"Selfish/Selfless" - Anne of the Island - Philippa/Anne, Gilbert/Anne - G
Title: Selfish/Selfless
Fandom: Anne of the Island
Pairing: Phil/Anne, Gilbert/Anne
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Apologies, for taking something that is not mine so far from its intent. Parts of the dialogue are lifted from the text, these parts are not mine.
Summary: It’s what’s best for you and what’s best for her.
Notes: Written in 76 minutes for the Sliding Doors type challenge. Takes some dialogue directly from the book, just switches POV on it. Takes place in Chapter 20 of Anne of the Island, so expect spoilers for that. The first part goes with both stories, then they split.
Philippa Gordon had changed almost everything about herself when she had met Anne Shirley. Not things about her outside, mind, just things inside her. Before she met Anne, everything about her future had been marvelously clear, but after Anne it fogged up like a mirror after you breathe on it. Phil had planned to marry one of her boys, and to live out her life in wealth and joy, as her nose slowly faded from its current tolerable appearance into ruin. But Anne… Anne had changed that.
Anne was none of the things Phil would have sought in a match, being not rich, nor struck mad with love for her, nor even a beau, but that did not prevent Phil from falling in love with her. There was something about Anne that made even Phil, who had sworn that she would never love anyone, believe in love, and feel it for her.
Phil watched Anne outside of Patty’s Place, stroking Rusty in perfect contentment. She was in the orchard, on a rock, and for the thirtieth time in the years of knowing Anne, Phil wished she could paint, because Anne would look wonderful among the apple trees, even with Rusty and his tattered ears.
It was when Gilbert Blythe, tall, dark Gilbert Blythe entered the portrait Phil was sketching in her mind that she bristled. It was not that Phil did not like Gilbert-in truth, he was a handsome, kind man who Phil might have considered for a husband, were her not poor and not Anne.
The selfish part of Philippa Gordon wanted to leave the pantry on the pretence of taking a piece of pie to Anne, something trivial like that which would prevent Anne and Gilbert from having that fateful conversation that would undo everything Phil dreamed of-though she wasn’t even sure what she dreamed of, for certainly she could never marry Anne. She looked to the pie, to the orchard, to Anne and Gilbert. She made her decision.
Selfish
Phil stepped out of the house, carrying a piece of lemon pie for Anne. She saw Anne absently holding a bunch of Mayflowers and Gilbert, nervous. Yes, he was doing just what she thought.
“You mustn’t work too HARD,” she heard Anne say. “You’ve studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightful evening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine.”
“You are always discovering gold mines,” Gilbert replied. He seemed on the verge of saying more, and Phil spoke.
“Anne! I’ve brought you some…” she allowed the words to die on her lips, as if she had only just noticed Gilbert. “Oh, but I am interrupting! Silly Phil, I should have looked out to see if you were alone, Queen Anne. Don’t mind me, I’ll go back into the house…” she smiled to herself. It amazed her that it could be so obvious she had brains, and yet still no one thought her capable of being intelligent. Anne would never let her go, for that was not Anne’s way. And Gilbert, Phil had known from the moment she saw him with Anne, would go with Anne’s way as much as he was able.
“No, Phil, do stay!” she exclaimed. “I was just thinking of fetching you. I thought we might go look for white violets. I found the loveliest patch earlier today.”
“Oh, but what of Gilbert?” she asked, all innocence. Gilbert too looked as though he wanted to say something more to Anne, but Anne did not notice. Phil wondered if Anne had truly not noticed what was about to transpire, or if there was some hope that, perhaps, she had seen and did not want it. It was too much to hope for because Phil knew it was not true.
“Oh, don’t mind me, Phil,” he said quickly. “We were just talking about our plans for the summer. I’ll find you later, Anne.”
He walked off into the night, not humming as Phil might have expected, but contemplative. Perhaps, she thought brightly, he would take this as a sign that he was not meant to propose to Anne Shirley.
“Would you like your pie then, Queen Anne?” she asked.
