Chapter Text
It was definitely too early for this.
Gilbert Blythe peered over the medical book he now deeply regretted borrowing. His overworked brain had been swimming all morning with an infinite number of Latin terms and the Greek roots of various diseases he didn’t even know existed.
Quickly snapping the heavy book shut, Gilbert tried to blink the vocabulary words away, lest they became permanently seared into his line of vision. Besides, there was no sense in studying if he couldn’t even understand what he was supposed to be learning. That was a battle for another day.
The hustle and bustle of students milling around the schoolyard was an easy distraction, their laughter and mindless chatter filling the air with a sort of energetic spirit that you couldn’t help but become a part of. Well-worn trousers and swishing skirts swam in and out of sight, their movement becoming a lively background for wandering thoughts. Gentle shoots of green had already begun to sprout through the slowly thawing earth, timidly peeking out of the icy March mud. The long-barren trees, stripped naked by the bitter winter, were showing their first signs of life. A few branches were adorned with green buds, the promise of lush summer shade in its infancy.
Gilbert inhaled as a cool breeze swept Avonlea, sweet with the scent of spring on the horizon.
A flash of a familiar red caught the corner of his eye, making him snap his head so fast a sharp pain pinched the nape of his neck.
Rubbing the sore spot with a wince, his eyes did not—dared not—waver.
Bright red braids swung against her brown sweater, making them stand out like rubies in the earth. A few wispy strands brushed her porcelain cheeks, flushed from exercise and adorned with a bright, carefree smile. Next to her was prim and poised Diana Barry, strolling arm in arm with the infamous Anne with an e.
•••
Gilbert never quite knew where he stood in Anne’s eyes.
Most of the time, they were Anne and Gilbert—top students, rivals, orphans. Whether arguing over trivial things like column topics, how to spell “advantageous”, the weather… if they could dream it, then they had probably argued over it. Or, they would take their rivalry to the blackboard, firing off answers to questions faster than Miss Stacy could ask them.
There were other times though, only small moments here and there, when gazes were held just a millisecond too long, when Gilbert could’ve sworn that there was something else swimming in her endless eyes besides annoyance or anger. Something else. During just those few, fleeting moments, Anne and Gilbert were something more.
Their conversation after the wedding would replay in his head, every time finding he remembered a new detail of her: her pink lips, chapped and swollen from the cold, curled into a small smile; her freckles dancing across her cheeks, tinged red from the bitter winter air, her eyes and cheeks and hair on fire as she talked about becoming a teacher, just like Miss Stacy.
But no matter whatever new thing he noticed from that wintery day, he would never forget how her stony grey eyes bore into his as she answered his half-teasing question with a soft cheeky retort.
“Remains to be seen…”
•••
Gilbert followed the girls with his eyes as they made their way to the brook. If he strained his ears above the chatter of students, he could make out her voice. It was much easier than he cared to admit. He listened as a dopey smile unknowingly crept over his lips, Anne’s sweet tone twinged with delight, as if her simple conversations were poems in themselves.
“ -though I know my brain to be in good working order, I’m afraid my appearance leaves much to be desired.”
Sighing discontentedly, Anne continued her self deprecating monologue, leaning into Diana’s arm as she did so
“Of course I wouldn’t expect you to understand my dilemma, being exquisite as you are. I’m afraid courting adventure may well be the best option I have after all.”
“Don’t say such things, Anne! They aren’t true!”
Diana reprimanded, her tone defensive. Quickly softening, she gave a small, dimpled smile as she stopped in her tracks and took her beloved bosom friend’s hand.
“You are beautiful, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! One of a kind! You hold yourself with an air few people have, to say nothing of your wit. Really! Anyone would be more than lucky to have you.”
Gilbert ignored the sudden blush spreading down his neck; he swore he saw Anne blink away tears.
“Oh, Diana… you magnificent creature!” Anne cried. Wiping her eyes, she replied in a choked whisper, “Thank you.”
Taking a deep shuddering breath, Anne regained composure and gave a small, yet meaningful smile.
