[anne of green gables] not quite left behind (arco iris, 8/?)
Title: not quite left behind
Fandom: Anne of Green Gables
Characters: Shirley, Rilla
Rating: G
Notes: My neglected babieees also wow I suck at making up titles, just ignore me.
not quite left behind
"It's not fair."
Shirley closed his book, and Carl Meredith looked up from where he was trying to coax a ladybug onto a leaf. They had been spending time in companionable silence, engrossed in their various projects, but they knew that tone of voice - and the voice itself - all too well.
"Problem, Spider?" Shirley asked.
Rilla glared at him. "I am not a spider."
"True," Carl said, without looking at her. Seeing that Rilla was suffering from nothing more than a fit of pique, he had gone back to corralling the ladybug.
"Really?" Rilla asked, feeling her mood lift slightly. She could always count on Carl to be kind to her.
"Mmm," he said. "Spiders have eight legs. Rilla only has two - well, four limbs, if you count the arms. Maybe an orangutan?"
"Lacks simplicity," Shirley said. "It's not easy to say, 'Hello, Orangutan.'"
Rilla's smile, which had been shrinking, completely disappeared.
"Are you going to listen to me or mock me?" she demanded.
"We can't do both?" asked Carl, smiling to himself.
"Fine," pouted Rilla, scrambling to her feet. "I'll go talk to Una, then. She listens to me."
Carl, who knew that Una listened to everybody, even Mary Vance, rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Shirley laughed, grabbing his little sister by the hand. "All right, Spider, we're sorry. Do forgive us."
Rilla did not actually want to forgive - at least not so quickly - and Shirley had called her Spider again. Still, her desire for an audience outweighed her loathing of the nickname, so she sat down again.
"I do not want to go to Queen's," she said, staring moodily at the grass. Shirley thought that, with her brooding stare, she was doing a very good impression of Walter.
"So don't go," Carl offered.
"Mother and Father want me to go. They keep telling me that Nan and Di went. And that Shirley is going. Well, I'm not Nan nor Di. Nor Shirley," she added, after a pause.
"Fortunately," Shirley deadpanned. Then he added, "Don't worry. I heard Dad say you're not strong enough." He grinned, deciding to harrow her soul - just a little. "Something about being too spider-like?"
Rilla pouted. "Even if I don't go, Mother would just make me study at home. Or learn to cook - or sew. She thinks I am completely useless. Just because I don't want to do everything Nan and Di do - "
"Would this," mused Carl, "have anything to do with Nan and Di going to that party last night?"
"No," scowled Rilla. Then she frowned. "How do you know what Nan and Di do?"
"Faith and Jerry were there," he said. "They all went in a group."
"Oh," Rilla said, with somewhat unnecessary italics. Carl and Shirley exchanged glances over the top of her head. The very mention of the older set's social activities was enough to set the younger girl's teeth on edge, and Carl being privy to such information was salt in the wound. They supposed it wasn't very nice to aggravate Rilla so - but oh, it was funny. And Spider could use some humbling, every now and then.
"You probably didn't want to go, anyway," Carl said. "Ken Ford went along with them, and you two fight every time you're in the same room together."
Shirley peered at his sister out of the corner of his eye, and was disconcerted to find her blushing. Aha.
"We do not," Rilla mumbled. "We don't even talk."
"Well, that's a relief," Carl said frankly. "Remember, Shirl, the fights they'd get into?"
"Mm-hm," Shirley said, watching Rilla now. Something about the mention of Ken Ford had deflated her. Rilla and Ken…? No, that was silliness. He was far too old for her, and a notorious flirt besides. Not that Rilla wasn't getting to be a flirt herself. Shirley didn't usually concern himself with the affairs of his sisters - nor with his siblings in general - and he certainly didn't bother with feeling protective - Jem and Walter were fine enough for that. Still, it was…curious.
"It doesn't matter," Rilla rushed on. "That's not the point. The point is - " And then a pause as she tried to remember what, indeed, the point had been.
"Whatever it is," Carl said - not unkindly, "I'm sure it'll all be fine, Spi - Rilla." He pulled himself to a sitting position and then up, brushing grass off of his knees. "I've got to go back, though. It's my turn to watch Bruce tonight."
The Blythe siblings waved him away - Shirley with silence and a smile, and Rilla demanding that he go on a moon-spree with her before he went back to Queen's. Then just Shirley and Rilla remained, silent as dusk settled over the Glen.
