#detirmination

Mary had finally been able to tear herself away from the Wilksinsons just after two. She was a bit irate they had kept her so long, on her day off of all days. A woman makes plans, for these occasions, but Mrs. Wilkinson seemed to have forgotten that. In her room, Mary stared in her mirror, making sure that not a hair was out of place. Finally, she straightened out her hat, put on the heather grey coat, to match her skirt, tucked her umbrella under her arm, and left the house.

She sighed pleasantly the moment she was outside. It was a lovely day, cold but sunny. Straight away, she headed for the park, which was a bit further off, in the new home. A part of her longed for the days she worked for the Banks’, who lived just across the road from it, but she wasn’t too upset. Exercise was never a bad thing, after all.

Several blocks of walking later, she caught her first glimpse of the green grass. Mary picked up her pace just a bit, heading for the square that Bert always set himself up at. Down the sidewalk, through the wrought iron gate, following the paths through the trees, finally out the other side, and there he was, just like always. She approached quietly, and acted the part of any bystander, looking at the images he’d made that day. She crouched down beside him and rest her chin on her knuckles, watching his hand move across the lovely scene. “Perhaps add a bird or two in the sky.”

"Oh, yeah yeah, that’d break it up-" He had just finished the clouds, and without looking up he fumbled in his towel for the burnt umber- he had always just called it Dark Brown until a real artsy-fartsy type had come to appraise his work and taught him the correct terminology, and with a flick of his hand there was soon several swooping through the curling grey and blues of the sky. It was overcast in his painting, but the cheery sort of overcast that allowed glimpses of sunlight to pour down onto the flower-dotted field below.  

It was a far cry from the tiger ripping apart a deer and other more adventurous scenes he had tried when he was younger. Even so, in the cool weather there were hardly any paying observers today.

Mary smirked. He was so absorbed in his work, that he hadn’t even noticed her. Not really anyway. She just stayed there beside him, grinning at him. Waiting wasn’t a problem. She sort of liked watching the way his brow would furrow when he was focused, or the way he would stick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

"There!" With a flourish and a few last touches, he was done, sitting up proudly and only then realized just who was watching him. "Oh! When’d you get here, Miss Mary!" He was a right mess, and he knew it, but it could be worse- and had been worse. As far as he was concerned, she was here and that made the moment perfect.

She laughed lightly when he finally noticed her. "Just before I suggested the birds, I believe." She stood up, surveying his work once more. "Would you like to take tea with me today?"

"You know I'd love to," He fumbled upright, face flushed as it had been back at Roger's, "Always!" His eyes went down to the paintings and back up to her again with a smile. "You like what I've painted you t'day?" It was like she had never left. Just another Tuesday. Life as usual, and for the first time in a long time, he felt complete.

"What you’ve painted me?” She echoed, her eyebrows up. “And here I believed they were for any passerby to enjoy.”

"Obviously not, or there’d be more in me cap," He winked.

She suddenly found herself smiling quite broadly, and quickly averted her gaze to the ground. Her eyes fell to the landscape he had just finished, with her birds in the sky. “That one there is really quite lovely. There’s something dark and romantic about it. Your use of color is spectacular.”

"I’ve ‘ad a lotta’ practice," He murmured, and she of all people would know how much. He looked down as well, pretending to study his work, but really he was studying their shoes together in the same square.

"You know," she started, somewhat hesitantly. "We could always have tea there." Really, the idea made her feel giddy from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. Last time they had taken a trip like that, she was still with the Banks’, and she could scarcely remember having a better time than on that day, dancing with Bert through the green hills.

Bert certainly remembered that day as well. The Jolliest of Holidays- he had thought that one through as thoroughly as possible, just waiting for her magic.  In all of their trips into the chalky fairy lands, that one only had one flaw- they hadn’t exactly been alone.  “Alrigh’ then! It’s decided!” He declared, taking her hand before leaning sharply to the side as though leaping toward the ground…

Mary grinned and took a jump. With a cool colored puff, they found themselves standing in a field of beautiful purple, blue, and red flowers - tulips were among them, but many of the others she didn’t recognize. She silently wondered if Bert had simply made them up. She looked down to find herself in a long cornflower blue dress, with striped detailing, and soft brown lace at the cuffs of the elbow length sleeves, and the top of the modesty panel. Her hat was gone, but a daisy and a few berries remained, in an attractive hair decoration. She reached down to pat the chalk off her new outfit, before glancing over to Bert.

Bert’s suit was the same brown as her dress, but with a matching blue lapel and ribbon on his sandy bowler. After looking himself over, he looked to her and grinned, straightening his black bowtie.

Mary rest her hand in the crook of his arm, grinning at him prettily. Looking further on, she noticed something familiar. “Is that the gazebo from the park?” It looked a bit different. There was less wear and tear, and it was a crisp white, much like it had been many years ago.