“Oh, dear Phil, what am I to do?” Anne replied, casting herself down on the grass of the orchard. “I am sure Gilbert would have asked me to marry him!” she wailed. Phil blinked. Anne was not delighted. She had known Anne stubborn about Gilbert, but had always thought it to be only foolish denial. After all Anne’s lofty talk of love, Phil found it unimaginable that she could miss the ideal she’d always wanted right in front of her eyes. But perhaps there was hope yet.
“You do not wish that?”
“No! Gilbert is my companion, my chum. Oh, I am very fond of him, but I do not love him.”
Phil considered. “Why ever not?”
Anne looked up at the sky. “Don’t you think that when you meet the person you will love, there should be something? Shooting stars, flashes of light, fireworks, angels singing, ROMANCE, Phil! There was nothing of that when I met Gilbert, just the crack of my slate on his head. There is nothing romantic in that.”
“Remember who you’re speaking to, Anne Shirley. I don’t love people,” she lied, and put it on her list of sins for the night. Selfishness, falsehoods.
“Surely you’ve imagined, Phil,” said Anne, somehow both miserable and idealistic at the same time.
“Yes,” she said, choosing to not sin again. “But Anne, what shall you do if you never find those sparks and flashes?”
“I shall die an old maid, I suppose, cursed to marvel at other people’s children. Diana’s and Stella’s and Pricilla’s and yours shall have to do. I will be “Aunt Anne” to all and mother to none. Teaching is a good occupation for the maid who loves children.”
“Never, Queen Anne! I will not allow you to be a maid alone,” Phil avowed. Anne looked at her.
“Phil, you will marry Alec or Alonso or anyone else that takes your fancy. Do not condemn your future for the sake of my romanticism.”
“I can think of no worthier cause to condemn anything for. I would die for the beauty of your vision of the world.”
Anne did not speak for a moment. Phil was struck by a sudden courage.
“And I cannot have anyone that takes my fancy, you know.”
“You have almost all of Redmond, Phil. They would all marry you in an instant.”
“I could not have Gilbert Blythe,” she said, and then, slowly, “and I could not have you.”
“Goodness, Phil, what do you mean by that? You have me right now, as we sit here.”
“I do not have you as you have Gilbert Blythe,” she said, and then swallowed. “Nor as you have me.”
It was a selfish thing to say, to bring her feelings up as Anne was in such terrible shape over Gilbert, but Phil had already been selfish and so she carried on.
“Phil…” Anne said, unsurely. “Girls don’t. I mean, only boys have girls like that. Girls don’t have other girls like that.”
“Well,” said Phil, her voice strange to her own ears, “they must, mustn’t they? If I were a boy, I’d have asked you to marry me already, so you must have me.”
“Phil, I.”
Phil smiled, not wanting to hear Anne’s reply because she already knew it. “You love Gilbert Blythe.”
“I don’t,” said Anne, stubbornly. “I don’t love Gilbert. And if you were a boy, you’re the right complexion for a handsome prince, but…”
“Girls don’t,” replied Phil, smiling.
Anne shook her head. “If they did, though…”
Phil looked up, interested. “If they did, neither of us would die old maids,” said Anne, shades of regret lighting her voice like a sunset.
Phil wasn’t sure it was true, but it certainly made her feel better. That was what Anne did, made her feel better. She could almost see to forgiving herself her selfishness, because if Queen Anne had, God would almost certainly follow.
Selfless
Phil watched the scene from the window, powerless to move. Before she’d met Anne, she would have gone out without a second thought, but some of Anne’s goodness and selflessness must have been rubbing off on her, for even though she couldn’t leave the window to give them privacy, she was not going out to stop the inevitable. It was almost funny to think of it-the evolution of Philippa Gordon took her away from what she wanted.
Anne was on the rock with Gilbert, almost frantic. She could see the redhead’s silhouette shaking against the sky and the trees. Phil had never felt anything so strong about a proposal, never cared at all about it. She wasn’t even sure Anne would accept this proposal, though she should-Anne was awfully stubborn about these things, especially about denying feeling anything for Gilbert Blythe. Imagine-Gilbert Blythe, with whom half the Redmond girls longed for a chance more than anyone! Not Phil of course, but what a match for Queen Anne. If only she noticed.