Shirley was expecting Rilla to leave after Carl, but she stayed, chin propped on her hands. The look on her face could only be called pensive, although that was a word Shirley never associated with his sweet, thoughtless little sister. Still, he thought perhaps she wanted him to say something.
"Is - uh - everything all right there, Spider?"
He wished he could take the words back as soon as he said them - wished he had taken more time to arrange them better, though he knew it wouldn't have made a difference - Shirley always thought before he spoke, but the words still never seemed to come out right. Walter would've known what to say.
Rilla sighed, and too late Shirley realized that he had called her Spider again.
"Carl is getting too smart," she muttered, uprooting some grass with the toe of her boot.
Shirley wanted to laugh. Carl knew everything possible to know about the living creatures that crawled over the earth, but he was hopeless at literature and couldn't do math to save his life. Surely that couldn't be what Rilla was upset about. He remained silent until Rilla spoke again.
"He'd probably rather spend time with you - or Nan and Di - or Jem," she continued, seemingly only talking partly to him. "He probably doesn't think I'm smart enough. Nobody does," she added, more quietly.
Shirley suddenly recalled a memory of a warm summer day when the Fords had come to visit, back when Ken and Rilla used to antagonize each other constantly - before they had slipped into silences, distant on Ken's part and sullen and awkward on Rilla's. Ken had been teasing Rilla about not making as good marks in school as her siblings, and she had thrown a pillow at his head and stormed out. Everyone had assumed it was merely part of the girl's dramatics. But perhaps not.
And perhaps today's pouts were more than mere fit of pique.
"You're smart," he said. "You're just…younger than us."
As the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. There was no us to be spoken of, for Shirley had never really been included in the shared childhood of the Blythes and Merediths. And then he had a flash of realization that this was not, perhaps, entirely about Queen's or their siblings, or Carl Meredith, or even Ken Ford. Perhaps it was about Rilla feeling left out. And Shirley knew that feeling well.
"Oh, I know that. I can still do simple math, you know." She ripped a bit viciously at the sweetgrass under their feet. "I won't take any prizes in arithmetic, but…"
"You don't have to, Rilla," he said gently, taking care not to use the loathed nickname. "You don't have to be just like Nan and Di."
She rolled over, picking at a blade of grass, carelessly flicking an ant off of it. If Carl had still been there, he would have been appalled at her crass treatment of one of his beloved insects.
"Everyone wants me to be," she mumbled.
Shirley shrugged. "Everyone wanted me to be like Jem and Walter." Or maybe I wanted to be like Jem and Walter.
"You're not, though," she said.
Shirley raised an eyebrow at her.
"Oh! That's different," she snapped.
He didn't say anything.
Rilla pulled her knees up to her chin. "Everyone's leaving, that's all," she said, her voice small and defeated.
"You could go to Queen's, too," Shirley pointed out.
"I don't want to," she snapped, exasperated.
"But you don't want Carl to, either."
"No," Rilla said. Then she sighed. "Yes. No. Oh, don't ask such difficult questions." She tore the grass into a few more pieces, smaller and smaller until they were little more than shreds. "Everyone will have gone to Queen's - and you'll all have such jolly stories - and then you'll all go to Redmond - and have your dances and your parties together - and I'll just be here - and it's not fair."
"There's always Una Meredith. She hasn't gone to Queen's, either."
"Oh, she doesn't count."
Shirley wanted to roll his eyes at Rilla's dismissal of one of the family's oldest friends, but the phrase Choose your battles came to mind.
"It won't make a difference, you know," he said. "I'm going to Queen's now, and - I'm still not - part of everything." That didn't come out right either. Shirley wished he lived in a land where all communication could be done through mime routines. These word things were not working out for him.
Rilla suddenly looked at him with sympathy. "Oh, Shirley."
"It doesn't matter," he said, wanting to avoid pity. "I only meant - continuing with school, going to college - it won't change anything. Jem and Walter and Nan and Di and Carl - they write all the time. They think about you all the time. You're not left behind, Rilla. Really."
"Oh." There was silence, and then she wriggled closer, leaning against him, and Shirley looped his arm around her shoulders.
"You aren't either, you know," she said, her voice so quiet Shirley barely heard it. A strange lump formed in his throat - and oh, he was not going let his baby sister make him cry.
"I know," he started, choosing his words slowly and carefully, "that we're not - close. But - you are my sister, and - if you need to - talk - "
"I know," Rilla said. "Some things don't need to be said. Besides, I think this is the most you've talked since you've come home." Then she elbowed him in the side.