“I’m sorry to burden you with all my worries, especially on a morning as lovely as this one. I just…Diana, can you ever see me becoming a wife?” Anne’s voice grew small, the corners of her mouth twisting with vulnerability and something that looked like—hope. Diana, to her credit, was quick to dissuade Anne’s fears with a gentle, gloved hand to her cheek. “Of course I can, Anne. Why, if I were a boy, I’d be the biggest fool in Avonlea not to fall for you. Listen to me Anne.” Diana now clutched her bosom friend’s hands in hers, her sweet and gentle timbre laced with an iron will. “One day, a boy—no, a man—will sweep you off your feet and you will be as loved as you are now. Perhaps even more so. I know in my heart that you’ll be a perfect wife and an even more beautiful bride someday.” Anne gave a quick smiled, yet Gilbert could swear it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Diana. I guess I just can’t ever see myself being a dutiful wife to any boring, old cad with dull eyes and no imagination. Or—” Suddenly trailing off, a dark cloud seemed to fall over her face, twisting in a small grimace as if she were remembering something painful. Anne nervously bit her lip, adding in a more serious tone.
“A boring, old cad—or worse.”
Suddenly, the dark cloud over Anne disappeared as quickly as it had come. Anne’s brilliant smile returned at an almost unsettling speed.
It almost gave Gilbert vertigo at how quickly Anne’s mood shifted, distress marring her features only for it to melt away without a trace. Gilbert decided to pass it off as another of Anne’s eccentricities, but something inside him wasn’t so sure.
“Anywho, I don’t think I mind to only be courting Adventure for now. He’s ever much more exciting than any storybook prince— and best of all, he can never break my heart.”
Apparently used to her friend’s moods, Diana politely ignored Anne’s sudden shift in character, choosing instead to play along.
Leaning into Anne’s shoulder in mock despair, Diana puffed out her chest, strutting like a pompous peacock as she cleverly deepened her voice with faux arrogance.
“Oh, but surely the dashing Prince Wisteria is the exception to your unfavorable opinion of men! If it is not so, I shall spend my days in solitude, cursing the name of Adventure for taking you away from me, my dearest Princess Cordelia!”
With an exaggerated flourish, Diana clumsily bowed before her friend, clutching her heart as if mortally wounded.
Gilbert openly laughed, probably seeming crazy to anyone who happened to be standing around. He had to admit, Diana made a very convincing prince. What could he say? Anne’s imagination was contagious.
Giggling, Anne gave a wobbly curtsy, acting along in their playful tragedy.
“Oh, don’t be so sorrowful, my beautiful Prince! Your beauty will assure that you should never be lonely, for you shall have your fair share of maidens clamoring for your hand!”
Grabbing Diana’s hand, Anne dramatically swooped in front of her friend as if she were proposing the most melodramatic matrimony in Avonlea history.
“As for me, dear Prince, it is I who shall be condemned to live my life in solitude, watching from afar as you cart away your fair-haired and noble bride, and I am but a distant memory of your youth!”
No longer capable of holding a straight face, Diana burst into a fit of unladylike guffaws, collapsing over an equally hysterical Anne. Both girls held each other as they shook with uncontrolled laughter, tears of mirth glistening in their eyes.
As the last of the laughter died on her lips, Anne’s clear eyes narrowed. She scanned the faces around them until finding Gilbert’s looking straight at her, his face still stuck in an idiotic grin. Quickly looking away, Gilbert felt his face burn.
She had caught him staring. Again.
Fumbling with his book, Gilbert quickly feigned interest in whatever a cerebellum was. Hands shaking, he scanned the page, desperately shoving words into his brain to distract him from her piercing presence.
Though his eyes were nervously glued to the page, Gilbert felt her eyes probing into his skull, as if she could hear the onslaught of thoughts swimming in his head.
“You know what, Diana?”
Gilbert risked a small glance upward.
“We shouldn’t worry ourselves with such thoughts because it’ll be many years before we’re old enough to marry. And besides…”
Gilbert thought that if he stared any longer, his eyes would burn.
Anne did not look away.
“Boys our age are all fools, anyways.”
And with that, she briskly walked off with a visibly confused Diana in tow, bobbing and weaving until they were once again lost in the tumult of the schoolhouse crowd.
•••
Gilbert was no poet, and he did not consider himself as such. Textbook learning and cold, calculated formulas were more his speed. There was one correct, infallible answer to every question: no if's, and’s, or but’s, just the way he liked things. But the thing was, nothing in his life so far had been as clear and concrete as the Pythagorean Theorem.
No matter how much he studied the text, or scanned over the works of great poets and authors, he could never understand it. Gilbert had always thought that stories and ideas should be straightforward, no ruffles or feathers. He could appreciate a grandiose poem or novel, but he just didn’t get it. Nothing in his life made him want to use fancified language and abstract thought to express himself. His life was already confusing as it was.
