Work Text:
APRIL
If anyone asks him, he'll deny it, but the truth is that Gilbert's stomach sinks a little when he reads Anne's tweet. He thinks he covers pretty well with his reply, though. Even Ruby, who can be completely diabolical at reading between lines, lets it pass. He tells himself that at least this way he knows Anne won't be going with anyone else. And even if she's not actually going with him, they'll both be there. He's pretty sure he can convince her to dance with him at least once.
It does seem a shame to waste his awesome promposal plan, but it's not like there's any other girl he wants to go with. Maybe he'll offer it to Charlie Sloane.
Ruby and Josie are talking about prom and Gil's sort of half paying attention (he loves his friends but there's only so much a man can take) until Ruby says, "Oh, and we should ask Anne, too!"
"I guess," says Josie, with her typical Josieness, which could mean either that she's really excited about the idea or that she loathes it.
"Ask Anne what?" Gil says.
Ruby tosses her hair and sighs. "Boys never listen. We were talking about Josie coming over to my house so we can get ready for prom together. And I'm going to ask Anne if she wants to come as well. Jane, too. Is Jane even going to prom?" She turns back to Josie. "We have to find out. It would be so adorable if she went with Tristan!"
There's more prom talk but Gil's not paying any attention at all now because he's had a brilliant idea and is obviously a genius. He'll invite Diana to the prom. Then she and Anne can get ready together, which is apparently a thing girls do. Like going to the bathroom together. (Sometimes Gil wishes he had a sister to fully explain these mysteries to him.) If he can charm Diana into going with him then she can convince Anne to invite Fred. They can all go together. A stealthy disguise, because when Diana and Fred pair off, he and Anne will be left unpaired. But together. An unpair.
It takes an heroic effort of will to wait until he gets home to send a DM to Diana. (Why a DM on Twitter seems more covert than a text is unclear to him, it just does. Also he doesn't want Anne to have an opportunity to see the conversation.)
@Call_Me_Gil What are you doing June 24th?
@DianaBarry96 I have no idea? That's two months away. Why?
@Call_Me_Gil I need a partner in crime.
@DianaBarry96 Not literally, I hope?
@Call_Me_Gil Well, no. It's more in the nature of shenanigans. Hijinks, if you will.
@DianaBarry96 Actually that doesn't really make me feel better.
@Call_Me_Gil Want to go to prom with me?
@DianaBarry96 What?!
@Call_Me_Gil Not a date! I just thought that if I invite you and Anne invites Fred then you guys can come. I know she'd like you to be there.
@DianaBarry96 And of course your motive is completely selfless.
@Call_Me_Gil Of course! It would impugn my honour as a gentleman to suggest otherwise.
@DianaBarry96 That would be tragic.
@Call_Me_Gil It's not like I want to kidnap her. I just want her to have fun at prom. With you. And since I will also be there, the fun might include me.
@DianaBarry96 Do I have to ride a tractor?
@Call_Me_Gil The tractor is negotiable. Although I really think you'll be missing out if you say no.
And on that day, Operation Get Diana to Prom is born. OGDP. Okay, so the name needs some work, but the plan itself is fantastic.
Diana talks to her mom and Fred, Fred talks to his parents, Gil talks to his parents and Marilla (which is a much less terrifying experience than he expected), and in a few days Operation Get Diana to Prom is on. Yeah, he really has to think of a new name.
He's walking to the library when hears running footsteps and turns to see Anne pelting towards him.
"Gilbert Blythe, I can't believe you did that!" she shouts and launches herself at him with a squeal. His arms come up to catch her automatically as he staggers back a few steps from the force of her enthusiastic hug.
A little dazed, he feels her pull away and watches as she does an excited twirl in front of him. He has a vague sense of deja vu when he says, "What did I do?"
"Diana just texted me and told me about your prom plan. Now I'll have all my friends there with me and it will be so much more fun because we'll all be together! Well, and Fred, too," she adds belatedly with a little downward quirk of her mouth. For reasons Gil doesn't understand Anne is convinced that Fred Wright isn't quite good enough for her best friend. "But I just know that we're going to have the most splendid time!"
"I'm glad you approve of the plan," Gil says, inwardly doing a fist pump at his success.