"Ow," Shirley said. "We were having a moment, you know."
Fandom: Anne of Green Gables
Characters: Shirley, Rilla
Rating: G
Notes: My neglected babieees also wow I suck at making up titles, just ignore me.
not quite left behind
"It's not fair."
Shirley closed his book, and Carl Meredith looked up from where he was trying to coax a ladybug onto a leaf. They had been spending time in companionable silence, engrossed in their various projects, but they knew that tone of voice - and the voice itself - all too well.
"Problem, Spider?" Shirley asked.
Rilla glared at him. "I am not a spider."
"True," Carl said, without looking at her. Seeing that Rilla was suffering from nothing more than a fit of pique, he had gone back to corralling the ladybug.
"Really?" Rilla asked, feeling her mood lift slightly. She could always count on Carl to be kind to her.
"Mmm," he said. "Spiders have eight legs. Rilla only has two - well, four limbs, if you count the arms. Maybe an orangutan?"
"Lacks simplicity," Shirley said. "It's not easy to say, 'Hello, Orangutan.'"
Rilla's smile, which had been shrinking, completely disappeared.
"Are you going to listen to me or mock me?" she demanded.
"We can't do both?" asked Carl, smiling to himself.
"Fine," pouted Rilla, scrambling to her feet. "I'll go talk to Una, then. She listens to me."
Carl, who knew that Una listened to everybody, even Mary Vance, rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Shirley laughed, grabbing his little sister by the hand. "All right, Spider, we're sorry. Do forgive us."
Rilla did not actually want to forgive - at least not so quickly - and Shirley had called her Spider again. Still, her desire for an audience outweighed her loathing of the nickname, so she sat down again.
"I do not want to go to Queen's," she said, staring moodily at the grass. Shirley thought that, with her brooding stare, she was doing a very good impression of Walter.
"So don't go," Carl offered.
"Mother and Father want me to go. They keep telling me that Nan and Di went. And that Shirley is going. Well, I'm not Nan nor Di. Nor Shirley," she added, after a pause.
"Fortunately," Shirley deadpanned. Then he added, "Don't worry. I heard Dad say you're not strong enough." He grinned, deciding to harrow her soul - just a little. "Something about being too spider-like?"
Rilla pouted. "Even if I don't go, Mother would just make me study at home. Or learn to cook - or sew. She thinks I am completely useless. Just because I don't want to do everything Nan and Di do - "
"Would this," mused Carl, "have anything to do with Nan and Di going to that party last night?"
"No," scowled Rilla. Then she frowned. "How do you know what Nan and Di do?"
"Faith and Jerry were there," he said. "They all went in a group."
"Oh," Rilla said, with somewhat unnecessary italics. Carl and Shirley exchanged glances over the top of her head. The very mention of the older set's social activities was enough to set the younger girl's teeth on edge, and Carl being privy to such information was salt in the wound. They supposed it wasn't very nice to aggravate Rilla so - but oh, it was funny. And Spider could use some humbling, every now and then.
"You probably didn't want to go, anyway," Carl said. "Ken Ford went along with them, and you two fight every time you're in the same room together."
Shirley peered at his sister out of the corner of his eye, and was disconcerted to find her blushing. Aha.
"We do not," Rilla mumbled. "We don't even talk."
"Well, that's a relief," Carl said frankly. "Remember, Shirl, the fights they'd get into?"
"Mm-hm," Shirley said, watching Rilla now. Something about the mention of Ken Ford had deflated her. Rilla and Ken…? No, that was silliness. He was far too old for her, and a notorious flirt besides. Not that Rilla wasn't getting to be a flirt herself. Shirley didn't usually concern himself with the affairs of his sisters - nor with his siblings in general - and he certainly didn't bother with feeling protective - Jem and Walter were fine enough for that. Still, it was…curious.
"It doesn't matter," Rilla rushed on. "That's not the point. The point is - " And then a pause as she tried to remember what, indeed, the point had been.
"Whatever it is," Carl said - not unkindly, "I'm sure it'll all be fine, Spi - Rilla." He pulled himself to a sitting position and then up, brushing grass off of his knees. "I've got to go back, though. It's my turn to watch Bruce tonight."
The Blythe siblings waved him away - Shirley with silence and a smile, and Rilla demanding that he go on a moon-spree with her before he went back to Queen's. Then just Shirley and Rilla remained, silent as dusk settled over the Glen.