But then he had been, quite literally, whacked in the face with heavenly inspiration. Gilbert still didn’t understand the reason for extravagant ballads and overly complex love poems, but now, for the first time in his young life, he wanted to.
•••
If he allowed himself the thought, if he dared let his rusty imagination take hold, the hidden Whitman inside of him thought Anne had looked absolutely captivating standing among the new green grass. Gilbert couldn’t help but notice how splendid her braids looked in the sunshine, how they seemed to glimmer and cascade down her back like liquid gold. Her bright, trickling laughter sang as clear as the brook, soothing and refreshing to his ears.
As the world began to blossom after the frigid winter, Anne was as warm and golden as any summer’s day—
“Hey, Orphan!”
Gilbert flinched as a loud, obnoxious voice boomed out across the already noisy schoolyard. It looked like Gilbert hadn’t been the only one to notice Anne’s conversation. While Gilbert had only admired, Billy Andrews only aimed to cause trouble.
The orphan in question paid him no mind, straightening herself and lifting her chin in indignation, but kept her back turned as if nothing was happening.
“Hey, Orphan! I’m talking to you!”
Billy and his goons snickered as they dropped the ball they were tossing and drew closer towards where the girls stood. Almost instinctively, Gilbert stood up. He tensed his legs, ready to run to Anne’s aid if need be—and Diana’s, too, of course.
“Hey! Mutt! You answer when I speak to you!”
Anne whipped around to face him, her eyes dancing with barely controlled anger. Her voice remained level and dismissive, almost as one would address a small child.
“Billy Andrews, I’m not going to waste my time talking to you for one more second! I have more important things to do than bicker with obstinate fools! Good-bye!”
Linking arms with a beaming Diana, Anne confidently continued on her way to the schoolhouse door. One of Billy’s lackeys blocked her path.
“Excuse me, you’re in our wa-”
Anne never got to finish her sentence before her eyes widened in terror, her already pale skin turned deathly sallow. She stared, paralyzed, as Billy drew near, gripping something in his meaty hand. Gilbert’s blood turned cold.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like you all to meet Mr. Mouse!” Billy announced in a loud, mocking voice, that smirk never leaving his cruel lips. In his hand, a dead mouse dangled by its fleshy tail, swinging wildly every which way as Billy inched closer and closer.
By the time Anne snapped out of it, it was too late. She was trapped against a wall of bodies, Billy’s goons at the ready in case she tried to escape. Gilbert was close enough that he could see the desperate tears forming in her eyes.
Anne held onto Diana for dear life and shrieked in terror, a sound that drove rusty daggers into Gilbert’s chest. She collapsed on the muddy ground, dragging Diana down with her.
“See here, orphan,” Billy snarled, not in the least bit fazed by Anne’s frantic screaming. “Mr. Mouse was a noisy little thing, a lousy pest that Just. Would. Not. Shut. Up. Now, doesn’t that remind you of someone?”
He put emphasis on every word, swinging the dead mouse around like a macabre pendulum. Diana looked as if she might throw up any second. Anne was openly sobbing.
“Billy! Enough!”
Gilbert shoved his way into the circle and planted himself in between the girls and their attacker, doing his best to shield them from the swinging mouse. Billy pretended he wasn’t there.
“C’mon, Carrots. Don’t be a rude little orphan. Say hi to Mr. Mouse.”
Faster than he could register, Billy tossed the thing over Gilbert’s shoulder. As if time had slowed down, he could only watch as the dead rodent gracefully sailed right over him, landing perfectly in a heap onto the terrified redhead’s apron.
Billy dashed away laughing. His circle of bullies broke off and ran after him, their ugly cackling trailing behind them.
Anne let out an ear-piercing scream, shrieking as if she were on fire. She desperately crawled backwards over the marshy ground as the mouse’s dead claws stayed hooked to her apron, refusing to let go. Diana clambered over to her, trying in vain to calm her friend. Gilbert all but sprinted to her side.
Anne was hysterical, her wet eyes wild with terror as she frantically clawed at Gilbert’s sleeve. Her breath came in violent, gulping shudders, her small chest heaving as if she had just been held underwater.
“OhmygodohgodDianaGilbertpleasepleasegetitoffmegetitoffmeGET IT OFF!”
