Archive of Our Own

"You wouldn't think a love story could start with a dead body," Gilbert says loftily, a sly smile spreading across his face as his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. "But here we are, in this little village, in this little garden, proving that love stories can and do begin with dead people - "

"Gil, I swear - " Anne hisses, looking up at him with a chastised look. He can't help but clear his throat at her interjection, his mind going blank at the sight of her in her white gown and styled hair with flowers fancifully woven between her braids. She was a vision and he was hers and she was his and finally they were of one.

"But as I said, here we are. How much time do I have, love?" He says after a drawn, shaky breath.

"Thirty seconds and you've used up ten!" Diana calls from further down the table.

"Right then, we'll make it quick."

He was dog tired. More than tired. Fried between the ears and basically a zombie tired. Maybe that's why the body on the table before him seemed to be in a much more appealing place than him.

Medical school was killing him.

He'd been up all night - again - cramming for another test and quite literally he could barely remember anything he'd learned in those last few hours. Which was unfortunate because right now he was staring at this corpse and he was supposed to be memorizing the autopsy techniques the professor was showing them but he was retaining nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Fuck, he needed to sleep.

"Mr Blythe, can you enlighten us on the appropriate first cut?"

He blanks, blinking and frowning and swallowing trying to get the smell of the lab and the chemicals out of his nose but failing.

"Um," he starts, stalling for time. "It's the, uh… "

"The T-cut, sir."

Gilbert looks up at his saviour in surprise, but finds only a cluster of his male classmates hovering around the table. Confused, he scans the faces again and has to swallow a smile at one of the girls crying in the back. She clearly didn't have the chops for this if she couldn't make it through this course.

"Great job, Ms Shirley, you are correct," the professor says and returns to his instruction.

The class pushes on and Gilbert has to stop himself from yawning more than once, his whole body ready to give out if he just had a bed. Maybe the technician would let him grab a slab, it'd be cold but at least he could be horizontal.

When it's time to do the dissection, Gilbert knows he should cut out early before he passes out, but he forces himself to stand up straight and face the table.

"You can take the first cut," his partner says, motioning to the table. Gilbert looks up and realizes who she is, the crier, and he scoffs. Of course, today of all days, he'd get someone who was bound to wash out.

"Right," he grumbles and grabs for the scalpel. He places it over the center of the spine and the girl reaches out, grabbing his wrist. "What are you doing?" He snaps, glaring up at her. He instantly regrets it, her eyes tearing up again.

"It's just - it's supposed to be a T-cut from the top and you weren't - "

"Would you like to do it?" He cuts in, offering her the handle. She shakes her head and recoils, her cheeks flushing.

"Not particularly," she returns with a grimace.

"Then let me do it without your - "

"Mr Blythe, why don't you show us how a T-cut is performed?" The professor asks, interrupting him.

"Yes sir," Gilbert responds with a sigh, hating himself just a little bit for being a dick to this girl.

Lifting the scalpel, he places it once more on the torso for his opening cut, the blade sinking into the skin. The professor clicks his tongue and Gilbert looks up to find him frowning.

"I would have thought Ms Shirley would have corrected you," he says and turns on his heel, leaving Gilbert dumbly holding the blade in his hand.

"Great," he growls, standing up straight and lifting his hands to his face. They almost make contact before she stops him. "What now?"

"You were literally just touching a dead body and about to wipe your face, asshole. If he died of something infectious, I probably just saved your life," she hisses and he's surprised by the venom in her voice, his gaze catching hers as he lowers his hands.

"Right, thank you," he replies and quirks a brow, reaching a hand out towards her. "I'm Gilbert, and you are?"

"Trying not to fail this damn class, so could you please pull your head out of your ass and make the first real cut already?"

He feels like he's been hit upside the head, her sharp words lashing against him and making him jerk his arm back in surprise. When their eyes meet, hers fiery grey in the fluorescent beams, there's a run of hot liquid down his spine as the warmth riddles out to his limbs.

Shit , he thinks as he looks back at the dead guy on the table for a distraction. He had no medical explanation for his body's reaction to this teary-eyed, too-freckled, red-headed whip of a girl and he was - as his more linguistically diverse peers would say - shook .

