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Warning: Fluff!

Mary/Dickon because Mary/Colin is just kinda creepy.

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It was still the same, as she walked down the stairs she let out a sigh of relief. That was one of the two things she'd worried about most when she was away. Had it changed but no. Thank the lord. It still had that overgrown feeling, that feeling over all the leaves and flowers were being pulled towards you, engulfing you. Nothing bad could ever happen while they protected you. That's how Colin felt, how her Aunt Lily and her Uncle Archie had felt, how he felt. She had been a child when she'd left the garden, a little girl with too much of her own way. When they'd met, the garden and her, she had been spoilt and it had been neglected. Everything dead to the eye-except his. Everything wick. Asleep. Then, by some magic unknown to her, she'd woken it up and it, in turn, had woken her up. It had been her saviour. A little girl who had never mourned her parents, a little boy who had never met his, and another boy who knew everything except people. They'd been an odd little group back then, and the garden had been their play thing. Their world away from Mrs Medlock, from illness, from being alone. Someplace where nothing mattered where no war, no famine, no end could reach them.

But there was a war between now and then, a war far beyond what the newspapers called 'epic'. Those reporters saw the aftermath, they had seen the reality. Colin had been at the university trying to decode transmissions, she'd been a nurse-her finishing education wasted on soldiers-he'd been at the front line.

She went to the clearing they'd shared 100 picnics in once upon a happier time. Colin had been here lately, his sketch book lay forgotten under a tree. She picked it up, she supposed she'd better take it back for him although once he saw it he would forget to be happy to see her.

Sitting on the swing that had seen so much, she remembered countless days, countless jokes. This swing had seen when it all began-her Aunt meeting her Uncle, that photo in her dresser, her death, those photographs Colin had taken. She smiled at that, his face when they'd…what could you call that? They were too young to have a serious 'moment' a link. Were they?

It had rarely been a problem for them then, they'd just been kids. Kids with flowers. Then they started to grow up, and she'd had to go to school.

Was eight years to long? To pick up everything? Four years of schooling, four years of war. Was that too long for them? For any of them? For the garden it had been as though it was just days. But for people? For people it was almost a lifetime.

He's been here, she realised. That's how it's survived. He'd been here and many times. Perhaps, perhaps he was here now. She stood up from her swing and looked down at the courtyard, what was she thinking? That was her problem, she probably wasn't. He would barely know her now. Things had changed so much. Her Uncle had told her that when he'd come to pick her up.

"My my," he'd said, "how you've grown. You look so much like your Aunt." He said that now without a hint of sadness, it was a reality to him that they were alike and he didn't hide from it now.

He'd left her at the gate of the garden, "I figured you wanted to see this first."

She'd thanked him and gotten out of the new car.

This was where they'd said their goodbyes.

"Th' ship leaves t'night Miss Mary," he'd told her. No matter how many times she'd asked him to call her Mary he wouldn't listen. Stubborn, just like the country he tended so fondly.

She'd only nodded, as though it didn't matter to her that she may never see him again. As though the tears weren't falling down her face as though she didn't want to hold him in her arms and never let him go.

"So," she said under her breath, "he lived." And the garden lived.

She walked down the stone steps, her footsteps ringing out in the quiet little world of the garden. There was hardly any sound now; the beginning winter was hold of the garden one of the few things they couldn't fight.

She wrapped her coat a little tighter around her shoulders and began her walk through her world.

Colin's book still clutched in her hands, she walked the path they'd walked as children. Past the lilies, the roses, the poppies, past everything that held her childhood.

Something made her stop about half way through the garden, there was a noise in one of the small alcoves they'd made. Someone whistling, it couldn't be him so perhaps Ben. Was Ben still alive? She knew Colin had written to her and told her whether or not he was, but she couldn't remember.

She ran down the path and stood staring into the alcove. There he was, where he had always been. A little older now, a little less fed. He had that look that all the soldiers had, that look that told every story that nobody had written down. The men lost, then men down, the girls lost, the girls down, the children lost, the children down. They never lost that look, they smiled and laughed after a while but that look stayed with them forever.

