttered, but he could feel his ears turning pink. "It was just a little awkward, because the common name for that composition is Ich Liebe Dich or…"

He halted, trying to form the words, but his tongue struggled to obey. Fortunately, Lucy seemed to comprehend the meaning of such a simple phrase. She nodded slowly.

"Beethoven had a romantic soul after all, huh?"

"More than I used to want to admit." He shrugged, trying to play it cool.

Her pretty eyes softened before she tilted her chin up, looking triumphant.

"I hope you realize you're stuck with me now, Schroeder."

He formed a small, joking smirk. "It's not as bad as I used to think it would be."

Her smile widened, and she closed her eyes, like she had always done when she was at her happiest around him. He scanned her glowing face, then — with a stomach full of nerves — he dared to lean forward and place a small kiss on her forehead.

"How quaint," she said as he drew back, causing Schroeder's face to heat.

"Give me a break," he mumbled. "I'm new to this."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, sweetie." With that, she slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze, laying her head against his shoulder. "And nobody said that we can't take this slow, you know."

Caught off guard, Schroeder slowly raised his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders — then her back — then he drew her closer, and she squeezed him again. Then his fingers found their way into her black hair, which was a lot nicer than he had expected, because, as she often bragged, she gave it a hundred brushstrokes every night, and she must have brushed it again before she came over to his house because how else would it have felt so soft, and as he rested his cheek against her head, he noticed she wore a touch of perfume, and it struck him then that she must have fixed herself up a little, just before she had come over with her letters, all in anticipation for this very moment with him…

"Ich küsse Sie, drücke Sie an mein Herz!" he heard his own voice say in a reverent whisper, finally understanding the full sentiment of those words which his hero had penned all those years ago.

"I don't know what that means," Lucy chuckled, snuggling closer, "but I'm guessing it's Beethoven, and so I'll take it as a compliment."

He was so caught up in these new thoughts and sensations — to hug Lucy Van Pelt, and not in that eye-rolling way which he had done whenever she latched onto him as a joke, but to hug her and want to hug her, and, wow, was she always this nice to hold? and why hadn't he figured this out sooner? — that he did not completely realize that the front door had opened again until Charlie Brown emerged from the hallway.

"Well, Linus said he most definitely did not send any letters about Sally, so that was a complete and embarrassing waste of time—" He stopped short, gawking at the pair.

Lucy pushed herself out of Schroeder's embrace and planted a hand on her hip, shooting Charlie Brown a feigned glare.

"Really, Charlie Brown! Can't a girl cuddle with her sweetie in this town anymore?" she pretended to scold. "Don't you see we were having a moment here?"

Charlie Brown blinked. "...Did I miss something?"

"Fortunately, yes," Schroeder said under his breath, glad his friend had not wandered in five minutes sooner.

Lucy took hold of his hand, giving him a tug toward the doorway. "Baseball and Beethoven can wait just a little longer, right, Schroeder? Give me just one walk around the block, and then you can go back to your guy stuff. Is that a fair compromise?"

"Sure, Lucy," he answered, amused. Even at a moment like this, Lucy Van Pelt did not hesitate to take charge.

"You can still talk about Beethoven though," she added with a twinkling smirk.

"I already committed to you, Lucy," he reminded her playfully.

"I know, but I just wanted to establish upfront what a great girlfriend you got now." She touched that soft hair of hers. "She's pure platinum, baby."

They paused by the front hall long enough for Schroeder to grab his coat.

Charlie Brown stared after them, perplexed. "I never know what's going on."

THE END


A/N: Remember, kiddies, you can get away with run-on sentences if you can justify it with artistic license! ;)

Thanks for reading :) I actually started writing "Dear Doctor Lucy" first, but I realized that I hadn't quite set up the worldbuilding for this continuity, especially regarding Lucy and Schroeder's friendship as teenagers. So, I wrote Lessons Learned, which gave me the right foundation when I came back to this fic.

Ich küsse Sie, drücke Sie an mein Herz! — This is from a super short piece, Beethoven's WoO 169. The full lyrics are: Ich küsse Sie, drücke Sie an mein Herz! Ich, der Hauptmann, der Hauptmann. (I kiss you, [and] hold you to my heart! I, the captain, the captain.) Beethoven evidently composed it for his favorite soprano, Pauline Anna Milder-Hauptmann (who was the original Leonore in his opera). While I don't think Beethoven ever pursued her romantically, the song seemed like something Schroeder would recall during such a moment, haha.