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[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Tiny stitches through squares and triangles of soft autumn-colored fabric, and Anne frowns slightly, concentrating, until she pricks herself in the finger and startles, giving the fabric a wry look.

There is tea, and a comfortable seat near her by the fire, and the Anne-girl is humming slighty to herself as she re-threads the needle.

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[kitchen_maid]

Amy sinks -- it's the only word for it -- sinks into the closest chair, picks up some of the fabric and begins sewing with her own tiny stitches.

Anne has probably seen her this tired before, once, but it's been a while.

Although the fact that she looks tired may not be nearly as alarming as the fact that she seems to have forgotten to say any sort of hello.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne looks up and watches her for a moment, and her voice is gentle when she speaks.

"Amy?"

[kitchen_maid]

Amy drops the fabric, startled, and looks up.

"Yes?"

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne's eyes are wide with concern, and she reaches out to lay a warm hand over Amy's, a crease forming between her brows.

"Dearest, what's wrong?"

Amy hasn't looked like this in a long while, and Anne would be worried in any case but--Amy, silent? Amy, saddened?

Something dreadful must have happened.

[kitchen_maid]

It would almost be better if something dreadful had happened, but it hasn't. Not yet. And Amy knows it's going to, and can't talk about it.

She pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture that's become common today, in the attempt to stay together, composed, calm, rational, and above all, to not start crying.

And she shakes her head. "I--"

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne knows that the worst thing of all is when misery comes and camps in your ribcage, and you feel as though you can't breathe, or eat, or laugh, or cry, and so she gets up without a word and moves to the tiny space between Amy and the chair and puts her arms around her.

She knows that sometimes all you need is a touch to start you crying, or speaking.

She doesn't know why Amy hurts, but she knows enough.

[kitchen_maid]

Amy has actually done a pretty good job today of breathing, and eating, and even laughing once or twice. Of looking at least close to normal.

But this is Anne. And it's late. And Amy is so very weary. She still doesn't speak, but she turns and buries her face in Anne's shoulder and two days after she didn't cry in front of Susan, didn't cry in front of Caspian, Amy weeps.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne only rubs her hand up Amy's back, and whispers comforting nothing words to her, her own eyes stinging with sympathy, crying more for Amy's tears, for her pain, than for whatever is hurting Amy in the first place.

"Oh, Amy," she whispers, "oh, my dear."

She doesn't say it will be alright. Anne has no idea if it will or won't be.

[kitchen_maid]

Amy's not even sure she knows what "all right" means any more.

And she's scared to say anything, afraid that if she starts speaking she won't be able to stop again, and this isn't her tale, and she's promised not to tell, and she can't won't mustn't.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

Mordred? Has no idea Bran has kissed her. He would have mocked him horribly if he had. So, it's from pure politeness that he gives Anne a smile.

"Evening, Miss Shirley."

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne...blushes immediately.

Her smile, however, is very bright and she looks happy to see him.

"Hello, Mordred. How have you been?"

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

His golden, Pendragon eyes sharpen and he raises an eyebrow at the blush.

"I have...been up and down. Kinda steady at the moment. Yourself?"

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

"Very well indeed," she laughs, and the surprised blush fades, leaving innocent gray eyes dancing merrily.

"Up and down, a bit, myself, but that is nothing so very new or strange. I haven't seen you in a while--has Meg managed to surprise you yet?"

Ah, segues.

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

"With the poping in and out? Yes, she has. Payback's a bitch." A little shrug, but he's still eying her.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne blinks at him innocently.

It's hard, with Bran's eyes looking back at her, but she manages.

"Oh, good. She was so looking forward to it."

[maydaybrat.livejournal.com]

It probably helps that Mordred is prettier then Bran, with finer features and an air of controlled danger, isntead of Bran's half-wild one.

"Yes, I know. The smirk gave it away." He tilts his head. "Now, miss, why exactly where you blushing? I haven't done anything to warrent that kind of response..."

"So, what you've doing with my brother?"

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Her smile quirks, and her eyes light. Anne has never been very good at hiding her emotions, and Bran brings them out spectacularly.

"If he hasn't told you, then I don't suppose it would be at all proper for me to," she says, amused, and glowing and blushing rather prettily.

[b-hawkins.livejournal.com]

Ben saw the Anne and saw the pinprick. Was it bleeding? A problem he could fix.

"Hey." He looked over the work with the look of a man who knows hard work has been put into the object but it doesn't quite strike him as beautiful. "Nice." His tone was appreciative, politely so.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

She looks up, and her smiles beams at him.

"Mr. Hawkins! What a pleasure, do, please join me?"

[b-hawkins.livejournal.com]

His smiles were so much easier to cox out this time. He nearly corrects her to 'Ben' but decides to let it slide. "Sure." He sat.

"That bleedin'?" He asked, gesturing her pricked finger.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

"Oh," she says, and looks at it. She'd been concentrating, and the needle had gone deep. A drop of red blood stands out on her white finger.

"Yes, a bit, but it's alright."

[b-hawkins.livejournal.com]

Ben's hand closed around the prick, a sudden and suprising gesture. His head nearly sagged and in a moment he pulled his hand away, smearnig the drop of blood a little. That a second drop did NOT come to complement it's brother's absence was the strange bit.

Ben has a few secrets he may divulge.

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne startles at his touch, wide eyes staring first at him, and then at her finger.

"...how?"

[b-hawkins.livejournal.com]

"I'm." He paused- how to word it? There's the official term, there's those that mistaken him for something greater...

"I'm different. Got powers, sorta." He quickly added: "I ain't no Saint, no Angel, no Jesus Christ." No. It's an easy mistake to make, but nothing quite that romantic. "There's things I can do, things regular folks can't."

[avonlea-girl.livejournal.com]

Anne's eyes widen further.

"Healing, for example?" She looks at her finger again, bewildered.

"...I've never seen anything like it. This is...incredible, Mr. Hawkins!"