With newfound energy, he does a quick scan of his textbook, the words from last night coming back to him in a flash, before he focuses in and leads them through an efficient study of rear torso anatomy for the rest of the class.

He isn't paired up with the girl for the next two classes and he's starting to think she's actively avoiding him before Week Three when the professor asks them to return to their assigned pairs for the remaining sections of the course.

Looking up with a bright smile, he lifts a hand in greeting as she stomps over to him, a stony expression on her face.

"What are you so chipper about?" She grumbles, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"Good to see you again too, Ms Shirley," he responds lightly. He remembered Mary once telling him he'd get more bees with honey, or something like that. It was worth a shot, he figured.

"Sure. Can we get started?"

He holds out the scalpel and she shakes her head quickly, her jaw clenching in silent response.

"Oh, come on. He's not going to let you pass if you can't stomach it," he urges, shaking the blade between his fingers.

"I'd rather not," she sniffs, looking away towards the windows. Outside the trees sway in the breeze and she lets loose a shaking breath, her eyes blinking as he watches her try to rein it in again.

"Alright. Next time then, but you've gotta tell me your name as payment for making me do all the dirty work," he responds. She snorts and glances back at him, her features softening for a brief moment before she hardens agagai

"It's actually Shirley-Cuthbert," she says with a smirk and he'll accept it this time, his head shaking as he turns back to the cadaver. So what if he has to swallow a smile even as they make their first foray into the cadaver's nervous system.

Week Five is his biggest victory yet - with his partner, not necessarily the class.

Meaning, she was so thorough and detailed in her walk through of the different bodily sections that the coursework was like a cake walk.

Which basically meant he didn't even worry about the class because all of his attention was focused on the main challenges which seemed to be that he could barely get two words out of her that weren't about the body between them.

And he was, if anything, not used to being so bad at striking out. It was actually making him second guess every interaction with a girl he'd had since grade school - had he always been this pathetic in vying for someone's attention? God help him if Bash ever got word of this. There wasn't a security tape anywhere, was there? He couldn't have there be any proof of his public and utterly consistent failure at winning her over.

At least not until Week Five when he successfully manages to get her first name. So what if he'd seen it on a report the professor had handed back to her? That wasn't cheating, that was using his resources wisely. His Boy Scout leader would have been proud.

"So, Anne," he starts, wrists deep in the cadaver's chest cavity. Anne glances at him from her place staring out the window - where she'd been all class, giving him instructions - before looking back out with a furrowing of her brow.

"What?" She sniffs, voice watery. Gilbert looks up at her with concern, confusion sputtering to life inside of him.

Yes, he'd judged her that first day for crying because he'd been tired and hadn't given her a chance, but now he knew that she had her shit together and that she was capable of holding her own. What possible reason could she be crying for when she was doing so well?

"You alright there?" He questions, pausing his exploration to try to catch her gaze.

"Peachy. Do you see the diaphragm or not?" She counters swiftly, all business.

"I think so, is it this?" He asks before pulling back the incision to expose more of the viewing field. Anne makes a small noise and presses her head to the window, her knuckles white as she holds her hands in fists. He withdraws his hands and closes the cut as best he can, concern flashing through him. "Are you not feeling well? Is it the smell?" He asks, noting internally that it didn't smell any worse than any of the classes before.

"No," she replies softly, her wisps of red hair fluttering loosely around her face as she shakes her head.

"A bad day? Anything I can help with?" He presses again.

"Stop being nice to me, Gilbert, I just want to get this over with," she hisses but stays turned towards the window. "After the diaphragm you need to look at the pleura, do you need me to walk you through that part?"

He pauses, weighing his next words before thinking better of it. "No. Give me a minute and I'll give you notes for the report," he says softly before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

So much for thinking he'd made any inroads, clearly he was persona non grata today and he'd struck out again. Except… This time he didn't feel bad for failing at getting her attention. No, he felt bad because he hadn't been able to help her and wasn't helping people the reason he'd wanted to become a doctor in the first place?

Week Six is where he draws a line in the metaphorical sand, his frustrations only growing as his hands slip again on the chest cavity while he tries to access the heart.

"You know, we would be getting through this quicker if you'd come down from your nature lookout and give me a hand," he grumbles, attention focused on getting the retractor to finally set in place.