"I can't even think of enough superlatives for the plan!" She's smiling so happily at him and the wind is playing with her sunlit hair and he has to put his hands in his pockets so that they won't do something stupid without his permission.
@Call_Me_Gil @DianaBarry96 Are you sure you don't want to reconsider the tractor option? I mean, look at this glorious equipage: http://mikiebaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Hot-Pink-Tractor.jpg
@AnneWith_An_E @Call_Me_Gil Gilbert John Patrick Blythe you are not forcing my most beloved friend to ride to the prom on a TRACTOR.
@Call_Me_Gil @AnneWith_An_E But think of the stately majesty! It'll be like a parade. I'll have to practice my wave.
@josieberrypie @Call_Me_Gil where do u even get a tractor????
@Call_Me_Gil @josieberrypie The tractor emporium.
@Call_Me_Gil @josieberrypie Or eBay.
@Call_Me_Gil @josieberrypie Or Nate. Probably Nate.
@josieberrypie @Call_Me_Gil you are soooo weird
@AnneWith_An_E @Call_Me_Gil NO.
@Call_Me_Gil @AnneWith_An_E You can't see it but I'm pouting. In a manly way.
@Call_Me_Gil My genius is tragically misunderstood.
Anne Shirley has opinions about fonts because of course she does. Their conversations always ramble and bounce around, so Gil's not entirely sure how they end up on the subject of typography. Especially since they're actually supposed to be studying. He argues the case for Helvetica: it's simple yet elegant. "Plus, it's a neo-grotesque typeface, which just sounds cool."
"Helvetica is smug," Anne informs him. "I'll concede that it's not as stiff and unfriendly as most sans serif fonts, but it's not even a hundred years old! There's no romance to it."
"So what fonts do you like, Miss Shirley?"
"Baskerville is probably my very favourite — it just sounds so dark and foreboding. But I like most serif fonts in general. They have so much more charm. I know it might seem like they're old and stuffy, but if you look at their little serifs it's like they're kicking up their heels to dance. I imagine them waltzing elegantly across the page like 19th century ladies and gentlemen." She stands up with a grin and curtseys to an imaginary partner. When the humming and the twirling starts, Gil rolls his eyes.
"I think someone's been watching too many Jane Austen movies."
"There's no such thing. Besides, I read an article in the New York Times —" she raises her eyebrows for emphasis; Gilbert feigns awe "— about an experiment with different typefaces and the result was that people trusted things printed in Baskerville more than any other font."
"You know, I think Baskerville is growing on me," he says. "'The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.'"
"What's that from?"
"The Hound of the Baskervilles. My favourite Sherlock Holmes story."
Anne does an excited hand flap. "Oh, have you read The Red-Headed League? I was devastated when I read it. I'd imagined it would be about a group of amateur sleuths with red hair who helped Sherlock Holmes foil a dastardly plot."
"But instead they were the dastardly plot."
"Exactly. I felt completely betrayed and haven't read any Sherlock Holmes since."
"I'm guessing you prefer Nancy Drew?"
"Don't even get me started on Nancy Drew," Anne says darkly.
"Oooookay." If he wasn't already sitting down, Gil would be backing away. He gestures to the books spread out between them. "We should probably get back to Chemistry."
"I suppose." She flops back into her chair with a scowl. It's adorable, but he'd never mention it because he values his life. And he has good reason to know that Anne Shirley's ire is not to be trifled with. She starts flipping pages with a vehemence the subject doesn't really seem to warrant.
"Though she be but little, she is fierce," Gil mutters under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
After his failure at light-hearted humour with Dr Seuss (because who doesn't love Dr Seuss?), Gil spends a few hours on Sunday looking for poems that might appeal to the lofty standards of a certain poetry-loving redhead. When he stumbles across the perfect one, he prints it out. In Baskerville, of course.
On Monday he slips it into her locker between classes. He's in the library later when his phone vibrates with a text.
Anne to Gilbert
Someone put a poem in my locker. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?
Gilbert to Anne
Maybe. Since you didn't like my Dr Seuss contribution, I thought I should offer something else. How'd I do this time?
Anne to Gilbert
It's absolutely gorgeous! I love it!
Gilbert to Anne
Can't have you thinking I'm an uncultured lout.
