Imprint - 29. Memories of Green and Gold: Desire

Here, he had a garden.

It had started as a few seeds planted in the back yard; the longer they stayed, the more it grew, until it became a small, fruitful jungle surrounding their home. It thrived, and so did he; in the sun and open air, hands in the dirt, calm and peaceful, day after day.

People came, people went; he watched it from the ground, in between green leaves and trunks of trees

(a spot of autumn gold in a barren winter sea...a shade of green where should be blue...)

(golden fingers skimming the surface of an icy lake...)

(eyes crinkle near closed, mouth opens wide, a wordless sound heard from far off... he's happy? That's what he looks like happy...)

while those people barely saw him at all. A woman, again, perhaps seen here once or twice before, it was hard to keep track; from her brisk walk and the fact it was late afternoon, she would likely not be back again. That was the routine; at least there was one again.

“You having fun back there?”

The greenery in front of him was pushed gently aside, and there was the only face he ever wanted to see, kneeling down before him.

“Every year, you get harder to find. Though I bet that's your plan, huh?”

Tallen smiled, but that was not a happy face, he knew. He could see the little hints that he had, over time, come to associate with discontent. It was the normal state of things now, though Tallen tried to hide it he was better at seeing. Seeing helped little when he wasn't sure what to do about it, when Tallen's sole concern was him and his well being, brushing aside anything else.

...he needs a wife. That would make it better, he was sure. A part of him hoped each time one of those women would stay, be introduced to him, invited to their table. A part of him thought he could help with that, if he didn't hide away in his garden or the kitchen, if he tried to be friendly instead it might help the choice along. Maybe, if he tried, if he pushed himself to try...

But another part, a large guilty part, was always glad to see them go

(“...tell you the truth? I'm glad, that it never...”)

He didn't know

(“...thought I could, over time, that it would change...”)

what to think anymore

(“...would be better off without me, but that doesn't mean she wants to be. I can't-”)

“You okay there?”

“...yes,” he held a piece of fruit in his hands, fingers running along the bumpy surface, dragging himself out of his thoughts, “Yes.”

Pine green eyes watched him cautiously, “...are you coming in, soon?”

He glanced up at the sky, starting to get late but he was often out later without issue. There was something in Tallen's face that made this feel more like a request than a question; he was not certain why. “...I can.”

Tallen looked only a little relieved, “Oh, okay...good.” A pause, “Finn's wife sent me home with dinner, so – well, that's taken care of.”

He nodded. The woman had all but adopted them after Tallen started going out on the boat with her husband; he'd met them both a few times now, nice if a bit overwhelming in their affection.

It took a little time to finish, Tallen had eaten in his absence and was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, an open bottle of alcohol in his hands.

That should not feel like a betrayal. He'd argued himself, years back, that Tallen had neither harmed him nor scared him overmuch; Tallen had insisted on his guilt, and never drank around him again. It had not helped things as much as he'd once hoped; life, as he was always learning, was more complicated than that. Its reappearance now could not be a good sign.

Tallen caught his glance, the way he'd frozen by the door; he seemed sheepish, “Its – its not what you think. Promise.”

He didn't know what alternative could be. “I saw...earlier, I saw – saw her, leaving...”

“I'm not upset about that. I'm the one who told her to leave.”

That he didn't doubt, it was usually how these things went, but it never seemed to matter before.

Tallen looked as though he wanted to say something more, mouth opening but the words would not come; he sighed, alcohol bottle passing back and forth between his hands, “...your dinner's on the table. You should eat.”

There was a tension between them, thick and suffocating even if you weren't sensitive to it. He still hesitated by the door, “I can...leave. To my room, or-”

“No,” harsh at first, Tallen quickly softened it to a plea, “No, please. Stay with me, for a while.”

“If you're – sure...”

A soft smile, “I'm sure.”

He sat on his cushion on the floor, halfway between the fireplace and the door; Tallen's desires were usually easy to discern, but today the signals he put out swung wildly between stay close and go away. He sat with hands folded, breathing carefully, feeling the gentle flow of air around him, ignoring the tension and the sharp tang of alcohol. He had gotten much better at staying calm, he could wait as long as needed.

A sigh; silence. The beginning syllable of a word that never finished, shifting into long sigh then a frustrated growl. He wished he knew what to say to move things along, he still hadn't figured that out yet.

