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The world stops, freezes, falls apart in a matter of short minutes. Anne watches it all happen from across the room, Matthew’s body seizing and collapsing, Marilla crashing to his side and screaming for Anne to help her.
It’s like she’s walking through molasses. Like every step drags against her and she can’t breathe in the suffocating feel of everything that’s happening. Her stomach is in her throat. Her palms filled with buckets of sweat.
Everything goes silent after that. The doctor eventually comes, his apprentice Gilbert Blythe in tow, and confirms what both her and Marilla already knew. Matthew Cuthbert was dead. His heart had finally given out and the letter from the bank was the reason.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The doctor bids, his hat in his hand as he holds it tightly to his chest. Beside him Gilbert’s gaze burns into her skin, her eyes downcast but the certainty of his attention on her difficult to miss. He was always looking at her. She couldn’t bear it. Not right now.
“Marilla, I’m going to lay down,” Anne whispers, drifting away from the room as men with a black carriage pull up to Green Gables’ gate. She won’t watch them take him away, she can’t. Doubling her pace, Anne bolts for the stairs and trips on the top step, stumbling down the hallway and gasping at the shock of it. Her room isn’t far from where she lands and eventually she crawls into it, broken as she closes the door and tucks herself under her blankets.
The cool cotton is pulled up to her chin, tight and smothering, as a knock sounds out on her bedroom door. In her mind she screams for them to go away but the door opens anyways, Gilbert’s frame leaning through the opening.
“May I come in?” He asks lowly, his voice rasping. Anne looks up and sees the darkness of his eyes, his pupils blown wide as he watches her curl tighter into herself. She nods, recognizing the pain in his expression as he moves towards her. The loss of his own father fresh on his face.
It only takes him three steps to reach the side of her bed, his body sinking down to kneel before the mattress as his head falls forward and his eyes close. He exhales and it rolls through his body like a shiver, his breathing tight as he turns to look at her. They watch each other. Waiting. The endless space between them held together with a tether that vibrates and shifts, snapping like a whip.
Another sharp breath and his hand is wrapping around hers, pulling her knuckles to his chin as he presses his cheek against the back of her hand. His eyes close, his brow knitting together, as she squeezes around his grip.
Two orphans, neither one with a father to call their own.
“I’m so sorry, Anne,” Gilbert whispers harshly, his voice cracking.
“Gil,” she pauses, withdrawing her hand to lift his chin up so he’ll face her. His whole body shifts with the movement. Draws closer like a magnetic pull. “You didn’t - you don’t need to - “ He shakes his head and she sits up, her fingers pressing against his lips as he’s about to interrupt her. “I’ve known this loss and though it aches, I cannot cry.”
He closes his eyes once more at that, his arms reaching up and wrapping around her, dragging her towards him until he’s able to press his forehead to her chest. There’s a sigh and then a strangled sob, Gilbert’s composure faltering as he tucks in closer.
Time passes in a hazy fog, Anne’s hands rubbing soft circles across Gilbert’s shoulders as he holds her and she holds him. The misery settles around them as the house goes quiet, the footsteps silenced as Marilla leaves with the carriage and the only souls remaining huddle tighter together.
There’s something lonely about shared loss, she thinks as Gilbert’s tears dry up, his grip loosening as he eventually looks back up at her. “I’m sorry for not being stronger,” he mumbles when he notices the lack of her own stained cheeks, the way she still hasn’t given in to her sorrow.
“You’re here. That’s all I can ask for,” she returns and runs her fingers absently through his hair. His body follows her movements instinctually, his need for the feel of her overwhelming him past the point of propriety. Was it sadness that made him cling to her? Determination to ease her pain? He couldn’t figure it out but he knew the last thing he wanted was her to pull away.
“Marilla will likely be gone throughout dinner. Would you like to come back to mine? Mary was preparing something earlier,” he offers, watching her intently as she lets her hands fall to her sides.
“Yes. Though I don’t feel quite so hungry at the moment.”
“That’s okay. Maybe the company will help,” he offers hopefully, rising to his feet and helping her upward. They dress and head out in the setting sun, their hands rarely separating except when necessary and always for as short a time as possible. When they come upon the Blythe estate Anne finally pulls away, her hands twisting her fingers anxiously as Gilbert frowns and stalls his next step.
He doesn’t know how to broach what he wants to say.
We don’t have to hide . Bash already knows how I feel. Do you?
Please, don’t let go. I need to feel you close by.
“Are you sure it’s alright that I’m just showing up?” Anne breaks into his thoughts, her nails pressing half-moon indents up her pale arms. He wants to reach out and stop her. To pull her palm back into his where it belongs, tucked against him. But her gaze warns him off and soon her expression settles into a tight smile, her battle armor replaced.
“Yes - of course it is. Bash and Mary love having you.” His reply comes as he lifts a hand to her cheek, the calluses of his fingers ghosting across her skin until she looks away and down, withdrawing. “Come, let’s go inside.”
Dinner is quiet. Anne struggles to remember a time when she’d ever been around a table with such solemnity and it pains her to realize that it’s because of her. She can’t stand it.
“This rice dish is wonderful Mary,” she interjects when the scraping of the plates sounds deafening.
“Bash made it, actually. He calls it his island medicine,” Mary answers brightly, reaching towards her husband’s hand and holding tightly to it. Gilbert glances towards Anne and shares a half-smile, a knowing look as his hand twitches on the table. He wants to take up her hand in his, to draw it close to his chest and show her she’s not alone. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
“Well, thank you Bash. I only wish Matthew had had the chance - “ Anne stumbles over the words, her composure crumbling as she scrapes her chair abruptly away from the table. She’s on her feet before she realizes it, her napkin discarded on her plate as she looks at the drawn faces, the way Bash’s hand grips tightly to Mary’s like he’s holding on for dear life.