Anne to Gilbert
"Lout"?!
Gilbert to Anne
You got a problem with my vocabulary, Shirley?
Anne to Gilbert
Just surprised that my good influence is finally rubbing off.
The smile stays on his face for the rest of the day.
@AnneWith_An_E Mountains, sky, the aspen doing something in the wind.
@Call_Me_Gil @AnneWith_An_E Dance with me, dancer.
@AnneWith_An_E @Call_Me_Gil Oh, I will.
MAY
When Mr Lynde dies, Gilbert's mostly worried about Anne. Though he's truly sorry for Mrs Lynde and their family, it's Anne he watches in the days after, afraid that she'll disappear again into the quiet, brittle shell she wore when Matthew died.
He's saved all of her videos (even the ones where she's ranting about him), and before they were friends he sometimes watched them with the sound off, just for the expressions on her face. But he could never bring himself to rewatch 42. It sits there, in the folder with the others, but he just can't. It hurts too much, seeing her like that, and remembering how helpless he'd felt, when she never would have accepted any kind of comfort he could offer. At least this time that's different.
They go for a walk after the planting and little ceremony for Mr Lynde's white pine. Anne's hair blazes under the bright sun, but the wind is raw and soon she's shivering. Gil unzips his hoodie and hands it to her. "Put this on before you turn into an icicle." It's weird when she doesn't even argue, just says thank you in a quiet voice.
Wind gusts high above them through the trees like waves crashing. When it fades it's like they're at the bottom of a well.
"Marilla says that Matthew wouldn't want us to be sad," Anne says, finally. "I know she's right, but I can't help it. And I sort of feel like I'm letting him down."
Gil shakes his head. "I don't think that's true. I think he'd want you to be happy, but he'd understand why you couldn't be sometimes."
She smiles softly. "You're right; he would." They walk a little further and then she says, "You know, I think Matthew was the first person who ever really loved me."
It's one of those moments that reminds Gil just how different her life was before she came to Avonlea. Not just different from the way it is now, but different from his own. No parents, no real home, no one to really love her. It breaks his heart.
"He's not the only one, though," he says eventually.
"Oh, I know Marilla loves me too. Although it took me a while to figure her out. I definitely didn't think she was a kindred spirit at first. And I have my friends here now, and Diana. And you," she adds, nudging him with her elbow. "But Matthew was special. And I wish..." Her voice breaks and she trails off, looking away.
Gil has no idea what to say right now but he really, really wishes he could put his arms around her and just sort of gather her into himself. It's almost an actual ache how much he wants to. He pushes his hands deeper inside his pockets, further away from temptation. "Do you want to go back?" he asks.
"No, I'm okay. Let's keep walking." She tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath. "I love the way it smells here. Like everything's fresh and full of possibility."
"They should put that on the sign. 'Welcome to Avonlea, where it smells like everything is fresh and full of possibility.'"
Anne cuts him a look. "I'm ignoring you, Blythe. Instead I'm concentrating on how beautifully the sunlight is glowing on the tips of those leaves. I don't know why, but a photo just can't capture something like that exactly. There always seems to be an indefinable part missing."
"I guess maybe because with a photo you can't hear the wind or feel the sun. Or smell the possibility." He grins. "And I think that when you're standing here you know that every moment it's actually changing, even if you can't see it, because it's all real and alive around you. That's the part a photo can't reproduce."
"You continue to surprise me, Gilbert Blythe," she says with a smile.
"I will take that as a compliment, Anne Shirley."
"You should." She looks at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. "There's something I've been meaning to say for a while. I told myself it was just never the right time but really I was procrastinating."
Gil feels his heart speed up. He clears his throat. "You definitely shouldn't procrastinate," he says, in what's supposed to be a mock-stern way but ends up just sounding weirdly loud.
Anne stops walking and turns to face him, her expression serious. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you. Before," she clarifies. Some of his surprise must show on his face because she goes on, "I realised that I never actually said it, after we became friends. So I just... wanted you to know."
They make jokes about it now, but he still remembers how she used to be all prickles and sting with him, remembers the odd, empty feeling that he'd carried around, like he'd lost something really important without ever actually having it to begin with. That feeling's been gone since the day she pulled him in front of her camera and told him to explain himself. But it's still nice to have her say the words.