“I, uh... The yard looks – nice. Have I told you that?”

Tallen had, many times; he knew it wasn't the point. “Thank you.”

“We got the greenest yard in the village, you know. I still can't believe you got so much to grow.”

“It wasn't that...not hard.” He was smiling though, that what he was naturally good at was of such benefit.

“It makes it look like someone lives here, you know.” the bottle passed between his hands again, more than half empty, “Like a home. I miss that, you know. I always wanted to... didn't want to end up like-” he cleared his throat, “You do that. Make everything...you're good at that.”

He beamed, hardly able to believe he was worthy of the praise. What had he known about a comfortable home, yet when Tallen needed it of him he somehow make it work.

“Why are you alone?”

Sudden and loud, he blinked at Tallen in surprise. Was this just more warm up talk? Where did that come from?

“I...have you.”

Tallen gave him half a smile, “Not what I meant.” The bottle moved in lazy circles dangled at the ends of his fingers, the swish of the liquid seemed so loud, “Why aren't you married?'

He frowned, “Why...would I?”

“Because isn't that what people want? To be with someone?”

“I – I have you.”

There was a long silence, “Is that – is that why? Because of me?”

“...what?” he hated this, when Tallen was drunk he always abandoned sense for self loathing and he never knew how to combat it. He wished Tallen would make his point already.

“Just tell me. Please.” Tallen's eyes were lowered, not looking directly at him, “I won't be – I just need to know.”

“How...would you – stop me? Have you...?” he didn't know, what could Tallen believe he had done.

“That's not what I mean,” Tallen's jaw clenched hard, “Are you going to make me say it?”

Was that anger? At him? He wished he knew, and knew how to fix it. “What do you – is this about-”

“Are you in lo- attracted to me?” Tallen forced his gaze higher, a half inch off from looking him in the eye, “Is that why you're not – off married to... why you're here, are you hoping...?”

He felt his eyes widen appropriately, heart beat echoing between his ears. Why was Tallen asking this? How was he supposed to answer?

“Please.”

But it was important to him, for whatever reason. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way concern and confusion panicked his mind, made speech difficult, so he could give a clear reply. “I...have never thought about it.”

From the way Tallen's face fell that was not the reply he was expecting, nor was it a good one. Tallen seemed wounded by it, so much so he wished to take it back. “...should – should I have? I can...think, about it. If you – if I should.”

“...no.” Tallen sounded reluctant, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long swallow. “No, you shouldn't have. Never mind.” He twisted in his chair, half turned away, body language now closed off and miserable.

What did I do? This had changed tone so suddenly, he knew he had to be at fault but he didn't know how or why. It never gets easier. He shuffled forward a bit, reaching out with a hand to let his fingertips brush against Tallen's arm; physical contact always seemed to help. “Please...”

A deep breath and Tallen mumbled something against the mouth of the bottle, obscuring the words. He flexed his fingers, “What – did you-”

“I said,” too loud and he jumped back; Tallen lowered his voice, “I said, I'm...attracted to you.”

He sat back on his heel, hands folded again in his lap. He wished he knew what he was supposed to do now, what to say. There was nothing observed in recent memory that could help him along; so much had been wrong for too long now.

“Say something,” Tallen's voice was hesitant, weak; he was strangling the bottle neck, knuckles white, “Tell me to screw off if you want, just...say something.”

“I...don't know what, to say.” And he knew enough to know this was delicate. He was not good at delicate.

Tallen snorted, from the bitter twist of his lips that had also been a bad reply. “Yeah, I'm sure. Its not like I don't know its wrong.”

“That's not – didn't mean-”

“I've tried. The gods know I've tried. But its never – never good enough.” His head shook angrily, bottle shaking in his grip, “Or maybe its the women here aren't enough. But probably not, I mean... And Sam,” a chuckle, “That was – embarrassing. So very – I have no idea why he still talks to me.”

He felt his eyes widen again, that was probably appropriate, too. “Sam?” he thought of a cautious smile and a pair of shoes, a face he'd seen again a couple times in passing.

Tallen gave him a hard look, “Nothing happened. I told you that then.”

“...nothing?”

“Do we really have to talk about that, too? I'm sure you can imagine it just fine.”

