Work Text:
The other members of the March family are anxious to have the wedding as soon as possible, out of the fear that Jo may go back on the whole affair and do something horribly drastic and unbecoming to escape the shame of agreeing to marriage for even a moment, such as run away to the Western frontier or cut her hair short again.
At least, those are the sorts of things Jo has imagined she could do in the weeks after accepting Friedrich’s proposal and resolving to become a wife, and she assumes that Amy and Meg and the rest know her well enough to imagine something quite similar.
However—and this is the most crucial part, which even Jo herself cannot entirely understand—no matter how anxious and regretful she may occasionally feel herself becoming, she never gets so far in her doubts to truly want to back out at all.
Maybe it’s just because Friedrich—or Fritz, as she’s started to call him—is so understanding about it.
Jo can’t help but compare her current situation to the engagement to Laurie she had imagined when he’d asked for her hand, and she doesn’t think she would’ve been able to tell Laurie of her doubts. They were best of friends, of course, but friends in happiness and fun and putting on plays. Jo would never quietly confide in Laurie her distaste for the girlish things in her life, she would only declare it loudly and trust that he understood and could play along.
With Fritz, though, it’s so easy that she barely considers how queer it is for her to be so open about her feelings with anyone.
“What if this is a mistake?” Jo asks him as they take a stroll together around the neighborhood, as the two of them have taken to doing in the evenings. “What if I hate being married after all? What if you hate being married to me? What if we’re both unhappy for the rest of our lives?”
“Do you think that will happen?” he responds, the back of his hand brushing hers. “Because I’ve told you, Jo, your happiness is more important to me than my marriage.”
The sincerity in his words hits Jo like the heaviness of a familiar blanket, surrounding her and keeping her steady. This weight once felt like it could trap and crush her, forcing her to lash out and escape, but now, it is a comfort and a friend. They are both able to say exactly what they mean, and trust that the other will understand. Or at least feel safe enough to ask for clarification.
It’s still a question that’s difficult to answer, though. Every younger version of herself is screaming “YES!” like their lives depend on it. Jo March will not be a wife. It’s the one thing that was never supposed to change.
Jo sighs. “I don’t know.”
Fritz nods thoughtfully. His thoughtfulness, too, is something Jo now appreciates deeply, maybe even envies. As someone who so often gets into trouble making rash decisions and following foolish impulses, she can’t help but drink in his pauses and hesitations, the way he so carefully considers his words before he speaks. It was never a trait Jo thought to admire before she met him, and now she can’t imagine feeling any other way.
“I guess there would be ways to adjust,” Jo continues, putting a hand to her chin. “If we did regret the marriage, I mean.”
Fritz cracks a grin. “We could split the house down the middle.”
Jo grins too. “You could take that job in California, and whenever someone comes over, I could say you’re very sick, and can’t take visitors.”
He laughs. “I wonder how long it would be until you would have to fake my death.”
“That would be more difficult.”
Fritz shrugs, eyes shining. “If we need to, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Jo grins wider. I think we’ll be alright, she thinks.
.
Meg and Amy are beside themselves with excitement for the wedding, and Jo lovingly and begrudgingly accepts their help with finding her a wedding dress.
She has so little doubt left about loving Fritz that it doesn’t make any sense why the whole ordeal still makes her feel sick to her stomach.
Bride. Wife. Beautiful. Dress. Flowers. You look like a princess, says Amy. This is the most like a woman I’ve ever seen you, says Meg. Girl. Woman. Bride. Wife. Mother. Woman. Wife. Bride.
Perhaps Jo detests the words because she would rather see herself as a writer. Perhaps it is just the younger version of herself which still lives in her head who wants to smash the mirror with a hammer at the sight of herself in something as girlish as a wedding dress.
No, not girlish, she reminds herself. Womanly. The thing she will wear as she becomes a woman. Bride. Wife. Wife. Wife.
.
“Is it wrong for a writer to hate a word?” Jo asks on a walk one night.