"Thank you," he says. "Apology accepted."
She nods and they start walking again. "I just keep thinking about how silly I was. I wasted so much time hating you."
"Don't forget, I did insult you. And there were spitballs involved. Basically, I was a jerk."
"You were," she agrees. "You apologised, though, more than once. And you tried to be my friend but I wouldn't let you." She sighs. "And you were nice to me even though I was fairly horrible to you."
"And you broke a locker board over my head," he adds, since she brought it up.
"I'm sorry about that, too."
"It's okay. It didn't actually hurt. Mostly it was a shock. You're freakishly strong for someone so small."
Her face scrunches up adorably. "Thank you?"
"Anyway, it doesn't matter now. We were destined to be friends and you can't thwart destiny, Anne Shirley."
That night he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. The hoodie he lent to Anne is draped over his torso like a blanket. It still smells like her.
What he feels seems bigger than his ribcage, like it's going to split him open from the inside, even though he knows that's impossible. But that's part of Anne Shirley's effect on him: she makes the impossible seem almost like something that could maybe be true.
These days he finds long red hairs in his backpack, on his clothes, between the pages of his notebooks. He knows what she looks like asleep with her cheek pillowed on a stack of books they're supposed to be studying; he knows the weight of her head on his leg when she flops down on the grass beside him dramatically and ends up half in his lap; he knows the way her hair smells first thing in the morning when she's sagging against her locker and yawning and grumbling about whatever quiz or test they have that day.
In some ways being Anne's friend is almost worse than those months when she hated him. It's this painful, dizzying feeling, suspended like he's on a rollercoaster and he's just started down the descent: breath sucked out of his lungs, heart in his mouth, stomach left somewhere far behind. It's confusing and overwhelming and sometimes he wishes he could just make it stop or go back to a time before he'd ever heard of a girl named Anne Shirley.
But only sometimes.
Because when he's with her the world seems brighter, larger, more full of promise. She makes him work harder than he ever has in his life and it's exhausting but also more fun than he's ever had before. They spark off each other and every day is like a race to see who finishes ahead and the thrill of it is that he doesn't really care if it's him as long as she's the one running alongside.
And he tries so hard not to think of what he wants so much, what he doesn't have. Her friendship is the most wonderful thing in his life and he feels ungrateful for wishing for anything more. But he does. He's in love with her and he doesn't know how to make it stop. He doesn't even want to.
Gil rolls over onto his stomach and mashes his face into the pillow. He definitely doesn't think about kissing her.
@AnneWith_An_E Going shopping for prom dresses with @DianaBarry96 tomorrow! Belles of the ball!
@DianaBarry96 @AnneWith_An_E So excited!
JUNE
"Isn't it the most glorious day?" Anne asks as they stretch on the grass. "The sun is bright and warm, the wind is friendly, and the clouds are absolutely delicious. Doesn't it feel like if you could just reach up high enough you could pull one down and wrap it around you like a cloak?"
Gilbert considers the puffs of cumulous above them. "I think they'd be damp. And cold."
Anne rolls her eyes and sighs in a way that means she pities him for having so little poetry in his soul but she forgives him because he can't help it. Her sighs are as eloquent as everything else about her.
They're eating ice cream — well, he's eating ice cream; Anne's eating ice cream's second cousin twice removed — and there's something very distracting about watching her lick raspberry frozen yoghurt from a spoon. He has to distract himself from the distraction. "Thank you for the post-its," he says.
"You're welcome. Besides, they're partly for my benefit anyway. I am deathly sick of the interminable yellow."
"The moratorium on yellow post-it notes is noted." He pulls out a pen and one of his new pads of not-yellow post-its. "On a post-it note!"
Anne looks over with a slight frown. "Sometimes I worry about you, Gilbert Blythe."
"Too pretty to work?" he asks.
"Yes," she says, flicking yoghurt at him from her spoon. "That is exactly what I meant."
Gil licks a splodge from his hand and grimaces. "How do you eat this? This is a crime against delicious frozen treats everywhere."
"This from someone whose favourite food is enchiladas. I'd hardly call your palate refined."
