Chapter Text
“You have got to be kidding me,” Anne seethed, yanking her wrist in a futile attempt to separate herself from Gilbert Blythe. The metal cuffs dug into her skin, the short chain between them rattling mockingly.
“This is completely and utterly your fault!” she snapped. “How could you drop the key?!”
Gilbert shot her an incredulous look. “My fault? You’re the one who put the handcuffs on!”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE PERP!” Anne shouted.
They stood in the middle of a dimly lit alley, the flashing red-and-blue lights of a squad car reflecting off the damp pavement. A few feet away, the actual perpetrator—a wiry man with shifty eyes and a ski mask half hanging off his face—was being shoved into the back of the car by their lieutenant.
Lieutenant Rachel Lynde turned to them with a look of pure exasperation. “You two better tell me this is some kind of tactical decision.”
Anne straightened. “Well, you see—”
“She handcuffed me,” Gilbert cut in, tugging on their joined wrists. “Without probable cause, might I add.”
Anne glared at him. “You were acting suspicious! And sneaking around in the dark!”
“It’s called undercover work, Anne,” Gilbert gritted out.
“Oh,” Anne muttered. “Right.”
“Right.”
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. “Where’s the key?”
Silence. Then:
“He dropped it,” Anne announced.
Gilbert groaned. “I had it. And then someone tackled me to the ground, so technically—”
Rachel held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. We’ll get a spare from the precinct. In the meantime, you’re stuck. Together.”
Anne groaned, while Gilbert smirked. “I hope you like sharing personal space, Carrots.”
She shot him a withering glare. “I hope you like hospital beds, Blythe.”
He laughed, and Anne had a horrible feeling that, despite everything, he was enjoying this way too much.
---
Anne yanked on the cuffs again. Still locked.
“Are you absolutely sure there isn’t a spare key?” she asked for the tenth time, pacing across the precinct’s bullpen. Gilbert sat beside her at a shared desk, his arm moving in sync with hers whether he liked it or not.
Sergeant Diana Barry grimaced, flipping through a box of keys. “I’ve checked everywhere, Anne. The last backup key was used on that incident last month with Moody Spurgeon—”
“The rookie who got himself handcuffed to a coat rack?” Gilbert smirked. “Classic.”
Diana sighed. “And the new set hasn’t come in yet. Our locksmith is on vacation until Monday.”
Anne froze. “Monday?! That’s three days from now!”
“Two and a half,” Gilbert corrected.
She whirled on him. “Oh, that’s so much better, Blythe. Do you realize what this means?”
Gilbert leaned back in his chair, their joined wrists forcing Anne to follow. “We’re going to be spending a lot of quality time together?”
“More like I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Anne muttered.
Diana winced. “Actually… you two might want to figure out some kind of sleeping arrangement. Because, well…” She trailed off, looking anywhere but at them.
Anne stared. “Oh no.”
Gilbert grinned. “Oh yes.”
Anne groaned and sank into her chair, resting her forehead dramatically on the desk. “This is a nightmare.”
Rachel Lynde, who had been listening from her office doorway, snorted. “Consider it a lesson in teamwork. Maybe by the end of the weekend, you two will finally learn how to work together without biting each other’s heads off.”
Anne lifted her head just enough to glare at her superior. “Or one of us won’t make it to Monday.”
Rachel smirked. “In that case, I’d put my money on Blythe.”
Gilbert chuckled. “Harsh but fair.”
Diana sighed. “Alright, you two. Let’s get practical—where are you staying?”
Silence. Then, at the same time:
“My apartment.”
“My apartment.”
They turned to stare at each other.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Anne said.
Gilbert arched a brow. “You think I want to stay at your place?”
Anne crossed her arms—well, tried to, but their cuffs made the movement clumsy. “I have a routine, Blythe. A structured, peaceful environment. No way am I disrupting that by staying at your bachelor cave.”
Gilbert scoffed. “Anne, I hate to break it to you, but your ‘structured, peaceful environment’ is a cluttered apartment filled with half-read books, empty coffee cups, and an untrained cat named Marilla who hates me.”
Anne gasped. “Marilla does not hate you! She just… has standards.”
“Oh yeah? Then why does she hiss at me every time I come over?”
“She’s asserting boundaries, Gilbert.”
Diana cleared her throat. “Guys. Focus.”
They both scowled.
Rachel smirked. “It’s simple. You alternate.”
Anne blinked. “What?”
“One night at his place, one night at yours. That way, it’s fair.”
Anne groaned. Gilbert grinned. Diana patted Anne’s shoulder sympathetically.
“This is going to be the worst weekend of my life,” Anne muttered.
Gilbert’s smirk widened. “Or the best.”
Anne yanked on the cuffs again.
They didn’t budge.
---
By the time they left the precinct, Anne’s frustration had reached nuclear levels. The cuffs clanked obnoxiously between them as they made their way to Gilbert’s car in the parking lot.
“I’m driving,” Anne announced, already reaching for the driver’s side door.
Gilbert snorted. “Yeah, no.” He held up their joined hands. “You’d have to steer one-handed—unless you want to hold hands the entire time.”
Anne recoiled. “I—what—absolutely not!”
“Then I’m driving.” He opened the passenger door and waited expectantly.
She huffed but climbed in, grumbling under her breath. “Just don’t drive like a maniac.”
Gilbert slid in beside her, adjusting his seatbelt carefully around their linked wrists. “Relax, Carrots. I’ll get us home in one piece.”
Anne groaned. “I should’ve let the perp tackle me instead.”
---
Anne was not impressed.
Gilbert’s apartment was annoyingly nice—clean, stylish, and just messy enough to be charming. Books were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, a half-finished cup of tea sat on the counter, and the scent of cedarwood and something warm—like cinnamon—lingered in the air.
The worst part? a couch and a single bed.
Anne turned slowly to face him. “Where exactly am I sleeping?”
Gilbert grinned. “i assumed we would share the bed.”
Anne narrowed her eyes. “I don’t trust you.”
“I’m wounded.” He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “I’d never—”
“Blythe, I swear to God, if you snuggle me in your sleep—”
“I am an excellent cuddler,” he mused.
Anne pointed a finger at him. “Do not test me.”
His smirk only widened. “Don’t worry, Carrots. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He jangled the cuffs between them. “Well. As much as I can.”
Anne exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I get the bed tonight. You get it tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Gilbert checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight. We should crash.”
Anne sighed. “I need to shower first.”
Gilbert arched a brow. “Uh… how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Anne paled.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
She groaned, rubbing her temples. “This is going to be a long weekend.”
Gilbert grinned. “You have no idea.”