Drops of Dew

~~~o*o~~~

Colin watched as his cousin looked gloomily out the window. This was getting quite ridiculous. Four days ago she had almost been jumping in her seat at the thought of being back here. It shouldn't have surprised him that one person could change all of that. But it did make him quite angry. Mary was never the type to mope. He wondered if she had been this exasperated with him when he was younger. He was happy to have put that part of himself behind him.

"Is she still upset about the Sowerby boy?" his father whispered towards him from his leather chair.

"It seems so," he sighed heavily. If she heard the two talking, she gave no indication. He frowned and went back to his book.

"She's being quite strong, considering."

Colin gave a non-committal shrug and went back to reading his book.

"His mother hides how much it's affected her," Craven continued, "but poor Martha was a mess when she first heard."

Colin's brows furrowed at his father's words. He had only been half listening. Did he say something about his mother and sister? Something about that didn't make sense. Why would Martha or Mrs. Sowerby care if their son were ignoring Mary?

"When she heard?" Colin repeated.

His father nodded, "Was about a little over a week ago. Poor lass, I had to give her a day off just to recover."

At this point, Colin was completely lost. They obviously weren't talking about the same thing, so then what was his father talking about?

"You wouldn't know from looking at him either. He refused to tell half the staff. Trying his best not to upset people I suppose. Bless him, I do hope he comes back. He's so young."

Colin's stomach did a nasty flip as he discarded his physics text on the table beside him. "What?"

"Comes back?" he heard Mary's dry voice behind him beat him to his next question.

Craven looked up at the panicked look on his niece's face and was suddenly aware that he had quite nonchalantly delivered life changing news. He looked down to his son who was unconsciously shaking his head and realized the boy hadn't told either of them.

"Oh Mary, Colin. I thought he... I assumed he told you."

Colin gripped at the armrest trying to piece together everything his father had just let "slip." "What are you saying father?"

The man gave them both a sympathetic glance. His face looked as sad as it had been before the Secret Garden. "He's been called up."

Archie watched his son shoot up out of his chair as Mary sank to the ground beside him. He got up immediately to help, ringing the bell for Medlock before rushing to kneel beside her. "Mary dear."

"He can't be going off to war! He's too young! He-he he doesn't turn 19 till next year! You can't be called up any younger! It's the law! It's all over the papers!" Medlock came into the room in the middle of Colin's rant. One look around told her that Master Craven had finally told them about Dickon.

"Miss Mary," she helped lift the girl up off the ground and into the chair Colin had just been occupying.

"He can't be sent overseas either! Don't soldiers need to be trained for months before they're deployed? But he is too young to go! He's only just turned 18!"

"In May the minimum age of those conscripted was lowered to 18," explained Archie as Medlock fussed over Mary. "It was in his letter. He received it shortly after his birthday."

"What?" Colin felt something awful and thick coat his throat. "They can't just..."

Dickon was going off to war? He was the kindest person Colin had ever met. He had taught him to think of others and treat them with respect and empathy. What kind of person would the war turn him into? Assuming he came back at all.

He felt sick. He was about to storm out of the room when his eyes fell on Mary's vacant expression. His heart went out to her pale expressionless face. Dickon was Colin's best friend, but to Mary he was... Colin sighed finally understanding Dickon's attitude these last few days. He felt horrible for both of them. While Mrs. Medlock fussed over her with damp towels and a fan Colin kneeled down in front of her.

She was not here. He looked up to his father who gave him an apologetic shrug.

"I'm fine," she let out airily to Mrs. Medlock. "I just... I think I..."

The seconds ticked by. She looked around to the three concerned faces watching over her and locked eyes with Colin. He gave her a nod. "I'll accompany you to your room Mary. I think we both have a lot to think about."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded at her cousin.

"Do you want me to turn down your bed Miss Mary? Or bring you some water or cold presses?"

Mary looked at Medlock in slight confusion. Why were they fussing over her when Dickon was the one that— "No, no, I... I just want to be alone for a bit."

Colin offered his arm to her and slowly led her out of the drawing room leaving two concerned pairs of eyes looking after them.

"Colin," his father said before they shut the door. "Don't chastise the boy for having gone around protecting you in the wrong way."

Colin could make no such promise so he simply shut the door and left. Mary wasn't aware of where they were going or what she was supposed to do now. All she could see in her mind where the headlines in the papers about how many British soldier were killed each day. Battles in France, Belgium, Germany, poisonous gasses and wounded soldiers. Propaganda for volunteers and sites of mass graves. The war had seemed so far away in print. Now it was here. Right here in her home.

