The pot sat in the sun, a small sprout, one stereotypical to most sprouts- a small green stem holding up two leaves, popping up from the extra terrestrial soil found on a very fertile planet. It sat in front of an old house with a seemingly high tech garage of sorts below, protruding out of the seaside cliff. As the ocean wind blew, the sprout swayed, if not ever so slightly, towards its primary caretaker. A young orange fox, passed out on his desk, his head resting on, of all things, a gardening book. A trickle of drool made a spot on the page translucent and slightly sticky, not that anyone but the fox boy seemed inclined to read it right now.
As the small sprout swayed, it gave off a faint reminiscence to the emerald hair of one who was lost to time, predestined and cursed with the duty to save the universe. Or, perhaps it was a suicidal impulse, brought about by the urgings of her dead mother and the feeling of helplessness and uselessness. Regardless, she untimely departed from the fox boy, who was left devastated, but not depressed. After what had happened, he picked himself up and dusted himself off. After all, she would have surely wanted it that way.
Despite the seemingly innocent fox, who had a friend, perhaps more, ripped away from him, it should be noted that he was the murderer- the one who pulled the trigger, or would have, if the gun had a trigger. His entire being shouted at him, telling him not to, and he even once closed the safety latch. There he could have, perhaps should have, let the combined forces from the two super-charged hedgehogs rip apart the massive cannon, eliminating the ability to shoot in the first place. But as a last 'heroic' act, he fired, sending the one he cared about most into oblivion.
The combined power of the two hedgehogs was enough to destroy the great evil, along with the girl, but they could not bring her back. Instead, they brought back only a seed, a hint of the girl's essence and origin. There the fox boy cried, sitting on the floor of the bridge, tails wrapped around his body, clutching the seed so hard his knuckles turned white underneath his gloves.
They arrived home three months later, and the poor fox had gotten over the girl's death. He, along the way, obtained the sample of the girl's home planet's soil, and planted the seed, his one reminder that she sacrificed everything to keep him safe, to keep them all safe.
The sun crept higher into the sky, falling on the foxes eyelids. The fox stirred, pleasantly dreaming of the time him and the plant girl watched the moon as they cuddled; the closest thing he could remember to a date. He realized that he loved her more than he ever thought possible, especially at a young age. For, a year prior to meeting the plant girl, he recently got over a minor crush on a rabbit girl his same age. He realized that the feeling he felt towards her were of strong friendship, and not true love.
As if the nature itself was trying to wake the fox up as a mother would, the wind blew, rather strong, ruffling the fox's fur and effectively bringing the fox out of his insomnia-induced slumber.
He stretched and yawned, slipping out of his night cap and into some shoes. He quickly ran over to the sprout, which seemingly anticipated the fox's arrival. The second he got there, the plant shook ever so slightly as water poured into the soil surrounding it. If the sprout could talk, it would have thanked the kind fox for the drink, but, it stayed silent, being what it was.
The same blue hedgehog who visited the house everyday dropped in again, concerned for the fox's health. A pink hedgehog's arrival startled the blue one and he ran off, the pink one in hot pursuit. The fox sighed, staring back at the sprout with a mixture or feelings in his eyes. The most prominent one was sadness. If the sprout could think, it would have been dismayed at the fact that its presence caused the kind fox that watered it twice a day so much sadness. But it couldn't think, being a plant.
The lonely fox worked away intently on another plane of some sort. He had been working on the plane for three days now, and progress was good. Despite this, the fox looked lonely. If the plant could feel sympathy, it would have sympathized with the fox, being the only potted plant around. But it couldn't sympathize, for it was what it was.
The Fox took a break, wiping the sweat of his furry brow before drinking the remaining water in his bottle. The fox noted the time. 5:30. He'd woken up at 10, being up all night. He had eaten his sandwich while underneath the Tornado 3, still working away. He sat down briefly before wandering over to the plant and giving its pot another refreshing shower of water. He looked at the plant, tears in his eyes, threatening to run down his cheeks. One tear drop fell on the plant, its salty feel unpleasant. If the plant could comfort the poor fox, it would wrap its arms around him and keep him close, letting him cry on its shoulder. But, alas, the plant could not comfort. It was a plant, after all.
Three hours had past, and the fox was enjoying his down time. The fox, seeing ominous storm clouds in the distance, brought the plant into the house, shielding it from the strong winds and harsh rain. The fox placed the plant firmly on the counter before heading back to his bookshelf and pulling down a book. He read aloud, if not specifically for the plant, than definitely so the plant could hear, not that it had ears. If the little plant could be grateful, it would be grateful for the fox keeping it safe and reading to it. Of course, being a plant, it couldn't be grateful.
The fox yawned, deciding it was time for bed. He started up the stairs, but not before noticing it. It was a photo, in it stood the fox, a goofy smile painting his face. Next to him stood the girl, also smiling, although her smile was more a disdainful grin, full of happiness, but also riddled with helplessness and sorrow. The fox ran his gloved finger over the girls head, weakly muttering an 'I love you', before running up the stairs, tears glazing his eyes. Now, if the plant so reminiscent of the girl in the picture could love, it would have run up to the fox, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and replying back with, "I love you too." However, the plant couldn't love. It couldn't talk, think, comfort, sympathize, feel, or be grateful. It couldn't replace what was lost to time. It couldn't replace Cosmo. Tails hated that sprout.
A short TailsXCosmo oneshot. Hope you enjoyed it. Later...