“What do you mean? You don’t like using it in your writing?” Fritz responds.
“No, I don’t think it’s that.” Jo kicks a rock in their path. “I don’t like using it… for myself, I guess.”
He tilts his head. “What is the word?”
Jo winces. “…Wife?”
“Wife,” Fritz repeats, furrowing his brow.
“And bride,” Jo adds. “And woman?”
“Ah,” says Fritz.
“It’s probably just childishness; I’m sure I’ll grow out of it…”
Fritz stops in his tracks and glances to each side, then turns to face Jo. He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Jo, you trust me, don’t you?”
Jo furrows her brow. “Yes, of course, Fritz. What—“
“Can I tell you something… unusual… about myself?”
Jo reaches for his hand. “Of course.”
He takes a breath, holding onto her hand. “All of my life, I have found myself… having feelings for other men.”
Jo freezes. “What do you mean?”
“I, like you, never believed I would marry. At least, not for love. But then, I met you. I thought you might be my exception, but…”
“Fritz. What are you saying?”
“I’m asking, Jo…” he leans in closer and lowers his voice to barely over a whisper. “If you would like to be my husband, instead.”
Jo stares at him, unable to speak. Overcome with shock.
Oh.
Oh.
Jo takes a deep breath and says nothing, just wraps arms around Fritz’s neck and kisses him.
Husband.
Maybe Jo wouldn’t mind being that.
After a moment, they both pull away, smiling. Jo is overcome with it all. Relief, excitement, wonder.
“So that is yes, then?” asks Fritz.
Jo nods.
“I’m afraid you’ll still have to be a bride for your family, though.”
Jo thinks of that awful frilly white dress in the mirror, but it doesn’t seem so bad, now. It’s dress-up, like a March family play. Jo can play a role as well as anyone. “I think I can manage that.”
.
Amy is the first to cry, and no one is surprised about that.
The ceremony hasn’t even started; she just sees Jo in that wedding dress and bursts into tears.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” she says, wiping an eye. “You look so… so…!”
“Thank you,” Jo replies, trying not to cry himself. He feels ridiculous in the dress, counting down the hours until he can take it off again, but his sister’s sincerity is almost enough to move him.
Father is next, of course, giving Jo away. He and Fritz exchange gentlemanly nods, even as their eyes both brim with emotions.
Jo doesn’t know the order after that, but he would guess that Marmy followed soon after, along with Meg and John. He’s honestly not sure about Laurie—maybe he’ll ask Amy about it.
They say I do, they kiss, they dance, they receive congratulations and best wishes and gifts.
It is strange to feel so happy and yet so not himself. So surrounded by love, yet on the outside. Becoming Fritz’s husband, yet wearing a frilly white dress.
Then, it is their wedding night.
Jo awkwardly changes in their carriage (Fritz looks away, like a true gentleman) just so Fritz can carry him across the threshold in a button-down shirt and trousers. When they set foot in the house, they’re both laughing with tears in their eyes, and Fritz brings a hand to the back of Jo’s neck and kisses him.
“I love you,” he murmurs as they pull apart, still clinging to each other. “My husband.”
The words hit Jo like an explosion of ecstasy, something uncontainable and infinite. He lunges forward, his lips on Fritz’s with a new, desperate hunger. Fritz reciprocates, pulling him tight, as they stumble into a wall of their house and Jo presses him up against it with a devilish grin.
After a moment, they break apart again to catch their breath, and Jo blinks up at Fritz with an awkward, apologetic smile. “I just realized, I didn’t say it back,” he breathes, running a hand through his husband’s hair. “I love you, too.”
Fritz laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “I know, my darling, I know.”
Jo’s smile grows wider again, and he bites his lip. “Shall we retire to our bedroom, husband?”
“I would like nothing more.”
For a moment, Jo doesn’t move an inch; he just stands there, staring at Fritz, wondering how he ever got so lucky to find a man like him. How lucky he was to find a man who could help him find himself. Then, he takes his hand in his, and leads them both to the bedroom.