Author's note: A tiny, tiny fic I wrote a while ago and completely forgot about it. It's almost frivolous but definitely was fun to write - and I hope it will make you smile while reading it, too. I really want to continue it (ideally, it would be a four-shot) but there are so many reasons against it, so I'll be grateful if you tell me whether or not you'd like to read more of these.

Many thanks to Ten for (again!) proofreading the story for me - and to all of you for still sticking around.

God bless you, Kindred Spirits,

Part I


Gilbert Blythe winced as the word reached his ears and not only because he'd been surrounded by a nearly perfect silence of the Redmond library before. First, the silence was far from perfect – with the high school students visiting, wandering between the bookshelves, and gazing around as they learned about the rules set in that Holy Land of Books and Papers, he could hardly expect a moment of real peace. Besides, he was supposed to revise the material with Anne, so even when she didn't talk for a moment, he remained alert, ready to answer her doubts as soon as she voiced them.

No degree of vigilance could, however, make him ready for that.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" he asked, staring, with raised eyebrows, at his ginger-haired friend , a corner of his mouth twitching already. "I do not recollect making your acquaintance."

Anne glanced at him inattentively; she frowned at the sight of the silly expression he was wearing. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing; just pointing out how pleased I am to meet you now, Miss...?"

"What on – what's wrong with you?" the girl exclaimed, confused. The sudden move she made simultaneously resulted in both of her books and a notepad falling from the desk and hitting the ground with a loud thud. Anne was on her knees in a second. She looked up at her companion and hissed, "There's no one else in here, so who on earth are you talking to?"

"Why, you of course," he answered calmly, as if calling his best friend by some official title was a part of his everyday routine. "Although as I said, I can't say I recognise you as any of my many friends."

She grabbed her belongings and almost slammed them on top of the desk. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining already, as they did every time she felt at least a little bit agitated. She was more than that right now.

"Are you demented, Gil?" she quarried, staring him in the eye. "I'm not some strange, mysterious person. I'm me!"

"Anne, you just swore."

It is safe to say that she did not expect such an answer.

"What?" she asked after a few moments of silence and a few blinks of surprise. "And that's why you made me throw my books on the floor?"

"I didn't make you throw anything," he protested, "and it's not like you could blame me if I had. You almost gave me a heart attack with that spurt – you should be grateful I've decided to turn it into a joke instead of collapsing right at your feet."

"Gil, you're ridiculous."

"Anne, you're swearing."

"I'm not – ugh!" She groaned and hit the desk with her forehead, covering her head with her arms right after. "I've said it once in your presence, right now. What's the big deal? We're adults, for goodness' sake. A few bad words here and there won't kill anyone, will they?"

"Your usual language policy says otherwise – wait, what do you mean 'in my presence'? You want to tell me you do it more often when I'm not around?"

"I don't. But I won't pretend I hadn't slipped a few times."

"Oh, dear," Gilbert sighed emphatically, his voice significantly higher, and clasped his hand together as if he really was one of those 19th century ladies he was trying to (poorly) reenact. "Does that mean you can swear? As in, different than the 'I take thee to be my bosom friend' kind of swearing? Wait, don't tell me; I'm not sure I'm ready to learn the answer to that."

"Of course I can, you idiot," Anne replied mercilessly. Gilbert pressed his hand against his chest and raised his eyes to the ceiling in another mockery of a heart attack, a performance his friend chose to ignore. "I am a grown up student majoring in English, and believe it or not, swearing is actually a language phenomenon and can be extremely interesting when treated as such. Moreover – and that's another fact you may find incomprehensible – I am just a human being, and a hot-tempered one at that, and thus I sometimes fail to control my language in the ways I would wish to - no matter how determined I am not to let it happen in general."

She was gazing at him expectantly, daring him to contradict her again. He didn't, shaking his head and giving her a warm smile instead.

"That makes more sense than I thought it would, although it doesn't really take the shock away," he admitted. "But all that aside, what is it that made you swear in the first place? It must have been bad to make you react like this."

Anne sighed, suddenly remembering the reason for her initial distress and fixed her gaze on the book before her.

"I've just realised that I misunderstood Professor Atwell during the class last week, and consequently, I focused on the wrong parts of the material required for today's test. Which means, I'm going to fail. Tremendously. For sure." Her forehead hit the desk again. "Fuck."

Gilbert thought he really shouldn't laugh at her.

Oh well.