"Blasphemer!" he cries. "For the honour of the happy mouth flavour explosion that is the enchilada, I challenge you to a duel! If I had a gauntlet, I would throw it right now."
"Challenge accepted," Anne says, holding up her spoon.
Gilbert assumes as much of a fencing stance as can be assumed when sitting down and brandishes his own spoon. "En garde!"
Prom prom prom, prom prom prom prom prom. This is what a large proportion of the conversations around him have begun to sound like. It's as if there were nothing else going on in anyone's life. The word "prom" has lost all sense of meaning from the constant repetition.
@Call_Me_Gil The term 'semantic satiation' was coined by Leon Jakobovits James in his doctoral dissertation at McGill University, Montreal in 1962.
@Call_Me_Gil The term 'prom satiation' was coined by Gilbert John Patrick Blythe in his senior year at Avonlea High School in Saskatchewan in 2015.
@RubyRedGillis You are such a nerd!
Somehow it's decided that they're all going as one big group. Ten of them. Josie insists on a limo, of course. "Because I'm not getting super gorgeous just to be seen in, like, a station wagon or something," she tells them.
Gilbert's not sure how they're all going to fit, but it's not like he's going to say no to a ride in a limo. Especially when Josie's dad is paying for it.
It's mid-June and it feels like time is speeding up, running out.
@Call_Me_Gill Time for some fun facts about prom!
@Call_Me_Gill "Prom" is short for "promenade".
@Call_Me_Gill The cost of prom in 2013 averaged $1139 per family.
@Call_Me_Gill In 1980, Prom Night was the highest grossing horror film in Canada.
Getting ready for prom with Fred is not unlike being in the locker room at the end of a hockey game or practice except that they smell a lot better and no one's bleeding.
Gil's Mom wants to take photos, the bow tie is strangling him, and his hair is seriously not cooperating, but eventually they manage to drive to Anne's. Fred texts Diana to let her know they've arrived before they get out of the car. OGDP (he never did come up with a better name for it) is all about the covert operations.
Marilla meets them at the door with an actual smile and tells them that they both look very handsome. It's a little surreal until Diana appears like a vision and rescues them. Also known as leading them into the kitchen. Fred's looking dumbstruck and smiling goofily at her, so Gil pretends to be fascinated by the contents of the fruit bowl. There are whispers and kissing sounds. He desperately wishes the human body was equipped with the ear equivalent of eyelids so he could shut them.
It's an age before his torment ends. Or possibly around three minutes, not that he's counting. "It's safe to turn around now, Gilbert," Diana says, and he can hear the laughter in her voice.
Dignity demands that he defend himself. "I was trying to give you some privacy like the gentleman that I am. By the way, may I say that you look quite enchanting this evening, madam."
"Thank you, kind sir. You look rather dashing yourself."
"So," he says after performing a courtly bow, "flowers?"
"In the fridge." Diana walks over and takes a flat box from the bottom shelf, lifting the lid so he can see inside.
It's not a corsage. He'd known from the beginning that for Anne he wanted something different. But since ordering any flowers, period, in Avonlea would have been like taking out a full page ad in the paper courtesy of Rachel Lynde and her network of minion spies, Diana had offered to place the order with a florist in Regina for him and bring it with her.
"You are a goddess among mere mortals," he tells her as he takes the box. "I mean it. If there were a review site, I'd give you five stars."
Diana just laughs and tells him Anne's in her room and that they need to go soon. Josie has threatened to leave anyone behind who's not at her place precisely on time. They all know she'll do it, too. She's kind of lovably ruthless.
He taps on Anne's closed door and she calls for him to come in. "I'm almost ready, but my hair's being extremely uncooperative," she's saying as he opens the door.
"I know the feeling," is what he means to say, but the only sound he actually makes is the whoosh of all the air rushing from his lungs.
She's beautiful.
Gilbert always thinks she looks beautiful, but tonight she surpasses every mental image of her he has. Her dress is a pale green that makes her skin seem to glow. It reaches all the way to the floor but leaves her arms and shoulders bare except for scatters of freckles that immediately make him think of the dusting of cinnamon on milk foam.
She does one last complicated-looking twisty thing to her hair and then turns. Something passes across her face too quickly for him to recognise (even if he didn't currently have all the intellect of inert matter) and then she smiles. "You look so nice!"