He couldn't, but Tallen's tone was such he decided it didn't matter. He waited quietly.

Tallen shook his head, “I don't know why it didn't work. One guy's as good as another, right? It should've...” He trailed off, pine green eyes shying away. “I have tried, you know. I want you to know that. But it hasn't – and it should've, right? It should be easy to get over, with time. Everyone says so. But how much more fucking time? It feels like I've been fighting this-” a laugh, “forever. Seriously, forever.”

He knew he should speak, but to offer what? Understanding? Sympathy? Comfort? What does the situation call for? “You're...upset?” If he knew why, maybe he could fix it.

“Well, yeah, of course I am. I don't want you to-” Tallen took another long drink, bottle nearly empty, “If I can't get my head on straight, I don't want you to...leave, or anythi-”

“Leave, where?”

“...leave me.”

“Why would I...?” It was so ridiculous an idea he almost laughed. But Tallen's voice had wavered at the end, staring miserably at the floor. He was serious, Tallen was actually serious.

“That's the way this goes, isn't it? If I can't figure it out, then you'd...”

Usually he had to struggle to find words, this time there were so many that wanted to come out at once they crowded his throat and rendered him speechless. How were they even talking about this? How had this become something Tallen worried about?

“I swear, its like every day, I can see – can see everything just, slipping away from me. Like one day soon, I'm going to wake up and it'll be too late. I won't be able to do anything but watch it all fall apart. And I can't-”

“Tallen,” he was moving forward again, reaching out, wishing to stop this; a hot fist had gripped his chest

(cutting, tearing, splitting)

that he remembered as fear. “Stop, I'm not – I wouldn't-”

“Do you even know how much...what you mean to me?” Pine green eyes met his, bloodshot and wet, “And I don't mean – you know, just-”

“Tallen, I-”

A hand closed over his fingers, holding him gentle but firm, “Let me talk.” voice quiet, determined, “I went out of my way here, to get – really drunk, so I could talk to you. Let me talk.”

He nodded, sitting himself on the floor by the chair; Tallen didn't release his fingers and he didn't try to reclaim them. After a moment, Tallen continued.

“I feel like I'm...floating around, out there. I don't know, its weird, I don't know how to describe it. Its like...nothing here, nothing in my life, is really mine. Its all...impermanent, like it could be taken away any time. I don't know if I ever – I swear I used to actually feel like things, like my life, was stable. I think, a long time ago, maybe. But this here, this town, this house, my friends here, everything, none of it feels like mine. I'm just borrowing it all, and its not going to last...I'm going to wake up one day and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, it'll all be gone. And I'll never know why. And I'll find myself somewhere completely different and I won't know how I got there.”

His fingers had curled tight around Tallen's hand, his short nails starting to dig in.

“I know, it sounds really crazy-”

(...no...no, it doesn't...)

“-and I don't know how to explain, but... However bad, however – the one thing, the one thing that makes it bearable, is you. Because I know, wherever I end up, you'll be there, too. I'll never lose you, you'll always be there with me.”

(...of course I would, you're...)

(white and red and dim, empty green...so still, quiet...all that remembered warmth leeched away, leaving it cold, so horribly cold)

(I can...still can...)

(“What are you doing?... Get away from him, right now.”)

“You're the only thing that feels real to me, that's mine-”

(“...doesn't mean you've overstayed your welcome. It just means you've become family.”)

“-and that's enough, most of the time. You're all I – nothing else is so important, I'd light my life on fire to keep you.” A long pause, “I probably sound so – do you get what I'm saying?”

“...mostly,” his voice stayed steady, somehow.

(you shouldn't...you don't know....if you did...)

“You're the one thing I can't lose,” Tallen's hand shifted in his grip, holding back almost just as tightly, “Anything else I can handle, will handle eventually, I'm sure. But you...I don't think I'd do very well without you. Without that one certain thing-”

“Stop,” he felt the first tear roll down his cheek, “Please, stop.”

(...have you done?)

“-Tallen, I'm not – not-”

(you're all I have...don't you know...)

“But that's what I'm afraid of. That this is going to make you leave.”

“I wouldn't.”

Tallen shook his head, “That's not the way it works.”