Matthew would never get to grip anyone’s hand ever again. He’d never taste the island medicine. Maybe it could have helped. Maybe it would have saved him.
The thoughts come in a vicious rush, clogging their way up her throat until she can’t breathe. Around her the room loses its air and she falters, glancing towards the exit and bolting for it. Gilbert calls out from behind her but it’s too late - she’s already out on the grass, her chest heaving as the sobs fight to come to the surface.
Anne doesn’t feel the way the dew soaks into her skirts, or the way the wind whips at her back. She doesn’t take in the cold drops of rain that sprinkle from the sky. She can’t feel anything except the pain that causes her heart to seize and her lungs to give out as she cries out.
The sound she makes is like a wounded animal, primal and torn from her soul. It claws out of her and down Gilbert’s spine as he comes to join her, slowly, as though he’s afraid his presence will upset her further. But she doesn’t push him away - she only pulls him closer until he’s wrapping her up against his chest and she’s holding firmly to the lapels of his shirt.
“Anne,” Gilbert sighs, gentling her with his hands after her body starts to tire. She twists and looks away from him, her hands swiping against her cheeks as she tries to replace the mask of indifference she’d worked so hard to perfect.
“I should return home before Marilla,” she states evenly, monotony in her voice belying the agony he knows she feels. “Please thank - “
“You’ll stay here tonight, young Anne,” Bash interrupts from where he stands a few feet away, his hands in his pockets as he looks between them. “There will be no arguing about that. Marilla won’t be home until tomorrow and you’ll not stay without family.”
Anne looks up at him, emotions passing over her features as they move from sorrow to stubborn to a mixture of gratefulness. It’s his sad smile that makes her give in, her brisk nod in return causing Gilbert to stand and help her to her feet. By the time they return to the kitchen Mary has already cleaned the traces of dinner and started to prepare a room down the hall. She beckons for Anne to join her, Gilbert’s hand dropping from where it rests along her back.
“I’ve set aside some nightclothes and a warm glass of milk. If you need anything, we’re just across the hall, alright?” Her voice is soothing, her hand resting on Anne’s clasped ones as she speaks.
Eventually the time slips away and Anne finds herself crawling between the sheets, digging her face into the pillow and willing the tears to stop falling. It’s a strange comfort, she admits, drawing in Gilbert’s scent and realizing this must be his room as she glances around at the textbooks and strewn about items of clothing. A small part of her wishes it were any other reason that she had for being in this moment, tucked into this bed and wrapping herself up in the quiet solace. It’s a foolish part, but it’s there nonetheless and it lets her drift into a distracted and fitful sleep.
When she wakes later, the cold clutch of a nightmare in the front of her mind, she realizes she’s twisted herself up in the sheets and knocked a small trinket to the floor causing it to shatter into pieces. The knock on the door is not unexpected and when Gilbert steps in, his eyes averted, she can’t help but apologize profusely as she scrambles to clean up the broken pieces.
“Hush, it’s okay,” he urges, guiding her by the shoulders back onto the bed where her feet won’t be cut. He cleans the floor and discards the mess in no time, coming back alongside the bed and looking down at her pensively.
“I’m sorry - I’ve kicked you from your own bed and broken your things,” she mumbles and her shoulders shudder, her dried up tears threatening to spill once more.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he replies and helps her to lay back once more, his hand lingering on her brow as his larger frame perches on the edge of the bed.
Instinct and pain drive her thoughts and for a moment she gives in to the war in her mind, looking up at him with eyes that tell a thousand stories. “Will you lay with me, until I fall asleep once more?” She asks with abandon, desperate for the unfamiliar comfort of another body next to hers.
His brows knit together, his body taunt at the idea of it. He’d wanted this for years. Had wanted this girl in his arms for so long and now she was offering it to him. Sure, it was solace that she wanted, but who was he to argue against what grief demanded of her? He could not deny her comfort any more than he could stop the sun from rising.
“I will keep you company, but I’ll need to go before the sun rises,” he promises and moves to lay down before her, his body atop the covers but his fingers tangled hopelessly in hers.
“Thank you for being with me today,” Anne says after a moment, her eyes searching his in the darkness. She can’t tell what’s behind those depths but her spirit reaches out to him anyways, her heart thudding in her chest. “I realize it must have been hard for you too. But I was thankful you were by my side.”
“I’ll always be there for you, Anne,” he admits freely, his voice thick with sleep. The sound of it hums around her and soon she’s drifting off as well, exhaustion dragging her under with no protest and no more haunting memories.
When she wakes in the morning, Gilbert’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his chest pressed to her back, she allows herself to draw strength from his embrace as his even breathing brushes against her neck. There’s a comfort here that she’s found nowhere else and she revels in it, tucks it away for the dark days ahead where she can use it like an ember to keep her warm.
“The sun is almost up,” she whispers as she eventually pulls away, collecting her clothes and watching as Gilbert rises with mussed hair and an indent from the lace of her nightgown. She nearly laughs at the sight, her heart tightening as he quirks a smile at her. “Can we go watch the sunrise? Matthew would have loved to watch it one more time.”
Though her chest hurts to think about it, Anne can’t fight the thought that Matthew would be happy to see her smiling today. Even if it took tragedy to get here. Even if it meant this sorrow had to be lived through. Matthew would have liked the sunrise and he would have liked that she was watching it with someone she loved.