Notes: I wrote this for Velvetmouse as part of the yuletide2009 fan fiction exchange. If you haven't read the fics up on this exchange, you should! There's a good dozen or so new Little Women fics up on the archive, that haven't been posted her on ff.n. I also have three other new fics posted on that archive (under my more often assumed pseudonym, chiana606), .

Beth was alone. It was raining, not heavily as it had been a few days ago, but in that soft way that sounded nice, and made Beth glad that she was inside with a warm fire crackling nearby. She was knitting, and one of her cats lay half asleep in her lap. She had tried earlier to engage the cat in a game of chase-the-yarn, but she'd kept this one since she was a little girl, and it was as old and unfit for kittenish romping as Beth felt.

Jo had gone off to Mrs. Kirke's boarding house nearly a month ago; Beth knew that it was selfish to miss her, but she couldn't help it. Though Marmee and Father remained by her side, ever loving and watchful, Beth found that she spent much of her time in silence, her mind following paths which, once tread upon, led in dark and tangled directions such as she had never experienced in her young life.

And so she tried to keep busy. She plodded away at here needlework until she was too tired to do so, making little gifts for her sisters, and the kind gentleman next door, only occasionally indulging in the dark hope that these things would be a comfort to those who she must soon leave behind. When she had the energy, she played at her piano, but she found that the music exhausted her, and worse it made her ever more mournful for the world that she must leave behind. Somehow it seemed to Beth that to sit down at her piano and play was to rebel against the tide that was slowly turning against her, and as she had little experience in rebellion, and lacked the fortitude to carry it out, Beth began to play less and less, as if slowly weaning herself off of living…

She almost managed it. Really, she almost did. She had never been one to plan or to aspire, and she thought if anyone out of her family must die, than certainly she was the one least suited for living. Earthly things were pleasant, to be sure, but she thought that she could leave them behind without much difficulty if she tried her very hardest, and reminded herself that it was God and heaven that she gave herself over to now. It was people that were difficult. If she longed for Jo so terribly when it was mere earthly distance that separated them, how would she ever endure a heaven that Jo was not a part of?

With a ghost of a sigh, Beth let her ball of yarn drop, resting her cheek against the back of the couch. She could indulge in such listlessness for now, since Marmee was away, and Father was reading in his study and would not hear her. She'd had a headache since morning, and she decided that she would close her eyes for a little bit, and see if that made it go away.

It was not long before she was fast asleep.

When she awoke several hours later, she was distinctly aware of many things, before she opened up her eyes. Firstly, she could hear that it was raining harder now, and that a storm raged somewhere in in the distance. Secondly, she knew that someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and that that someone was now seated besides her on the couch. Beth blinked sleepily, and seeing that it was only Laurie, she stretched out her stiff arms in the direction of her toes, for her was perhaps the one young man in the world who she did not feel the least bit self conscious around.

"Sleeping beauty awakes," Laurie teased gently, and Beth found that she blushed, even though she knew he meant nothing by it.

"Have you been here for long?" Beth asked. She looked down at her knitting, which was a tangled mess in her lap, and which had left a long trail leading to under the piano, where the yarn ball had rolled.

"About half an hour," Laurie said, already bending under the piano bench to retrieve the yarn. "And you ought to know, you sleep more heavily than any log I've had the pleasure of meeting. I came stamping right in here and called out your name, and didn't even get a peep out of you."

"Oh," Said Beth, "I suppose I was tired."

"I'd say so," Was Laurie's agreeable reply. "Don't you want to return to your nap? You ought to take a lesson from your sister and learn when to cast me out for pestering you."

He handed her back the yarn which he'd gathered, and for an instant his fingers brushed against hers, and she looked up at him. Laurie was a man now. Beth had been realizing that more and more lately. She also had been noticing that, though romantic notions were quite new to her, whenever she thought of lovering it was Laurie who came to mind.

"You never pester me," Beth said simply, "I like to listen to you."

Laurie sighed at that, and Beth leaned forward as if to catch it, knowing at once who he was thinking of, and knowing it was right that he should think as he did.

"Do you miss Jo terribly?" She asked. Her voice was nearly a whisper, because having learned just the smallest thing about lovelornity, she knew that it was something that must be treated gently.

"Not in the least!" Was Laurie's gallant reply. "When she's about, a man risks life and limb coming over here." He made a dive for Jo's side of the couch, and lifted the horsehair pillow menacingly in an impression of its owner which made Beth laugh for the first time that day.

"You see," Said Beth, "This is why you need Jo about. She would scold you and keep you in line, but I can't bring myself to."

"Right you are. So, will you write her then and tell her that her boy is languishing for lack of management?"

"Perhaps… only I'm afraid that if I tell her you miss her, then I will let on that I miss her as well, and then she will come home before she is ready, and everything will be spoiled for her."

Laurie didn't answer her right away, appearing lost in thought, and as Beth was a quiet sort of person, she didn't feel the need to speak either. Finally, though, when the silence began to grow heavy, Beth took his hand and said, "Won't you tell me about what you and the other lads have been doing at school this week? You know how I look forward to your stories."

With that he launched into a story about cricket which Beth smiled at, but only half listened to, for she was thinking of him, and Jo, and how much she loved them both, and wanted to see them both happy.

"Do you think you will marry Jo?" Beth asked, quite abruptly when he'd paused for a moment. He looked at her in shock the instant that the words had existed her mouth, and Beth herself could hardly believe that she had said them.

"Do you think she would agree to it?" Laurie asked. For all that Beth had been thinking him a man earlier, he looked quite young when he asked that, and quite open to any misfortune that the world might throw his way.

"I hope so," Beth said, and seeing how his face fell at her uncertainty she added, "I think she must. You're so good for her. I don't see how she can help loving you for long."

Laurie kissed her cheek at that, looking as if she had just given him the world.

"I only hope that you're right," He said.

------

Later that night, Beth lay in her bed. Three little beds stood besides hers, empty, their inhabitants having flown off to try the world on their own, but for once Beth didn't feel lonely. She was imagining Laurie and Jo's wedding day, and the happiness she envisioned for them was enough to keep her company. She knew that she was right, and that it must come to pass. She only hoped that she would be able to witness it.