"So do you," he says, but 'nice' doesn't even come close. She looks like a fairy or a dryad: something magical, ephemeral, unreal. He feels too large and solid and oafish to even be near her.
"What's that?" she asks and he looks down in confusion because he has hands and there's something in them and oh, right—
"It's for you." He holds out the box, wishing he could level up to multisyllabic words again.
"Oh," she whispers when she opens it. "You got this for me?"
They both stare down at the circlet of tiny white roses woven through with green. "I thought you might like it," he manages to say.
"It's wonderful. Thank you, Gilbert." She's looking at him and smiling in this soft way he's never seen before and his mouth has forgotten how to make words altogether. Then she leans up and kisses him on the cheek and all he can think is that obviously now he can never wash his face again.
But she just turns as though the entire universe hasn't shifted slightly and says, "I have to show Diana!" And before he can tell her that Diana's already seen it, that she's the one who brought it, Anne's out the door. Gil touches his cheek, half expecting to be able to feel some evidence that Anne Shirley's lips were there, but all he feels is his own skin.
There are ten of them in the limo and it's crowded but he can't really complain because Anne is squashed right up next to him. He angles himself a little against the door and rests his arm across the back of the seat to give her more room. It's not exactly comfortable, but the whole side of her body is pressed against him now, she smells of roses and green growing things, and her bare shoulder is so close he could lean in and kiss it if this were some alternate universe where she'd want him to do that.
"Are you okay? You're very quiet," she says to him under the noise of everyone's conversation. "I'm sorry you're so squished."
"I'm fine," he says. "Just enjoying the prom-y ambiance. Although I think my spine might be configured differently by the time we get there." Anne makes a sympathetic face and Gil shrugs the shoulder that he can actually move. "At least if there's an accident we'll be really well insulated."
Inside the hall everything sparkles and shimmers. All the decorations are white, from the paper lanterns to the strings of tiny twinkling lights to the balloons and flowers.
Anne looks around with wide eyes, hands clasped together almost in prayer. "Oh, Ruby, it's like we've walked into a fairytale."
"You like it?" Ruby, queen of the prom committee, claps with an excited little bounce.
"It's simply glorious."
"It was so much fun. I can't wait to have my own place to decorate."
Josie rolls her eyes. "We can talk about that later, guys. Focus on the important things. We need to take photos before we start dancing and mess up our hair."
It's a great night. Ruby and Josie keep making completely not-subtle comments that Gil resolutely ignores. He dances with both of them, and with Diana, and even once with Jane. By the middle of the night most of the girls have taken their shoes off and are dancing barefoot. Some of the guys have removed their jackets, or their bow ties, or both. Gil's made peace with his tie but he surrendered the jacket a while ago.
Anne still looks beautiful, even a little sweaty and dishevelled as she is from their last group dance frenzy. Her flower crown is slightly askew and some of the roses have lost their petals, but the effect is somehow even prettier than when it was fresh.
They're sitting out the song because Josie's challenged Ruby to a Lady Gaga dance-off, but then a new one starts and Anne surprises him by standing up. It's a slow song and so far she's sat all of those out, too. Gil looks up at her, which is novel, even though she's only a little taller than him when he's sitting.
"Come dance with me," she says, nodding at the mass of people who've started swaying to the music. Music that he can't really hear anymore over the sudden pounding of his heart.
"What?" he blurts. If time has been speeding up in the last few weeks, it has now come to a complete and absolute stop. She's the only one he hasn't danced with yet. They haven't reached that part of the evening. The part where he would be prepared. He's not prepared now. He needs more time.
But Anne's bright, clear eyes are laughing at him as she holds out her hand and raises her voice over the music. "Dance with me, dancer."
It takes him a second to recognise the words. Then the memory and the fact that she's recalling him to it rush at him at once, like the wind on the first hill of that roller coaster he's been riding all this time. He can feel himself smiling as goofily as Fred did a couple of hours ago and his chest starts to ache in a really good way. He stands up and takes her hand, looking down at her smiling up at him. And if it's not everything he wishes for, for now, for tonight, it's enough. It's definitely enough.
"Oh, I will."