She watched Gilbert leave, watched Anne fleeing inside, heard the trample of her feet on the stairs and the slam of a door.
If she had been selfish, she could have taken some advantage in this situation, gained some benefit, perhaps even won Anne for herself with a few choice words. She rose and walked up into Anne’s room, crossing the moonlight towards the window seat.
“What is the matter, honey?” she asked.
Her only answer was sobs. Phil sighed.
“I suppose,” she said, her voice unsure that this was truly what she wanted to say, “you’ve gone and refused Gilbert Blythe,” and she paused again. Selfless. “You are an idiot, Anne Shirley!”
‘All I ever wanted for you, from the moment I met you, was for you to be happy!’ she would have liked to continue. ‘And here you are, too blind to notice that the romantic ideal you’ve been dreaming of for as long as you’ve been alive is right in front of you, tripping and bumbling just to please you!’ She wasn’t sure, in her mind, if she was referring herself or Gilbert.
“Do you call it idiotic to refuse to marry a man I don’t love?” asked Anne, her voice icy.
“You don't know love when you see it,” she told Anne, sitting down at the chair at the desk. She wasn’t sure, in her mind, if she was referring to herself or Gilbert. “You've tricked something out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing to look like that. There, that's the first sensible thing I've ever said in my life. I wonder how I managed it?” she smiled, slightly, recovering from the effort of her wisdom.
“Phil,” said Anne, in the tiniest, saddest, most broken voice Phil had ever heard Anne use, “please go away and leave me alone for a little while. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it.”
Phil sighed. It was hard to be selfless; especially when all she wanted was to gather Anne in her arms and assure her no ill would come to her ever again. Instead, she left it, left Anne for Gilbert to attend to, who would be able to heal her so much better, one day.
“Without any Gilbert in it?” she asked, stepping out the door to leave Anne to her thoughts.
She wondered why, if selfishness was such a divine and desirable quality, it didn’t feel less empty.
Fandom: Anne of the Island
Pairing: Phil/Anne, Gilbert/Anne
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Apologies, for taking something that is not mine so far from its intent. Parts of the dialogue are lifted from the text, these parts are not mine.
Summary: It’s what’s best for you and what’s best for her.
Notes: Written in 76 minutes for the Sliding Doors type challenge. Takes some dialogue directly from the book, just switches POV on it. Takes place in Chapter 20 of Anne of the Island, so expect spoilers for that. The first part goes with both stories, then they split.
Philippa Gordon had changed almost everything about herself when she had met Anne Shirley. Not things about her outside, mind, just things inside her. Before she met Anne, everything about her future had been marvelously clear, but after Anne it fogged up like a mirror after you breathe on it. Phil had planned to marry one of her boys, and to live out her life in wealth and joy, as her nose slowly faded from its current tolerable appearance into ruin. But Anne… Anne had changed that.
Anne was none of the things Phil would have sought in a match, being not rich, nor struck mad with love for her, nor even a beau, but that did not prevent Phil from falling in love with her. There was something about Anne that made even Phil, who had sworn that she would never love anyone, believe in love, and feel it for her.
Phil watched Anne outside of Patty’s Place, stroking Rusty in perfect contentment. She was in the orchard, on a rock, and for the thirtieth time in the years of knowing Anne, Phil wished she could paint, because Anne would look wonderful among the apple trees, even with Rusty and his tattered ears.
It was when Gilbert Blythe, tall, dark Gilbert Blythe entered the portrait Phil was sketching in her mind that she bristled. It was not that Phil did not like Gilbert-in truth, he was a handsome, kind man who Phil might have considered for a husband, were her not poor and not Anne.
The selfish part of Philippa Gordon wanted to leave the pantry on the pretence of taking a piece of pie to Anne, something trivial like that which would prevent Anne and Gilbert from having that fateful conversation that would undo everything Phil dreamed of-though she wasn’t even sure what she dreamed of, for certainly she could never marry Anne. She looked to the pie, to the orchard, to Anne and Gilbert. She made her decision.
