whatever else you want to say about episode six Bash knitting little socks for his daughter while Gilbert swans in and out doing a stress parade of identical outfits and fretting is just top tier stuff like as ever AWAE does NOT care for toxic masculinity and you can quote it on that
Can I just? Say how fucking funny bash and mary making fun of Gilbert's cooking skills is? " dont forget to add the salt" fuckin iconic. Just. Wow. "Hes not-" " no more like just stirring ".
Short one-short where Uncle Gilby talks to Delphine about Anne because as Bash says, ‘she won’t talk.’
Basically Gilbert is freaking adorable with Delly and I wanted to write about it!
Read under the cut or click here to find on AO3
I wanted to write something that still made sense with the happenings of episode 6 since Gilbert is heavily leaning into his courtship with Winnie in that episode but also made sense with his intense reaction post dance with Anne. Hopefully this one-shot managed to walk that line!
Gilbert was sat in his kitchen, working on the homework assigned by Miss Stacy. The house was quiet, a fact that both pleased and pained Gilbert. It pleased him as he was able to get his work done without hiding up in his room but it was painful as the silence was a constant reminder of the life that had been taken from the house.
Gilbert was so engrossed in his reading that, to begin with, he didn’t register the small cries that began emerging from Bash and Mary’s room. The cries slowly gained momentum and volume until, finally, a particularly shrill wail broke through Gilbert’s concentration. His head snapped up, the book forgotten.
“Bash?” Gilbert called out. He was surprised that Bash hadn’t gone to Delphine already and when he heard no response, Gilbert stood, calling louder from the kitchen doorway. “Bash!”
When there was still no response Gilbert immediately made his way towards the bedroom where Dephine lay crying. Walking over to her, Gilbert bent down to comfort the infant.
“Hey, now,” he said softly, swiping his thumb over her cheeks which were damp with tears. Sliding his hands under her little body Gilbert scooped up Delphine with a practiced air and cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently. He continued the motion for a couple minutes and he meandered through the house back into the kitchen in hopes the movement would help soothe Delphine but her cries made no sign of settling down.
Once, shortly after Mary had died, there had been a day where nothing he nor Bash did could make the little babe stop crying. When Marilla and Rachel had arrived with a gesture of food for them, they had found the two men on the verge of tears themselves from exhaustion and frustration. Seeking advice, Gilbert had questioned Rachel on what the cause could be – she had extensive experience after all – but her answer had been little comfort, informing him that the little girl was likely missing her mother and there was nothing that he could do about that.
The thought that Delly’s current distress might be from missing Mary caused Gilbert’s heart to clench. They were all still grieving her loss, Bash especially, but they at least had the cold comfort of understanding why she was gone. For poor Delly, she just felt that something was missing and wanted it back. Gilbert had wondered if he had reacted the same when he was a babe at his mother passing or if, because he hadn’t had any time with her at all, for him there was nothing to miss.
Looking down at the small, scrunched up face Gilbert tried to think of the tactics that Mary had used to soothe her little girl to sleep when she was fussy.
“Shall we have a story?” he asked in a soothing tone. “How about…” Gilbert glanced around, hoping something in the room would provide him with inspiration; he was not a natural storyteller after all. He was coming up empty when his eye caught Anne’s recipe book. Clutching Delly firmly in one arm Gilbert ran his fingers over the front page of the recipes collection, his fingertips tracing the delicate artwork that decorated the page.
At the thought of Anne Gilbert’s mind instantly recalled the memory of their dance practice earlier that day and Gilbert closed his eyes, breathing heavily at the barrage of feelings which hit him. In his mind he repeated his conversation with Bash, convincing himself that there was a very simple explanation for the confusing feelings that the dance had produced: dance practice had thrust he and Anne into an unfamiliar setting and it had presented Anne in a new light, one which he had found attractive.
Gilbert clung to this reasoning desperately. Of course Bash had been right – just feeling attraction was not enough reason to get married and that was all it had been, a sudden, extraordinarily strong, burst of attraction. Because Gilbert wasn’t blind – Anne was beautiful – and dancing was traditionally a romantic setting. Combine the two and the whole scenario had successfully served to confuse him and his body.
Gilbert refused to entertain any other alternative because the only other option was something with which he was not ready to deal.
Anne had made it quite clear that she didn’t need or want anything from him. That had hurt quite a lot at the time and though he had secretly been harbouring hope that she might someday develop fonder feelings for him, he had respected her position and moved on.
Still, just because he had moved on didn’t mean that he couldn’t use his friend as inspiration for a bedtime story. She was extraordinary after all.
With a smile he looked back at Delphine. “How about a story about Avonlea’s own fiery tempered mischief maker?”
Heading back to the bedroom, Gilbert sat on the bed. He looked out of the window at the woods on the edge of his land and began the story.
“Delly, did you know that Avonlea used to be a quiet, unassuming town? This was back before your father arrived, long before I even met him. The people were calm, and the gossip was little but then a young girl came to the town and changed everything. Her name was Anne.”
Gilbert’s voice was soft as he spoke and, if anyone were there to witness they would see the softness filter into his eyes as he continued to talk about the girl called Anne.