Without even thinking about propriety, or bothering to ask permission like a proper gentleman, Gilbert grabbed a fistful of Anne’s dress and quickly yanked off the dead animal. The poor mouse’s rigid body was tossed somewhere in the yard, disappearing into the mud and grass.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Frozen in place, Gilbert stared into Anne’s wide, terrified eyes, every fiber of his being hurting for her. Her tears were agony, her terrified whimpers driving hot pokers into his heart. Her hair was a mess, crimson braids half undone and falling all over her face. Despite her painfully digging her nails into his forearm, Gilbert never wanted her to let go.
“Anne, are you alright?”
Diana kneeled to Anne’s right, and gingerly laid a hand on her shoulder. Anne remained frozen, her gaze terrified but distant.
“Anne?” No response. Only more tears.
Gilbert didn’t dare move for fear she would let go.
“Hey…” he gently half-whispered. “It’s okay, Anne. The mouse is gone.”
And then he blew it.
Gilbert lightly laid a hand on her left shoulder, meant to reassure her. Billy was gone, so was the mouse. Everything was alright.
He had no sooner placed a fingertip on her when Anne snapped back to reality, reeling in terror from his touch.
“Let go of me!” Anne screamed, ripping herself away from Diana and staring at Gilbert as if he was that very dead mouse. Her clear grey eyes were a kaleidoscope of panic, tears of fear spilling over her white, freckled cheeks.
His throat twisted into a painful knot at the sight of Anne, the girl who had stolen his heart at first sight, desperately crawling away in fear of him. It was unbearable to even think that he might ever do something to make Anne scared of him.
“Anne… I-I’m sorry, I-”
Gilbert never had the chance to explain, apologize, or do anything before all hell broke loose. Anne began sobbing harder, the trickle of tears turning into a cascade that dripped off her nose and chin.
“I-I can’t-” *gasp* “-Diana...” *gasp* “-Please! I can’t-” *gasp* “...I-I can’t breathe!”
Her chest began heaving violently, taking desperate gulping breaths in between sobs. It seemed no matter how much air she inhaled, it was not enough. Anne’s pale fingers dug into the wet grass where she sat, choking and gasping with lungs that would not let her breathe.
Gilbert urgently met Diana’s eye in question, but she looked just as afraid and helpless as he did.
“Gilbert! What’s wrong?! What’s happening?!”, Diana cried, tears forming in her eyes as she knelt close to Anne’s convulsing form.
“I-I don’t know! I—” Gilbert’s voice rose in panic.
He didn’t know what was happening to Anne. He had never seen the like. It was like she was possessed, choking as if her throat was being squeezed by invisible hands. Gilbert realized his hands were shaking, and he quickly steadied them on the ground. He couldn’t panic, not now. Not when Anne needed him.
Allowing himself a deep breath, Gilbert sprang into action, surprising even himself with the urgency and authority in his voice.
“Diana, go get Miss Stacy! Now!”
Nodding through teary but determined eyes, Diana bolted from Anne’s side and sprinted towards the schoolhouse.
Crouching down beside Anne, Gilbert wondered if all doctors sounded much more sure than they actually were. He certainly didn’t feel anywhere near in control, but swallowed his fear and replaced it with determined energy. Anne was going to be okay; he would make sure of it.
Anne regarded him with frenzied eyes, glazed over and wild like a cornered animal, clambering for a way out that was not there. She had brought her muddy knees to her chest, clinging to them like driftwood at sea. Gilbert approached with his hands up in surrender.
“Hey, Anne… It’s me. It’s just Gilbert. You’re gonna be okay, Anne. Just breathe, okay? Like this.”
Gilbert did his best to demonstrate him calmly inhaling and exhaling, though in reality, he felt anything but calm. Pushing his own gnawing fear down, he repeated his deep breaths, encouraging Anne to do the same.
Through her teary eyes, Gilbert could see recognition.
Though it took her a few tries, Anne followed his instruction to the best of her ability, choking on her own sobs, but ultimately managing a few shaky breaths to where she began to breathe of her own accord.
“There you go, Anne. That's good. Just breathe. In. And out. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”
A sickeningly obnoxious laugh broke Gilbert out of his medical role, forcing him to break his concentration. Hearing the raucous laughter undid whatever hold Anne had on her breathing. Giving a strangled cry, Anne’s breath left in consecutively shorter gasps, broken only by renewed sobs.