Again he tried to speak, but every learned response, comfort, promise did not seem to fit. He understood that Tallen was upset, but the reasons for it remained a jumble of words that would not connect.

Tallen leaned forward, coming closer to where he sat on the floor, pine green eyes meeting his again. “And you know, the thing is, I know – I know, that we would be perfect together. We would. We're already practically married. Just, you know...without the – the sex.”

...this is about sex?

...wait, did he say we were married?

“And Sam tells me, every time I see him, that's a sign. And I should just try, and it will all work out. And maybe it would, but that's the one thing that I – and its the one thing that can go wrong.”

Though he was sure this was a thing he was expected to know already, he still asked, “...how?”

A brief frown was the sole sign of frustration, before Tallen patiently indulged him as always. “Okay, well...okay, let's say we do, we try. And its terrible, we both hate it. How is that not going to make everything uncomfortable and awkward?”

He wanted to say it wouldn't, but he still didn't understand and he knew Tallen would see it.

“Or even worse, what if you like it and I don't? Or – well, it could be the other way around, too. And how – how would we get past that? How would that not ruin everything?”

“It won't,” he knew that, “It can't...”

Tallen tried to smile, it didn't work, “That's easy to say now, but what about later? After the awkwardness or hurt feelings?” A snort, “And I know plenty about that, don't I? Because I've been through this, so many times. And that's another thing, isn't it? I'm hardly husband material, am I?”

“That's not true,” loud, clear and forceful, it even surprised himself, “Its not-”

(he walks back from the lake's edge to their village at the end of the day, the red haired woman under one arm and pressing close to his side, the other hand supporting the little boy sitting atop his shoulders...it had been a long day, but they are all smiles...)

“You are...would be...”

...but hasn't been. He'd never thought to wonder why.

“I think you're the only one who thinks that. And of course you would, you're the only relationship I could ever keep.” A sigh, “See, its perfect, would be, except... With my history, with – women, and you with your...um, content being alone? I guess. But with that, all that, however good it is otherwise...what are the chances it would work?”

He wanted to reassure, that was what Tallen was waiting for. But he didn't know, didn't understand...

A hand slid along his cheek, warm and calloused, thumb wiping another stray tear away, “I can't lose you. I can't. Not for anything.”

He had never known, never suspected that Tallen worried about this, had come to see it as an inevitability judging by the pain in his eyes. How could he...

(I would have nowhere to go...all gone, long gone...)

(I would be lost without you...don't you see...)

“So I try to fight it. But its not going away. And its driving me slowly crazy.”

(...hasn't been happy for a long time...you've seen...)

Tallen scoffed, the hand leaving his cheek to run roughly through blond hair. “I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I don't know what to do anymore, no advice is helping. I'm afraid I've been treating you weird, and I want you to know it isn't you.” His head lowered into his hands, “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it probably wasn't. It'll probably only make things worse. Now you'll treat me weird, and I won't blame you.”

He could feel himself moving automatically, and later he would marvel that he had this automatic response, another clear sign of improvement. He didn't have to understand, he knew what to do. Physical contact, that's what people looked for, what they needed to feel better. He was still never sure where to put his hands, first on Tallen's shoulders, down his arms, back to his shoulders, to his face but judging by the wide eyed stare that received it might've been too much, so back to shoulders.

“Hey...” that's how these speeches tended to start, “I'm not – don't leave...ever. You know, I can't – don't want to. This – this is,” confusing, but that would not be helpful now, “not important. I don't care – not bothered.” His hands moved nervously back down Tallen's arms, hopefully he would assume it deliberate, “I can forget – all this...if you want. Or – or, I-” could think about it, make sense of it, and come back later with something to say. That's what he would've said.

Tallen stopped him, both hands now cupping his face, a bit too tight, “You promise?”

He kept calm, “I promise.”

“You can't promise me that.”

“Yes...” firmly, certainly, “I...can. I do.”

Tallen's arms came around him suddenly, enveloping and pulling him to his body, mumbling desperate pleas into his neck. It wasn't the shock it once had been, but it still gave a jolt; he felt Tallen start to pull back in response, but he swallowed and put his arms around Tallen in return, holding just tight enough to keep him in place.