Shirley was expecting Rilla to leave after Carl, but she stayed, chin propped on her hands. The look on her face could only be called pensive, although that was a word Shirley never associated with his sweet, thoughtless little sister. Still, he thought perhaps she wanted him to say something.
"Is - uh - everything all right there, Spider?"
He wished he could take the words back as soon as he said them - wished he had taken more time to arrange them better, though he knew it wouldn't have made a difference - Shirley always thought before he spoke, but the words still never seemed to come out right. Walter would've known what to say.
Rilla sighed, and too late Shirley realized that he had called her Spider again.
"Carl is getting too smart," she muttered, uprooting some grass with the toe of her boot.
Shirley wanted to laugh. Carl knew everything possible to know about the living creatures that crawled over the earth, but he was hopeless at literature and couldn't do math to save his life. Surely that couldn't be what Rilla was upset about. He remained silent until Rilla spoke again.
"He'd probably rather spend time with you - or Nan and Di - or Jem," she continued, seemingly only talking partly to him. "He probably doesn't think I'm smart enough. Nobody does," she added, more quietly.
Shirley suddenly recalled a memory of a warm summer day when the Fords had come to visit, back when Ken and Rilla used to antagonize each other constantly - before they had slipped into silences, distant on Ken's part and sullen and awkward on Rilla's. Ken had been teasing Rilla about not making as good marks in school as her siblings, and she had thrown a pillow at his head and stormed out. Everyone had assumed it was merely part of the girl's dramatics. But perhaps not.
And perhaps today's pouts were more than mere fit of pique.
"You're smart," he said. "You're just…younger than us."
As the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. There was no us to be spoken of, for Shirley had never really been included in the shared childhood of the Blythes and Merediths. And then he had a flash of realization that this was not, perhaps, entirely about Queen's or their siblings, or Carl Meredith, or even Ken Ford. Perhaps it was about Rilla feeling left out. And Shirley knew that feeling well.
"Oh, I know that. I can still do simple math, you know." She ripped a bit viciously at the sweetgrass under their feet. "I won't take any prizes in arithmetic, but…"
"You don't have to, Rilla," he said gently, taking care not to use the loathed nickname. "You don't have to be just like Nan and Di."
She rolled over, picking at a blade of grass, carelessly flicking an ant off of it. If Carl had still been there, he would have been appalled at her crass treatment of one of his beloved insects.
"Everyone wants me to be," she mumbled.
Shirley shrugged. "Everyone wanted me to be like Jem and Walter." Or maybe I wanted to be like Jem and Walter.
"You're not, though," she said.
Shirley raised an eyebrow at her.
"Oh! That's different," she snapped.
He didn't say anything.
Rilla pulled her knees up to her chin. "Everyone's leaving, that's all," she said, her voice small and defeated.
"You could go to Queen's, too," Shirley pointed out.
"I don't want to," she snapped, exasperated.
"But you don't want Carl to, either."
"No," Rilla said. Then she sighed. "Yes. No. Oh, don't ask such difficult questions." She tore the grass into a few more pieces, smaller and smaller until they were little more than shreds. "Everyone will have gone to Queen's - and you'll all have such jolly stories - and then you'll all go to Redmond - and have your dances and your parties together - and I'll just be here - and it's not fair."
"There's always Una Meredith. She hasn't gone to Queen's, either."
"Oh, she doesn't count."
Shirley wanted to roll his eyes at Rilla's dismissal of one of the family's oldest friends, but the phrase Choose your battles came to mind.
"It won't make a difference, you know," he said. "I'm going to Queen's now, and - I'm still not - part of everything." That didn't come out right either. Shirley wished he lived in a land where all communication could be done through mime routines. These word things were not working out for him.
Rilla suddenly looked at him with sympathy. "Oh, Shirley."
"It doesn't matter," he said, wanting to avoid pity. "I only meant - continuing with school, going to college - it won't change anything. Jem and Walter and Nan and Di and Carl - they write all the time. They think about you all the time. You're not left behind, Rilla. Really."
"Oh." There was silence, and then she wriggled closer, leaning against him, and Shirley looped his arm around her shoulders.
"You aren't either, you know," she said, her voice so quiet Shirley barely heard it. A strange lump formed in his throat - and oh, he was not going let his baby sister make him cry.
"I know," he started, choosing his words slowly and carefully, "that we're not - close. But - you are my sister, and - if you need to - talk - "
"I know," Rilla said. "Some things don't need to be said. Besides, I think this is the most you've talked since you've come home." Then she elbowed him in the side.
"Ow," Shirley said. "We were having a moment, you know."