Gilbert’s entire body shook with a rage he had never thought he was capable of. As if possessed by the very spirit of vengeance, Gilbert shot up from the ground and stomped towards the sound of the ugly, cruel snickering that could only have been Billy Andrews.
Shoving aside one of the Paul’s, Billy barely had time to turn before Gilbert cocked his arm and swung with all his might, landing a hard blow on the back of Billy’s head. A sickening thud and Billy was violently knocked to the ground, groaning in pain. Gilbert thought he heard someone faintly cry out, but he didn’t care. The blood boiling in his ears made him oblivious to everyone else.
He wanted to hurt Billy Andrews. He wanted to make him regret ever even thinking about picking on Anne.
•••
Gilbert had always considered himself a level headed person. He certainly wasn’t one to swing first ask questions later. But, something about the way he had watched Anne suffer all this time, hearing how everyone had been quick to judge and scorn her. He’d heard the snickers and taunts whispered not-so-discreetly behind her back, almost as if she was nothing more than a piece of furniture, inanimate and oblivious, to be scuffed and scratched and sat on until eventually scrapped. All this time, he had done nothing, said nothing, afraid of causing a scene. The meek, cowardly Gilbert Blythe watched from afar as Anne was mocked and belittled for being singular, spectacular. Well, no more.
This time, Gilbert Blythe would fight back.
•••
With the help of his wide-eyed friends, Billy staggered to his feet, spitting a dangerous amount of blood and looking downright murderous. To Gilbert’s surprise and slight disgust, Billy flashed him a disturbing, bloody grin. The steady crimson trickle ran down his nose and chin, which was starting to resemble an overly ripe tomato. His beady black eyes gleamed like a rabid dog, giddy with the promise of unbridled violence, hungry for the excuse to tear him apart.
“You wanna fight, Blythe?” A few drops rolled down his thick neck, disappearing into his crisp, white shirt collar. His mother would probably be furious. Billy didn’t seem to care.
“Okay. Alright, bud. Let’s fight.”
Throwing off his scarf and jacket, Billy charged like a bull and tackled Gilbert into the ground, gasping at the feeling of the cold mud beneath him oozing into his shirt.
Gilbert felt what he thought was his chest collapsing as Billy’s full weight slammed into him. Struggling to catch his breath, Gilbert tried to throw him off, kicking and throwing wild punches, but it was no use. Billy had him pinned and they both knew it.
Grabbing Gilbert by the lapels of his coat, Billy seemed to cruelly savor the moment, his now-purple tomato nose dripping like a leaky faucet onto Gilbert’s face.
“Bastard! You think you’re better than me? Huh? Think I won’t fight back? Think about this next time you go defending that orphan bitch!”
And with that, he grabbed ahold of Gilbert’s thick curls and lifted his head off the ground. For a few seconds, Billy held him up to the enthusiastic onlookers as they gasped and jeered, proudly showing him off like the severed head of Medusa.
SLAM
Gilbert tasted dirt and blood as Billy shoved his head into the mud. The pain did not stop there.
Blow after painful blow, Billy’s deranged grin did not waver, mercilessly pummeling Gilbert’s body with his meaty hands. The sickening thud of fists on human flesh echoed in his ears. His head, his jaw, his ribs--everything burned. The screams of delighted students goading them on melted into a painful, muted ringing. He thought he heard a voice cry out his name in all the chaos, but he couldn't be sure if it was his own wishful thinking or the hallucination of his thoroughly thrashed brain.
Billy sneered as his fists brought Gilbert closer to the edge of unconsciousness. The metallic stench of blood filled his sore nostrils, coating his mouth with the unsettlingly familiar taste.
As the black splotches dancing around his vision began to close in, he heard drowned out yelling and a change in the atmosphere.
The electricity of a schoolyard fight left as suddenly as it had begun.
Suddenly, the punches stopped coming and the lumbering pressure was lifted off his chest. Gilbert took a deep, rattling breath, partly because he needed it, partly because he was checking to see if his lungs hadn’t been crushed by Billy’s fat legs.
Wincing in pain, Gilbert slowly sat up to try and regain his composure, despite the vicious pounding of his head.
He forced opened his swollen eyes to thank his good samaritan, but immediately wished he hadn’t.
Staring into his bloody, bruised face was the fuming and furious gaze of Miss Stacy.