Selfish
Phil stepped out of the house, carrying a piece of lemon pie for Anne. She saw Anne absently holding a bunch of Mayflowers and Gilbert, nervous. Yes, he was doing just what she thought.
“You mustn’t work too HARD,” she heard Anne say. “You’ve studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightful evening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine.”
“You are always discovering gold mines,” Gilbert replied. He seemed on the verge of saying more, and Phil spoke.
“Anne! I’ve brought you some…” she allowed the words to die on her lips, as if she had only just noticed Gilbert. “Oh, but I am interrupting! Silly Phil, I should have looked out to see if you were alone, Queen Anne. Don’t mind me, I’ll go back into the house…” she smiled to herself. It amazed her that it could be so obvious she had brains, and yet still no one thought her capable of being intelligent. Anne would never let her go, for that was not Anne’s way. And Gilbert, Phil had known from the moment she saw him with Anne, would go with Anne’s way as much as he was able.
“No, Phil, do stay!” she exclaimed. “I was just thinking of fetching you. I thought we might go look for white violets. I found the loveliest patch earlier today.”
“Oh, but what of Gilbert?” she asked, all innocence. Gilbert too looked as though he wanted to say something more to Anne, but Anne did not notice. Phil wondered if Anne had truly not noticed what was about to transpire, or if there was some hope that, perhaps, she had seen and did not want it. It was too much to hope for because Phil knew it was not true.
“Oh, don’t mind me, Phil,” he said quickly. “We were just talking about our plans for the summer. I’ll find you later, Anne.”
He walked off into the night, not humming as Phil might have expected, but contemplative. Perhaps, she thought brightly, he would take this as a sign that he was not meant to propose to Anne Shirley.
“Would you like your pie then, Queen Anne?” she asked.
“Oh, dear Phil, what am I to do?” Anne replied, casting herself down on the grass of the orchard. “I am sure Gilbert would have asked me to marry him!” she wailed. Phil blinked. Anne was not delighted. She had known Anne stubborn about Gilbert, but had always thought it to be only foolish denial. After all Anne’s lofty talk of love, Phil found it unimaginable that she could miss the ideal she’d always wanted right in front of her eyes. But perhaps there was hope yet.
“You do not wish that?”
“No! Gilbert is my companion, my chum. Oh, I am very fond of him, but I do not love him.”
Phil considered. “Why ever not?”
Anne looked up at the sky. “Don’t you think that when you meet the person you will love, there should be something? Shooting stars, flashes of light, fireworks, angels singing, ROMANCE, Phil! There was nothing of that when I met Gilbert, just the crack of my slate on his head. There is nothing romantic in that.”
“Remember who you’re speaking to, Anne Shirley. I don’t love people,” she lied, and put it on her list of sins for the night. Selfishness, falsehoods.
“Surely you’ve imagined, Phil,” said Anne, somehow both miserable and idealistic at the same time.
“Yes,” she said, choosing to not sin again. “But Anne, what shall you do if you never find those sparks and flashes?”
“I shall die an old maid, I suppose, cursed to marvel at other people’s children. Diana’s and Stella’s and Pricilla’s and yours shall have to do. I will be “Aunt Anne” to all and mother to none. Teaching is a good occupation for the maid who loves children.”
“Never, Queen Anne! I will not allow you to be a maid alone,” Phil avowed. Anne looked at her.
“Phil, you will marry Alec or Alonso or anyone else that takes your fancy. Do not condemn your future for the sake of my romanticism.”
“I can think of no worthier cause to condemn anything for. I would die for the beauty of your vision of the world.”
Anne did not speak for a moment. Phil was struck by a sudden courage.
“And I cannot have anyone that takes my fancy, you know.”
“You have almost all of Redmond, Phil. They would all marry you in an instant.”
“I could not have Gilbert Blythe,” she said, and then, slowly, “and I could not have you.”