“She was different from the people of Avonlea. Her looks were as unique as her character – vibrant red hair and piercing blue eyes – and a spirit that would not be tamed. People don’t always respond well to that which is different, but Anne had passion and a strength of character never before seen in Avonlea. It was intimidating and unnerving for many but for those who saw the potential of such traits it was…spectacular. And painful,” he added with a laugh, his mind immediately recalling the time she cracked the slate over his head.
Even with the memory of the bruise the incident left Gilbert could think of their first interaction with nothing but fondness. Very few of their moments together inspired anything but that feeling, and he had always been ready to admit that Anne was one of the most incredible, selfless, determined people he had ever met. What else would he be but fond of Anne?
“But the people of Avonlea did not realise the gift they had been given,” he continued. “For when Anne arrived, she was the flame come to light the fires under the residents of the town.”
Gilbert smiled indulgently, amused by his own metaphor since he himself – though he wouldn’t admit it out loud – was drawn to her like a moth to a flame ever since that first day of school.
“You will know all of this for yourself one day, for you have been blessed to have this Anne in your life. You will see the passions and bravery and open-mindedness that she has inspired here. Believe me when I say you are blessed and one day you won’t be able to imagine a life without Anne in it.”
Delphine had stilled in his arms and Gilbert glanced down but, instead of finding the little baby asleep, she was staring up at him in rapped attention. A deeply affectionate expression crossed Gilbert’s face and he gently brushed his finger across the little girl’s cheek.
“Hey now, Miss, you’re supposed to be going to sleep.”
Delphine’s response was to give her uncle a small smile and wriggle in his arms and Gilbert laughed, a strong wave of affection flushing through him.
Gilbert forego any further story telling for walking absently around the room, gently rocking Delphine as he went. After a time he started humming, his mind not fixing on anything tune in particular, merely using the sound to create a soothing atmosphere for Delly.
It was only when Gilbert hummed the last few notes that he realised, with a swift drop in his gut, that he was humming the Dashing White Sergeant. A hot, uncomfortable sensation flushed in his chest as his mind cast back again to the dance rehearsal. As he recalled the sensation of Anne’s hand in his own Gilbert’s fingers involuntarily twitched against Delphine’s back and Gilbert tried, again, to push the memories of the dance rehearsal away.
He had been working so hard at tamping down his growing affection for Anne and Gilbert felt that he had been doing an admirable job thus far so he was more than a little annoyed by the force at which his feelings had resurfaced. He was convinced that Anne wasn’t interested in him so, even if his mind might run away with him in thinking about some hypothetical future for the two of them, what use were such feelings, really?
The answer was that they were not useful to anyone – himself or Anne – and Gilbert truly believed that if he could just control them, eventually they would become less. He was determined that, through sheer force of will, he would move on from Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.
But that damn dance kept bubbling up, reminding him of how he had been literally incapable of pulling his attention from her, how his chest had constricted when she’d held his gaze so intently and how tempted he had been to just pull her that little bit closer whenever she was within reach.
Suddenly Bash’s words echoed in his mind: ‘Then tell her. She won’t talk.’
Perhaps if just this once he would admit what he felt, if he just acknowledged his affection for Anne once out loud then the turmoil inside would cease, the pressure would ease, and he would be able to let go.
With a sigh Gilbert looked at the little girl snuggled in his arms and watching him with beautiful, brown eyes. “I don’t blame you for not being able to sleep Delly,” he said. Lowering his voice Gilbert leant close to his niece and spoke his confession quietly, for Delphine’s ears only. “She invades my thoughts and keeps me from sleep too.”
Half an hour or so later Bash appeared in the doorway, watching as Gilbert stared out the window, absently rocking Delphine all the while.
“She go down alright?” he asked, coming to stand at Gilbert’s shoulder.
Gilbert shook his head. “She’s still awake,” he said with a small laugh. “My attempt at story telling seemed to have the opposite effect,” he added, casting a grin at Bash. “Where were you?”
Bash sighed. “I went to talk to Mary. I miss that woman something terrible.”
“We all do Bash.”
“She had so much love to give, my Mary. It makes me sad that Delphine won’t know it.”
“She will, Bash. Delly will know who her mother was, we’ll make sure of it.”
Gilbert handed Delly to her father, placing a final kiss on the babe’s forehead before making to leave them in peace.
“Blythe,” Bash said and Gilbert halted in the doorway. Cradling his daughter in one arm, Bash tapped a finger against Gilbert’s temple. “Don’t dwell too much on what’s happening up here,” he said, before moving his hand and pressing his finger into the younger man’s chest. “Focus on what’s in here and you won’t go wrong.”
His last few words were soft and wistful, and Gilbert knew Bash’s mind was still with Mary. As Bash’s eyes drifted back down to his daughter Gilbert moved away, leaving Bash to settle on the bed, singing Delphine a Trinidadian lullaby. Silently Gilbert left them to it, gently pulling the door to behind him and trying desperately to ignore the image of Anne’s piercing blue eyes gazing at him as they danced.
That moment... When Bash reaches out to cover Gilbert’s hand across the table to show his gratitude for Mary’s obituary... And Gilbert covers Bash’s hand with his other hand...
This world could abolish toxic masculinity forever if this was required watching for everyone.