"You're on schedule," she replies and it makes him want to give up, leave the tools in place and walk out the classroom door but he can't.

"Still. Getting real tired of doing all the work on my own - "

"Don't you dare say that, I am giving you step by step instruction and keeping all of our notes in the report template so when it comes time to hand it in you have nothing to do!"

"That's great but have you forgotten that you are also in this class and are supposed to be learning about the physical body, not just what's in the damn books? How are you going to treat anyone if you can't stomach their injuries?"

"It has nothing to do with my mind's perception of disgust," she snaps, glaring over at him for the first time all day. That stupid, infuriating, honey molten feeling crawls through his body again and really now is not the time for this! He needed to focus . He needed to get her to help him so the ribs would just fucking stay open for five damn minutes.

He takes a breath and stills, centering himself.

"Then what is it? How do I get you to get your hands dirty?" He asks kinder than his frustrations demand him to. She softens at his tone, not expecting his tactical shift.

"You can't," she murmurs and looks away again. "I am not going to do that so you can just drop it, okay?"

"You're going to fail then. And I'll probably get taken down with you, you know that, right?"

"That's not fair - "

"Boy, do I know - "

"They wouldn't - "

"They will," he urges and sets down his tools to focus on her. "Anne, look at me."

"No," she whispers and there's that rasp again, the hitch in her voice that gives away her hidden tears.

"Please?"

She curses under her breath and snaps her textbook closed, her hands making quick work of packing up her bag. Before he even realizes what she's doing, she's disappeared from the classroom leaving him standing next to a table with a dead guy on it, chest spread wide open and heart exposed.

It has to be a sign , he thinks, looking around at his classmates before pulling the sheet over the exposed torso, peeling off his gloves and washing his hands in the laboratory sink.

"Mr Blythe, you can't abandon your cadaver like - "

"I'll be back in two minutes, I swear," Gilbert replies to his professor's warning.

He darts out of the lab and into the hallway, glancing up and down the stretch of empty space until he sees a flicker of something red duck into a corner. Walking quickly, he turns and sees Anne tucked into the alcove, her face hidden in her knees.

"Hey," he greets softly, stepping into the small space but trying not to crowd her.

"Leave me alone, Gil," she answers harshly, flicking her hand in his direction. He sighs at the obvious tears in her voice, the nasally croak of it making his chest tighten in sympathy.

Instead of backing away and returning to the lab, he presses his back to the wall and sinks down across from her, his arms wrapping around his knees to mirror her position.

"Why don't you tell me what's making you uncomfortable in there and we can try to find a way to avoid it?" He offers.

"I never wanted to do this class in the first place," she mumbles, shaking her head in her arms. "But it's a requirement so I'm here. Under protest."

"Can I ask how you thought you'd get to be a doctor without studying the human body?" He counters gently, not mocking, not judging, but simply asking so he can understand.

"I'm not stupid. I knew I'd have to study it, I just thought it would be a theory course or something since my area of focus is different but I was wrong. I want to be a psychiatrist, not a surgeon. Why do I have to know what a real pancreas looks like?" She counters, finally lifting her head to look at him with annoyance.

"Ah, I see," he responds, giving her the space to continue as he nods. He could see how her argument made sense in a way, but that unfortunately wasn't the case in their program. Everyone had to complete this course in order to earn their medical degree - no exceptions.

"I can't - I can't even look at them and not think about their lives before this. All the stories they've lived and the people they've left behind. When I see their faces it's like I'm seeing their lives play out. It's horrible."

"You see their stories?" She nods and rubs her cheeks with her fingers.

"I have a very active and visual imagination. It used to be something I loved and thought defined me, something that helped me understand people because I can imagine walking in their shoes… But now it's a weapon. I see this man every night when I close my eyes and I'm trying to be a good partner to you but you don't understand how hard it is - "

"You've been a great partner, Anne," he cuts in, reaching a hand out to cover hers. He squeezes it gently and lets it sit there, the warmth of his palm slowly bleeding into her cold fingers.

"Thank you for saying that, even if it's not true," she croaks with a sniff. She doesn't remove her hand and he thinks it's a small victory when she turns her palm up to meet his.