“Goodness, Phil, what do you mean by that? You have me right now, as we sit here.”
“I do not have you as you have Gilbert Blythe,” she said, and then swallowed. “Nor as you have me.”
It was a selfish thing to say, to bring her feelings up as Anne was in such terrible shape over Gilbert, but Phil had already been selfish and so she carried on.
“Phil…” Anne said, unsurely. “Girls don’t. I mean, only boys have girls like that. Girls don’t have other girls like that.”
“Well,” said Phil, her voice strange to her own ears, “they must, mustn’t they? If I were a boy, I’d have asked you to marry me already, so you must have me.”
“Phil, I.”
Phil smiled, not wanting to hear Anne’s reply because she already knew it. “You love Gilbert Blythe.”
“I don’t,” said Anne, stubbornly. “I don’t love Gilbert. And if you were a boy, you’re the right complexion for a handsome prince, but…”
“Girls don’t,” replied Phil, smiling.
Anne shook her head. “If they did, though…”
Phil looked up, interested. “If they did, neither of us would die old maids,” said Anne, shades of regret lighting her voice like a sunset.
Phil wasn’t sure it was true, but it certainly made her feel better. That was what Anne did, made her feel better. She could almost see to forgiving herself her selfishness, because if Queen Anne had, God would almost certainly follow.
Selfless
Phil watched the scene from the window, powerless to move. Before she’d met Anne, she would have gone out without a second thought, but some of Anne’s goodness and selflessness must have been rubbing off on her, for even though she couldn’t leave the window to give them privacy, she was not going out to stop the inevitable. It was almost funny to think of it-the evolution of Philippa Gordon took her away from what she wanted.
Anne was on the rock with Gilbert, almost frantic. She could see the redhead’s silhouette shaking against the sky and the trees. Phil had never felt anything so strong about a proposal, never cared at all about it. She wasn’t even sure Anne would accept this proposal, though she should-Anne was awfully stubborn about these things, especially about denying feeling anything for Gilbert Blythe. Imagine-Gilbert Blythe, with whom half the Redmond girls longed for a chance more than anyone! Not Phil of course, but what a match for Queen Anne. If only she noticed.
She watched Gilbert leave, watched Anne fleeing inside, heard the trample of her feet on the stairs and the slam of a door.
If she had been selfish, she could have taken some advantage in this situation, gained some benefit, perhaps even won Anne for herself with a few choice words. She rose and walked up into Anne’s room, crossing the moonlight towards the window seat.
“What is the matter, honey?” she asked.
Her only answer was sobs. Phil sighed.
“I suppose,” she said, her voice unsure that this was truly what she wanted to say, “you’ve gone and refused Gilbert Blythe,” and she paused again. Selfless. “You are an idiot, Anne Shirley!”
‘All I ever wanted for you, from the moment I met you, was for you to be happy!’ she would have liked to continue. ‘And here you are, too blind to notice that the romantic ideal you’ve been dreaming of for as long as you’ve been alive is right in front of you, tripping and bumbling just to please you!’ She wasn’t sure, in her mind, if she was referring herself or Gilbert.
“Do you call it idiotic to refuse to marry a man I don’t love?” asked Anne, her voice icy.
“You don't know love when you see it,” she told Anne, sitting down at the chair at the desk. She wasn’t sure, in her mind, if she was referring to herself or Gilbert. “You've tricked something out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing to look like that. There, that's the first sensible thing I've ever said in my life. I wonder how I managed it?” she smiled, slightly, recovering from the effort of her wisdom.
“Phil,” said Anne, in the tiniest, saddest, most broken voice Phil had ever heard Anne use, “please go away and leave me alone for a little while. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it.”
Phil sighed. It was hard to be selfless; especially when all she wanted was to gather Anne in her arms and assure her no ill would come to her ever again. Instead, she left it, left Anne for Gilbert to attend to, who would be able to heal her so much better, one day.
“Without any Gilbert in it?” she asked, stepping out the door to leave Anne to her thoughts.
She wondered why, if selfishness was such a divine and desirable quality, it didn’t feel less empty.