"Why don’ we go have a look?" In the midst of such beautiful scenery, his eyes were all on her. He knew the world around them by heart, after all. Humming, he lead her down the stone path, drinking in the pallet he was so proud of. The cool smell of rain carried toward them on a warm breeze and the flowers were all stretching their droplet-coated petals toward the returning sun- The rain was on it’s way out, after all. And everywhere… it smelled like her.

She trotted along beside him, biting her lip, and trying to keep herself from looking at the ground too much. Her eyes flashed back up to him, as he began humming in his lovely baritone voice. She felt quite content at that moment, and gave his arm a little squeeze. As they drew closer, she was suddenly swept with a sense of nostalgia. The lighting in the overcast sky was just as it was all those years ago. She took a seat in the same spot. “I suppose, in a sense, this is where we first met, isn’t it?”

"Thought it’d be better for tea than an alley, anyway!" Bert casually sat as though he owned the place, which one could consider he did, and immediately several birds as blue as Mary’s dress flit down, dropping little napkin parachutes containing a small bundle that landed on their laps smartly.

Mary laughed, delighted, and unwrapped the bundle. Inside were several raspberry jam cakes- her favorite. Bert was already working through a chocolate scone, so she wasted no time in taking a bite of her own snack. The texture was a dream, and she found herself polishing it off a bit more quickly than was ladylike.

Just as she reached for a second, several more birds flittered down, straining to hold a tray with a teaset on it. Once they were close enough, Mary took some of the weight, and helped ease it down to sit between Bert and her. Most quickly flew away, but one stayed, landing on her finger. She whistled with it for a moment, before it rose off her finger to give her a gentle peck on the cheek and fly away.

She poured herself a cup of tea, and began preparing it to her liking. “There’s always the one that wants a kiss goodbye, it seems.”

He poured his own cup, trying to contain his own grin, “Can’t blame ‘im, can you?”

Mary barked a laugh. “Always the charmer.” She sipped her tea.

"I suppose this is where the ahah… magic started, aint it?" He looked around to finally drink in their surroundings with their tea, his hand sliding into his jacket pocket. "Changed a bit since then."

She drank some more of her tea, and set the cup down. Draping an arm across the railing, she looked back at the scenery. “This was always my favorite sort of weather. It makes all the colors so deep, and rich… but it’s not cold at all. Like a summer lightning storm.” Peering a bit further on, she could make out a lake, with a little dock.

"I’m quite full are you?" His hand lifted out of his pocket as he set his teacup down and rose to offer her a hand, "Perfect weather for a nice stroll, doncherfink?"

Mary set down her own cup and nodded. “Yes, I think I’m satisfied.” She delicately took his hand, leaving it there for their walk. This time, she was the one humming- the familiar tune from their last outing together. She walked down the path with him, a bit of a skip in her step, as flowers from the sides of the path brushed against their legs. As the scene grew darker, little lights twinkled in the field. It took her a moment before she realized they were fireflies. “Oh, Bert…” She turned to look at him, her blue eyes glimmering in the low light. “You just keep surprising me.”

"I learned a real neat trick t’make ‘em," He beamed before crouching to pinch a yellow flower petal and press his thumb into the air- immediately, another firefly whisked between them to land in Mary’s hands.

She gasped, cupping her hands for the little chalk creature to crawl around in. She nodded approvingly. “Effective.” Mary let it fly away, almost feeling like she could float off with it. “Who taught you that one?”

"A misplaced ‘and. Ahahaahaha! Accidents is funny like tha’," He lead her to the little  wooden boat at the end of a short dock, and carefully pulled it up close and steady, sure to make sure his arm was available for balance.

Mary laughed along with him. “Sometimes accidents are the best teachers.” She rest a hand on his arm, and carefully stepped into the boat- a lovely white one, that seemed designed to go with the gazebo. She sat on the little bench, which was cushioned, fortunately, and waited patiently for him to get in. “I haven’t had an evening on a lake for a very long time. Chalk, or otherwise.”

"I’d rather no’ talk about the time I was last in a boat," He chuckled as he carefully untethered them and carefully hopped in to take the oars. This was no rapids. Just a solid lake moved only by the occasional fish or frog or brush of wind. He rowed them out, rather pleased by how effectively the flowers near the shore reflected in the water- the grey in the sky was soon filled with a faint orange of sunset. "Mary… we’ve known each other a real long time, I reckon…"

Mary pinched at an imaginary loose thread on her sleeve. The dress was actually perfectly constructed of course, but she suddenly felt the need to distract herself. Bert had grown into a very handsome adult, and it was difficult to overlook that when he was dressed like a proper gentleman. She supposed that even in her very long life, the amount of time they had been acquainted could be considered long. “Yes, it has been some time, hasn’t it?”

"I… I aint the lad I was," He let the boat coast once they had enough momentum, resting the oars. A pair of otters whisked by, bobbing to try to catch a glimpse at Pretty Miss Mary, and while she glanced their way his hand dove down into his pocket.

He froze, staring wide-eyed at her.

He stiffly reached into his other pocket.

The panic escalated but was carefully bottled.