"Okay," he says after a few minutes have passed and she's finally able to catch her breath. "What if we go back in there and reframe the story? What if you tried to focus on all of the great times they must have had, all of the friends who are proud of them for doing this last bit of good for the preservation of the human species by donating their body to us to learn from? Would that maybe work?"

"I don't - I mean, maybe? I've spent so much time thinking about all the people mourning that I haven't even tried anything else," she replies, her voice growing stronger with every word.

"Well, it can't hurt to try. And if it doesn't work, then we'll find another way where we can make it look like you're participating but - "

"I will not cheat , Gilbert," she rouses, getting to her feet and brushing the dust off her pants. When they're both standing, his tall frame hovering over hers in the afternoon light, he tries not to acknowledge the golden light that falls over her mess of hair to make it flicker like flames. No, he keeps his thoughts under control and motions for her to head back to the lab first as he trails in-step behind her.

Back inside the chilled space, the warmth from the sunny alcove dissipates more with every step and Gilbert does his best to follow her forward, his fingers grazing her spine as he steers them back towards their table.

"Anne," he says as they come upon their table. She stills and closes her eyes, her jaw tightening. "I'd like you to meet Mr Bones. He's extremely proud of the work we've done so far, but he'd really appreciate it if we could determine the cause of his death so he can pass on to whatever comes next. Do you think you could help him?"

She blinks open her eyes and looks up at him, a sad smile on her face before she reaches down and grabs them both a pair of gloves.

"It's…" She starts, stepping up to the table and slowly pulling the sheet down from the cadaver's face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Bones. Let's see if we can solve that mystery for you."

Gilbert looks on in wonder as she lowers the sheet further, exposing the open chest cavity with its still heart. She nods and whispers something under her breath before she reaches for her tools, beginning the examination from where Gilbert had left off without missing a beat.

He spends the rest of the class in awe of her skill and the way she's catalogued seemingly the entire textbook, her work keeping him busy taking notes as he tries to keep up.

If he leaves the class with a renewed determination to learn everything he can about her before the term is up, well, nobody could say he was anything less than thorough in his pursuits.

The first time he catches sight of her outside of class, Gilbert is nearly knocked off his feet by a freshman running to class and he has to stumble to stay upright. It must cause a scene because one second he’s picking up his spilled coffee and the next second her shoes have entered his field of vision and his eyes have no choice but to pass over every inch of her frame before meeting her grinning face.

“I didn’t realize you were part of the track team,” she greets as he cocks his head in confusion.

“Track?” He counters, clearing his throat. He wasn’t part of any team - not at least since he graduated undergrad and decided the rest of his life would be devoted to dying under a pile of textbooks in the most ironic way possible.

“Yes. I knew they needed hurdles for some of the races but I didn’t think they’d gotten so desperate as to use people,” she continues and Gilbert barks out an awkward laugh, flushing at his reaction to the joke and the embarrassment of being him in that exact moment when all of his game has seemingly been lost to the wind.

“Funny. Not funny ‘haha’ but funny ‘how dare you’,” he says around the way his tongue feels useless and thick in his mouth. Anne tilts her head back and forth and then points towards the coffee cart with her thumb.

“Can I buy you a fresh cup?” Gilbert nods and together they head down the path, the fall leaves creating a mosaic of patterns in the grass that make her evergreen peacoat stand out even more boldly in the afternoon light, his gaze flickering over her more often than he would ever admit in the short jaunt.

When they’ve both gotten their coffees, they hover off to the edge of the creamer station and Anne shuffles her feet in the way he’s grown accustomed to noticing as her expression of her boundless energy.

“So, you exist outside of a lab,” he says after dropping his stir stick in the tray. She nods and lifts her coffee to her lips, her eyes meeting his before darting away at his words.

“I do, yes. Being out here is more my domain or out on the trails. Do you come outside often? I’d assumed so, from your tan, but I never see you outside of the lab and the library,” she answers.

“You’ve stalked me at the library, eh?” He counters with a laugh as her cheeks flush. It makes her look even more beautiful, her fiery locks bracketing her pale skin and her dark coat linked high on her chest. She was a sight in the lab, sure, but out here? Among the trees and the sky? She was bewitching.

“I’ve seen you hiding in the stacks watching Netflix, yes,” she returns playfully, her smile lifting in challenge.

