A/N: This is the thing. My brain, as I said on Tumblr not long ago, is like a pinball game sometimes. I plan on "x" happening when I pull the spring back and let the ball fly, but sometimes, "y" happens instead and the ball careens out of my control and I'm reduced to hitting it with whatever paddles it finds.

Pinball as a writer's metaphor. Go figure.

Anyway, while I was supposed to be writing *my* redhead (a man of Irish and Norse decent, who has found out a shocking truth), I was moved to change things for another redhead. Anne Shirley.

I love Anne and Gilbert. I love the series. But you know me. I can't leave well enough alone. So here's an AU from Anne of Green Gables. Chapter 28, for those who know the book.

"Anne, look here," Gilbert begged. His heart was pounding in his chest as Anne Shirley, the light of his world, seemed to hesitate, lips parted to say something—undoubtedly cutting—to him. "Can't we be friends?"

It had been a fine afternoon, all told. Time spent helping his father, taking some supplies to neighbors, rounding it all off with some time alone. A man needed time to himself, his mother had told him when he'd been but a boy and his father had gone off to tend to the horses alone when he, Gilbert, had very much wanted to help. Learning the truth of his mother's words had made him feel more adult.

And let him just . . . think. About things. About what he wanted to do with himself. How he was planning on studying for Queens to pass for a teacher. How he wanted to go to Redmond after that and prepare for medical school. He had such dreams . . .

Dreams that always had a starry-eyed, red-haired girl in them. Dreams that included a house in a place like Avonlea. Dreams that included a blazing fire in a hearth, friends, and comfortable conversation. Oh, there were other dreams, as well. Warmer ones that he daren't dwell upon much past dawn. Dreams in which Anne Shirley, jewel of Prince Edward Island, danced in his arms at a nameless ball. He'd walk her home, her hand at his elbow, and there, just at the gate to Green Gables, he would dare to touch her fine, clear cheek with his rough fingers. And she'd look up at him, a welcome in her eyes he had never seen in life itself, and he'd lean down and dare—dare!—to brush her lips with his. She would whisper his name and smile at him and, if the dream were particularly generous, she'd let him do it again.

And again.

Until the sun slanted over his face to remind him that the only way Anne Shirley would ever kiss him would be if he were unconscious.

He always banished those dreams as he climbed from his bed, mentally pushing them under his pillow to be revisited when all light had fled. Because he knew that Anne Shirley wasn't speaking to him, though he'd begged her forgiveness for what had been a moment of fun for him, but he had since learnt had humiliated her past all bearing.

He never would have called her Carrots if he'd known it would have sparked her long-held wrath.

A wrath he could see in her eyes, even through her embarrassment, as he'd extended his hand to help her from the piling. Harmon Andrews would be glad to know his dory had been put to good use, Gilbert decided. Anne was dripping wet, holding a shawl and what looked like wet crepe—though what she'd been up to, he wouldn't even hazard a guess. He did ask, though, and she told him, her nose turned up and her skin pink with what he guessed was anger and mortification.

Oh, she would not be amused that she had required rescuing, least of all from him.

So, he let it go and rowed her to the landing as she requested. And she'd coolly dismissed him.

Just like that.

Those dreams of his, all of them, rushed to the forefront of Gilbert's mind and he had to do something about them. Lunging from the dory, he dashed to head Miss Anne Shirley off before she could get away from him.

"I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time." He looked at her hair now, wet and skimming her head shoulders. It had the most beautiful shadings to it and he'd never make fun of it now. "I didn't mean to vex you and I only meant it for a joke." He slid his hat off his head and gripped it in both hands. "Besides, it's so long ago. I think your hair is awfully pretty now—honest I do. Let's be friends."

Anne's focus was a bit unnerving, and he felt shy, as if she could somehow see his daydreams. His plans. The way red hair figured so prominently in his wishes for the future. But still, her hesitation gave him hope.

Don't say anything else, you oaf, he told himself sternly. You've asked and asked . . . It's her turn.

But what if . . . ?

Quiet! She's taking a breath!

Abandoning his inner dialogue, Gilbert gripped his poor hat even more tightly—ruining it in all likelihood, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"It really was a terrible thing to say to a girl you didn't even know," Anne told him slowly, her voice unsteady but her eyes not wavering from their focus. He couldn't look away. "But it was terrible of me to lose control of my temper, too," she admitted.

He could see her cheeks redden and he had to clench his fists even tighter to keep from touching the pink circles on her face. "I learned my lesson," he told her, smiling a little. "Most important one I learned all year, I think."

She laughed a little then, dropping her gaze at last and shifting her feet. "Well, it was not a banner year for academia, to be sure."

It was quiet for more than a moment and the tension between them felt thick and wavy. Gilbert cleared his throat. "So, friends, Anne?"

Her gray gaze darted to his face and he worked at making his expression pleasant, not desperate. "I, I think I'd like that, Gilbert."

Surprise gripped him so hard that he had to struggle for his next breath. His smile was stupid, he was sure, but he could not have cared less. "Thank you! I think we'll make famous friends."

"Oh! Friends! My friends! They'll be so worried about me. I have to go, Gil—"

He took the truncation of his name to heart, for she had said it with such a familiar ease that it seemed as if they'd always been Gil and Anne and would always be Gil and Anne until the world ended.

"What kind of heroic figure would I be if I didn't rescue the Lily Maid?" he asked in a teasing tone.

She blushed, but smiled sheepishly. "A hero who promised never to mention it again?"

He laughed and tugged the dripping shawl from her arms, wringing it out and stepping back from her. "Do you need a ride to find them or are we walking?"

She sniffled a little but he didn't have a handkerchief for her so he ignored the sound entirely so as not to make her more uncomfortable. "Walking. I'm not sure where they might have gone! They probably think I've drowned by now."

He offered her his arm in the most casual way he knew, while making note of where he'd left Harmon Andrews's dory. That she took his arm surprised him yet again, but he didn't say anything about it; he was afraid she'd shy away if he did. "They would know you better than that, Anne, I'm sure. You're a heroine, in Avonlea anyway. You saved Minnie May's life, right?"

Her ruddy brows flew upward but she merely ducked her head. "I just was happy to know what to do. Bringing up twins had its benefits."

He smiled, making like he was at ease, but he really wasn't. There was so much about Anne he didn't know. So much he wanted to learn. "I imagine it would. Sounds like a good story in there, Anne Shirley."

"No," she said with an abrupt shake of her head. "At least, not today."

"Anne! Oh, Anne! We thought you were dead!" Ruby Gillis appeared over a rise in the ground and her sobs echoed off the very trees.

Gilbert came to quick halt, exchanging a laughing look with Anne. "You were right!" he declared.

Her smile was a bit smug, but he supposed he could live with that.

He escorted the girls back to Green Gables, refusing Miss Cuthbert's offer of tea, using the dory as an excuse. Gilbert had the feeling that he had accomplished a great deal that day and he didn't want to ruin it by overstaying his welcome in Anne's presence.

"Still," he mused aloud as he reached the dory to row it back to its home moorings, "we're friends. Friends is good. More than I ever expected this summer, that's for certain. Thought I'd have to be dead or dying myself, like Minnie May, to get a soft word from Anne Shirley."

His thoughts on the walk home in the golden light of the afternoon were hopeful ones. His Lily Maid had relented and he could, perhaps, keep his daydreams alive.

And that's a wrap. Just a one-shot. Just a what-if. Just a thing I had to jot down because it wouldn't leave me alone. And now I have to pull the spring on the pinball game again. ;-)