They ended up on the floor somehow, he wasn't sure; on his back on the cushion he'd been sitting on, Tallen spread half on top of him, stress and drink having drained his consciousness away. He'd learned a lot since the last time he'd found himself in a similar position, and he thought he could handle it better this time.

Focus on the small things, one fine detail at a time. He moved his fingers back and forth, feeling the thick material of Tallen's shirt, the warmth, muscle and bone underneath. Individual strands of blond hair tickling his collarbone; Tallen's breath blowing across his chest. Broken it down into smaller pieces, it wasn't so overwhelming; it was kind of nice actually, the more used to it he got.

Expanding his awareness, he felt Tallen's heart beating, blood pumping through his body, lungs inflating, torso moving up and down-

(rapidly, could hear the heavy rattle of his breathing, harsh and painful...fascinating, as your fingers continue to skim upward, just shy of that golden sweat soaked skin, just shy of touching...)

(cold, so cold, all that delightful warmth drained away, he should not be so cold...a red gaping hole in that cold still throat-)

(-will be angry when he finds-)

(-red on white, slowed to a trickle, sticky on your fingertips-)

(-have you done-)

(-too late...not too...)

so full of life, every movement, every sound. It was a comfort and he drifted to a peaceful sleep wrapped in it.

He awoke sometime later when daylight crept through the window; he was alone, a blanket laid over him where his friend had once been. He felt a flash of something (disappointment?), there and gone.

He cleared away his impromptu bed, discarded the empty alcohol bottle Tallen left behind. Then he set to making breakfast, the old hangover remedy he'd discovered by accident and hadn't had to use in a few years.

Tallen appeared just before he was done, lingering in the doorway with his blond hair sticking up in tufts and his green eyes puffy with sleep. He looked somehow small there, uncertain, waiting to be invited in as though he didn't live here.

He paused to access the situation, judge the change in mood and his response – then stopped. Because that was exactly the wrong thing to do, right? That's what Tallen was afraid of, being treated differently. And he had promised to forget about it, and that meant not changing his approach. Right?

With hardly a noticeable pause in his step, he moved to put Tallen's food on their small table, “...good morning.”

A long pause, “Morning.” Tallen's voice was a croak; he looked horrible, worse than he usually did after a night drinking.

He seated himself at the table, just next to the set plate as usual, with his bowl of fruit. “You should...eat. Feel better.”

It was an effort to keep his head down the longer he sat there alone, but eventually Tallen came over and sat on the floor; long legs folded in a way that did not press up against his own thigh, that was the only difference.

“...is that all?” Tallen spoke into the silence, indicating his now empty fruit bowl, “You don't eat enough.”

Normal routine. “I'm fine.”

“Are you?” Tallen eyed him warily, “Did you, um, ever get to bed? Last night?”

“...I slept.” A pause, then, “Are you, going out – today?”

The question seemed to throw Tallen, he took a moment to think, “I don't think I'd be much use to Finn today. Maybe he's got something I can do on land.”

“If not, you could – help, in the garden. If you want.”

“...if – if you wanted me to.”

“I do,” it had been routine once, after nights like those, that Tallen would stick close to him the next day, do whatever he did. He hoped that's how it would be today, Tallen could use the peace and quiet.

“Maybe I will then.” A pause, “Thanks.”

The meal got easier after that, conversation less hesitant. He picked up their dishes, while Tallen sat still and watched him. It was only when he moved to leave and let Tallen keep waking up that a hand grasped onto his, stopping him.

“...thanks, Winter. Just...thanks.”

“...for what?”

Tallen glanced up at that, surprised, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a small half smile, “For nothing.”

It was the right answer; good. “You're welcome.” And on impulse, he reached out with his free hand, smoothing down the stuck up tufts of Tallen's hair, running his fingers gently through it.

Tallen kept staring at him, soft and searching; for the first time in many days, he looked happy. A thumb swept back and forth across his wrist, where the vein showed blue against his pale skin.

“I'm not going to do that again,” Tallen quietly vowed, “Drink, I mean. I don't have fun with it, like other people do. I don't know why, but...probably should find a better distraction.”

He didn't comment, just nodded encouragingly; Tallen's thumb made another pass across his wrist.

Tallen kept that promise, too. It wasn't the only change that strange night brought, though he would not see until later when all was said and done.

After that day, Tallen never brought a woman home again.