“Hey - you can’t fault me for using the free wifi. And yes, I do go outside. Though this semester has meant a bit more library time than I would like. The tan though is from a summer working outside.”

“Oh?” She questions, her brow lifting as she motions for them to start walking slowly down the path once more.

“Yeah, my family has an orchard and I help the neighbours with some of their summer harvest work. What about you? Library dweller through and through?”

“Ah, no. I prefer to do my studying in the forest. Less distractions. But it’s getting too cold, so I’m trying to experiment with new locations,” she adds with a shrug.

“Any successes? I hear good things about the general commons - “

“Gil - sorry, Gilbert - just because - “

“Oh, you can call me ‘Gil’,” he cuts in, enjoying the lick of heat that swirls in him at the way it sounds on her lips. She looks up at him in surprise and he smiles back, hoping she won’t put the nickname in the pile of ‘things to never say again’.

“Alright, Gil ,” she says after a moment of weighing her options, her smile widening. “As I was saying, just because the general commons has windows, does not mean it is ideal for studying. Here’s why - “

He lets her list her reasons, everything from too many people to the echo of noise off the cement walls giving her an animated glint in her eyes, a light glowing out of her that he hadn’t seen once in all of their interactions in the lab. When she’s done, they’ve already found a bench and fall into an easy conversation that keeps his mind running from place to excited place, his cheeks beginning to hurt from the strain of smiling so continuously as they talk.

Nowhere in his recent memory does he remember being led on such an adventure as he takes that afternoon, conversing with Anne on a bench in the crisp autumn sun. The warmth of his racing heart and his thrill at being engaged so thoroughly keeps him alight even as they part ways to head to class, her presence making him feel woozy as she disappears through the hall’s main doors. He stands on the front step and considers shouting his feelings into the sky but he holds himself in check, stuffing his hands into his pockets and spinning on his heel to head back towards his apartment with a giddy feeling in his chest.

He won’t admit it yet - it’s still too soon - but he may or may not be head-over-heels in love with this woman. 

By the end of their course, they’ve discovered that Mr Bones has died from a brain aneurysm and Anne does her best to hold it together as their professor reviews their casework in detail. If she stands stock still with her fingers linked with Gil’s, well, she would never admit to it, he’s pretty sure, and he’d never tell a soul.

They celebrate the end of the course by joining their peers at the campus pub, though neither of them make time for anyone but each other.

The next day, Gilbert meets her at the front of her apartment building to walk with her to the university’s annual funeral for the cadavers, a tradition for the students, faculty and family members who wished to recognize the donation and sacrifice of the people they’d come to know all semester.

Standing next to the mausoleum, Gilbert rests his hand against the back of her neck as she lets the last of her tears slip into the soil over this unnamed man. She allows herself five minutes before she sniffs, wipes at her face, and then wraps her arms around Gilbert in a crushing hug.

Later, as they lay in the warmth of his bed, she tells him about her adoptive family, her father Matthew and his funeral. It isn’t the conversation he expects, not with the sheets being the only thing keeping them covered in that moment, but he could never predict what would come out of that beautiful mouth of hers and it's one of the reasons he loves her so.

He almost tells her then how he feels, but he swallows it back because he’s a gentleman and now isn’t the time.

Or, perhaps he’s just being a coward. 

It takes seven weeks and three days before he lets it slip.

“I fucking love you, you know that?” He urges, mouth at her ear as he crowds them into a corner of some party in some hallway she’d pulled them into one Thursday night.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s just because he’s feeling emboldened by the way she seemed to wrap herself around him - like she never wanted to be apart from him. It doesn’t really matter, he thinks, because it’s out and she’s heard him and she stills her obsession with nuzzling into his collar and draws herself back to look at him.

Her thumbs graze across his cheeks, gaze searching his as he mirrors her grip and cups her chin in his palms.

“I love you, Anne-girl,” he says again, softer this time, earnest and a little bit desperate even through his attempt at playing it cool. He had no chill when it came to her, but he didn't want her to know that .

“How much have you had to drink?” She counters and his chest aches like she’s ripped open an old wound, her question not truly a rejection but still stinging.

“I - what?” He returns, sputtering as she pulls away. He lets her go because, honestly, he’s in shock at the rebuttal and he doesn’t know how to process exactly what’s happening but he knows he has no right to hold her to him. He can’t force her to take his feelings and reciprocate them. Not if she didn’t feel them too.