He didn't notice her for a while and so she had time to look at him, time to study him. He still had that angelic look she remembered, still smelt of heather, grass and leaves, he wore slightly better clothes now the result of a military commission she supposed but they were still stained with dirt. He looked up-not at her-to the robin and whistled to it. She smiled at the robin and whistled a little. He leapt up as though he had been shot.

"Sorry if I startled you," she said. "I didn't mean to, it's just…" she did say anything else. He was looking at her as though, something. "Do you not recognise me?"

He shook his head, as though bringing himself back to earth, "tha' I do Miss Mary. It's just…well…tha's been away for such a long time. I din't know it tha was coming back."

She smiled, "of course I was coming back. This is my home, the garden, Misselthwaite," she wanted desperately to add 'you' to that but she thought one startle was enough for today.

"When'd tha get back?"

"Just now," she said and they began to walk back to the path. "I haven't even been to the Manor yet. Colin will be most disappointed." That earned a laugh from him.

The continued to the tree where Colin's mother had died, now that the roses were gone-just dead wood, it wasn't like the first time they were there though. Now the magic-for want of a better explanation-was still there the tree looked far more alive and present than she remembered from when she was ten years old.

"What are you doing now?" She asked him and he looked at her as though he'd only just remembered she was there.

He shrugged, "I don't know," he said, "I can't leave this place, tha' wouldn't seem right."

She nodded, "I understand."

He laughed, "I s'pose tha does." He laughed again. "And you Miss Mary, what will you do?"

"Well," she said laughingly jumping onto a tree stump. "I am an educated young woman at the prime of the British Empire." She posed for him and he laughed. She stopped suddenly. The wind had stopped, she looked around. He was still laughing and held out a hand to help her down.

Then a gust of wind almost pushed her off the stump and into her arms. Maybe the magic of the garden wasn't finished yet.

She looked up into his blue eyes and found it impossible to look away. "Sorry," she mumbled, "I fell."

He smiled, "I noticed tha'."

Mary had never been one for risks, she's always done things the right way. When the girls at school had been off flirting with the officers, she had been in the garden dreaming she was home. When she'd been a nurse in the POW camps, and the others had been 'with' the officers, she patched the boys up and prayed she'd never have to patch him up. Now things were different.

She looked at him again, risk time.

She closed her eyes-forcing herself not to look into his for a moment. She stood on the tips of her toes and slowly their lips met. Tentatively at first, then as he began to realise what was happening, more passionately until they were standing there arm in arm.

She looked back into his eyes. "If you don't feel the same way," she'd practised this speech religiously for eight years she wasn't going to get it wrong now. "Please tell me now, I'd prefer to know now than find out later after hours of following this sorry ritual that the girls at school-" He was laughing at her again. "I don't see why you're laughing." She told him, "I've practised this for eight years and if you think you're going to stop me-". But he did stop her. His hand reached to her neck and pulled her into him.

"Sorry Miss Mary," he told her, "but I don't think tha'tll be much of a problem."

"Why?"

He didn't answer just kissed her again tenderly.

"Dickon! Mary!" Colin ran down the path and stood there watching them until they decided to stop.

Mary smiled shyly, "Hello Colin. I would have come up to the house, but I wanted to see the garden."

"And him?"

She nodded, "and Dickon."

Colin took it better than she thought he would. He nodded smiled at Dickon and then hugged her close. "It was about time."

She laughed, one hand still clasped in Dickon's hand, the other clutching Colin's book. Colin took the book from her thanking her. "I've been looking for it," he said. "Come back to the house. Martha will want to see you. Dinner's in about fifteen minutes."

She nodded, and started to walk but Dickon stayed behind. "Coming?" she asked him, his hand still clasped in hers.

He looked around and then pointed at the stains in his trousers. "I don't think that's the place for me," he said.

"Nonsense. I can't say we'll be there all the time," he brightened at the idea of their future. "But they're my family."

He smiled and followed draping his arm around her shoulders.

"So what's going to happen to you two?" Colin asked smiling.

She shrugged and looked at Dickon. "We're staying with the garden."

"Good." Colin said.

The garden watched three children grow up and become adults, boys became men, the girl became a woman. Later, it watched more children grow, become adults but it never died. It was never left alone as it had been once upon a sadder time.

Once upon a time…