Somewhat thankful for the distraction, Mary turned and observed the otters. She dipped a hand down to stroke their soft heads, pleased to find they weren’t wet at all. Chalk drawings really were the best way to observe wildlife. Hand back in the boat, she looked back to Bert, very much a grown, broad-shouldered man. “No, I suppose you aren’t. I can hardly remember that boy’s face anymore.” A smile graced her lips. “Not that I need to, as long as you’re around.”

"And… and I’ll always be around…" Deep breaths. Don’t panic.

The missing item in question had, in fact, fallen from his pocket while he had been hopping onto their little boat.  It was only a turtle that spotted it’s little splash, and quickly enlisted the help of his friend, the frog, to fish it out. Bert was a strong rower, though, and it had taken quite some time to catch up, the frog riding on the turtle’s back as they reached the side of the boat and the worried little amphibian had hissed a quiet, “Pssst!!”

Brimming with relief, Bert snatched it up, his face crimson and a silently mouthed, “oh thank you!”

Mary turned her eyes to the deep oranges and pinks that colored the sky, and looking the other way, she could see the moon poking through the clouds, against a purple, navy background. Were that life were a chalk painting... She turned back to Bert, her eyes going a little sad. She gave a stiff smile. “We both know that isn’t true, Bert.”

"I can make it true." He drew in a deep breath, and carefully shifted on the boat to get on one knee and offered out his hand. carefully clutched in his fingers- only here, in paintings, were they free of dark stains under the nails - he held up a silver ring with a twisted band and a small blue gem the same color as her eyes. "I’d do anyfing for you, Miss Poppins. We can take your last name, it really don’t matter to me, I’d be a good Mr. Poppins, I think- Herbert Alfred Poppins, see? It works!"

Her eyebrow twitched in confusion, almost unnoticably. Her smile faded when he got to one knee, and her stomach dropped when he presented her with a ring. His words almost faded into the background. She was too busy staring at the perfection and simplicity of the symbol he was offering her.

Memories came flooding back to her, images from her many years. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, though she couldn’t recall feeling happier about it any of the other times. In her first few hundred years, she had let herself follow her heart to disaster over and over again.

The first was a man in a little village she visited from a cottage in the woods. He was the blacksmith’s son, and he loved to bring her flowers and lemon cakes (her favorite at the time), and they would spend their evenings by the riverside. It was so long ago, and she had been so set on forgetting about it, that she could no longer remember his name; just the feel of his lips on her forehead.

Features, and traits of some of the following blended together in her mind. She couldn’t separate them out, even though she had tried before. The next distinct one was a poet in Italy. He was a traditional romantic, in every sense, like one you might see in a classic painting. She was a nursemaid to a prestigious family there, and he would come to recite verses, and serenade her at her balcony at night.

Like the others, he had passed before she even aged a day. He was the last. She had grown tired. Philosophers and romantics alike loved to say that it was better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all, but all she did was lose, again, and again. After that, she distanced herself on purpose. She never stayed anywhere for long.

It had been four centuries since him, when she met a little boy who had tried to steal her coinpurse. Now here she was, sitting across from a hopeful man, who she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with. And she couldn’t.

It had been almost an equally long time since Mary Poppins had cried, and she had forgotten how much it hurt to breath as her chest heaved with sobs. Without a word, she fell forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso, crying against his chest. Even in his fine clothes he smelled like a wood burning fire.

He nearly dropped the ring again at the sudden embrace, his breath caught in his throat, “Golly!” He swallowed, stupefied expression evolving into one of determination, “If there’s one thing you taught me, Miss Poppins… it’s that anything is possible. I’ll find a way and then you MUST marry me.”

She shook her head weakly against his chest, tears still flowing freely. Between sobs, she choked out some words. “Bert, I’ve been trying to fix myself for hundreds of years.” She pulled away, and realized she didn’t have her handkerchief with her. Her coat had gone when they entered the painting. She settled to wipe her eyes with her hands. “It’s not easy to come by.”

He pulled his own handkerchief from his breast pocket- the one she had given him with the MP embroidered on the corner. In the painting, it was a pristine white once more. He also offered her the ring again, “And this aint no chalk, my love, so take it as my promise, then. It cost years of savings.” He tried to fix her tears with a bright smile.

Mary took the handkerchief gratefully, and was hit by a new wave of sobs upon seeing which it was. It was like centuries of sadness about this problem were finally pouring out. Another sob, and she reached for the ring, carefully placing it on the appropriate finger. She took a moment to admire it through water-filled eyes. She huffed, and attempted a smile. “Hold me?” Her voice wavered.

Now Mary Poppins was not one to show such emotions, and it was all Bert could do to hang on to the ride down the waterfall. He understood she was far, far older than she looked, and that she would never die, and if things proceeded as normal, he would, but he had also done an immense number of impossible things even in his short mortal life thus far. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what could cause such tears- but he did know what might stop them. The boat drifting in soft circles, he slipped an arm around her, holding her close, “Look at th’colors on that sunset! Jes’ like I remember,” His smile remained, shifting to sit with her and gently move to kiss her cheek.