“I… I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says after a minute, smoothing down her outfit before reaching up to place a kiss on his stunned cheek. She disappears like smoke blown into the night sky and he wonders just what the hell had happened to put them on such different wavelengths. 

He brings it up again. She puts it away.

The cycle continues until winter break when he offers to fly her out to the Island with him and she says she would feel weird meeting his family as a stray friend he’d brought home.

“You’re not a stray,” he cuts into her rambling denial as she putters around his kitchen, pulling dishes down for the meal he was preparing for them.

“I would be, if you brought me back to your family farm,” she replies sharply, the cups hitting the counter a slight bit too hard.

“Anne, I care about you. I want you to meet my family,” he says. He catches how her knuckles go white against the plates, the unspoken tension clear in her frame. “I know you don’t believe me when I say how I feel and I’m not trying to press you on it - I’m really not - but I need you to understand that you’re wanted. Not just in my bed a few nights a week, or at the library as my study partner. You’re wanted here, with me, doing all of the mundane things that we have in this life. I want you to meet my family because you’re important to me and I want them to know you.”

“Families don’t like me, Gil, I don't fit in with their preconceived notions of how to belong somewhere,” she whispers, barely audible through the shield of her mane of hair.

“You haven’t met mine yet,” he responds gently, reaching a hand to run up the line of her spine. She shakes it off and steps past him, her feet quickly taking her towards the entryway where she grabs her boots and coat. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ve hit an impasse, so I’m going to head out. I’ll see you when you get back, alright?”

And with that, before he even has a chance to argue, she disappears into the hallway like a ghost.

He’s never been one to give up though, so the day before he leaves he makes a point of booking her a ticket and shoving it through the mail slot of her apartment, the small note written on the back challenging her to show up and imagine something better for them. He likes to think he wrote it nicer than that, but it’s still a debate.  

She could never turn down a challenge.

She arrives on the Island and finds him waiting in the arrivals area, his smile wide and his arms open for her to crash into him.

“I think I love you, asshole,” she murmurs into his ear as a greeting.

“That’s what I’m banking on,” he replies and kisses her until they run out of air.

That honeyed syrup runs through his limbs again as they stand in the airport once more and when they find themselves alone later that afternoon in the barn, well, he doesn’t let the feeling go to waste. 

“You did what in my barn?” Bash calls out, his voice filled with false accusation and laughter. Gilbert grins and shrugs, sending a wink down to Anne at his side as she buries her face in her hands.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” Gilbert says and reaches down to press a kiss to Anne’s crown. She shakes her head and then looks up to meet his gaze, their lips grazing each other’s as the room devolves into playful catcalls. “Anyways. Like I said. You wouldn't think a love story could start with a dead body, but here we are. I’d like this toast to go out to my wife, of course, but let’s also raise a glass to Mr Bones, the true reason we’re all here.”

"To Mr Bones." The room echoes, glasses clinking together in a toast.

"To the love of my life," Gilbert whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her cheek as he pulls away. She tugs at his lapels and pulls him back down into his chair, her lips finding his in a crushing kiss.

"I definitely love you, asshole," she replies as she pulls away, tucking a stray curl back from his brow. "But maybe next time, don't align our 'meet cute' adventure with dead people. We might find it comical, but Marilla looks like she's about to keel over."

"Ah, so I should tell them - "

"Gil," she cuts in, her fingers on his lips. "Save that thought for later."

"Yes, darling," he says with a nod and a kiss to her fingertips.

"I guess, if you two are done being gooey, I can continue on the toast train with the brief but wondrous journey of that first weekend here. And before I get started, I'll have you know that had I known about the adventures in my barn, I probably would have gifted you the archive of my security footage rather than - "

"Bash!" Mary shouts, smacking his arm with a wide grin.

"Sorry, sorry. To be clear, I don't think there's footage but - "

"Just read the toast I wrote for you and stop stressing them out!"

"Stressing? I want to see it!" Anne responds brightly. The room breaks out into cackles of laughter and when Gilbert meets her gaze then, he knows for sure that he owes Mr Bones more than just a toast for bringing this woman into his life and his heart.