When they stopped walking she looked to her surroundings in confusion. Why were they outside the back entrance of the manor? Wasn't he to take her to her room?

"You don't want to be left alone."

She looked up to him and tried to understand what he was saying.

"There is something you have to do."

She blinked as reality and many other emotions set in. Mary shut her eyes, trying to clear the fog in her mind. "Yes," she said softly. She cleared her throat and tried again with more strength to her voice and her actions "Yes, I-"

Looking around she realized that Colin had led her out near the gardens. Her stomach turned as he indicated she go on without him.

"Thank you Colin," she said, now back to her senses.

"I'll go see him tomorrow. Take your time. I'll tell uncle and Medlock that you turned in early and want to be left alone."

She nodded and gave her cousin a long hug, the mutual strife bringing them all the more closer together.

~~*o*~~

Mary found him in the garden, of course. She saw a pile of plucked weeds just beyond the rose beds and watched as he trimmed some of the heavier wilting flowers from their thorny stems. She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and hoped she could get through this conversation without breaking down. Just the sight of him was already making her eyes burn.

"Dickon," she said finally. Tired of this week, tired of the silence, tired of looking at his back and talking to an adverted gaze. It was moot now, she knew why he had been avoiding her. He turned and gave her a quick smile before turning back to the flowers.

"Aye, Miss Mary? I thought tha'd be back at th' Manor gettin' thy victuals at this hour."

She heard the shear of the scissors as another rose fell into his hand. Still he did not look at her. She clenched her fists and bit down her anger and fear. "When do you leave?"

His heart fell down to his stomach. The shear missed the stem and cut down into his exposed palm, drawing a thin line of blood a few seconds later. Dickon did not react to the drops of red, but slowly put down the shears and clenched his hand around the injury. He made a very willful effort to keep his breath steady and his heart from pounding too hard in his chest, completely unaware that Mary was in the exact same state.

He did not deny it. He did not put her fears to rest by saying that she was wrong. She thought she was over the shock and surprise of the news. She thought she had accepted the fact that the person whom she had given so much of herself to, the very first person who had liked her, was leaving soon for a place where magic and life and everything he radiated went to d—

"Dickon," she tried to say, but his name came out more as a cry than an actual word. Because if possible, this moment. This moment when he just stood there confirming all of her fears through silence was even worse than when her uncle had told her.

"Martha told thee," he said unable to move.

And there it was. Mary closed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop her tears. "No," her anger gave her back the voice emotion had stolen away, "My uncle told us. He was the only one in the house who apparently wasn't sworn to secrecy by you."

He closed his eyes, willing away his pain and her own. "Colin knows too then?"

Mary didn't trust her voice enough to answer, so she simply nodded when he turned to face her with those sad eyes.

He turned away, opening his hand out of her sight to reveal a mess of red smeared against his palm. It had not stopped bleeding, but he felt nothing except the pain in his chest from being the cause of her grief. "I'm sorry."

She coughed back the tears forming in the back of her throat at the sadness in his voice. When he finally turned to face her, she was the one to turn away, letting herself fall on the bench near the pond with her face buried in her hands.

What was she doing? Would good would crying do? She had not cried like this since she had been sent away to London, and even then she never did it in front of anyone, much less Dickon. She sat there weeping from anger and fear and sadness until a soft hand brushed away a lock of her hair from her face. The touch was so gentle, so familiar, like it had happened once before a long time ago. She was as reluctant to let him see her crying now as she had been 6 years ago. But there was something else in her heart this time around. Something that made her turn back after she had jerked away. Something that wanted to know what came after that soft stroke of affection.

She didn't look up at him, only hid her face against his chest and grabbed blindly at his shirt. Slowly, but not hesitantly, his arms came up behind her small frame and pulled her against him tightly. Any other day she would have been surprised by his forwardness. He had become quite timid in his adolescence, much to her irritation. But, she was infinitely grateful for his lack of discretion today.

His hand came down over her hair and followed the smooth waves down her back. She pulled away just enough to envelope her arms around him completely as he continued to stroke her. Maybe if she held him tight enough, everything around them would disappear. The war and the world and the sadness would all go away.

His hand brushed a stray lock of moist hair from her cheek and somehow his finger ended up tracing the soft curve of her chin. The touch shifted something in her. He lifted her face up towards his and all she could see was the familiar lovely blue shade of his eyes. That was when the tears stopped. He was just as sad, just as scared as she was. But somehow in the few moments between her first choking sobs and now looking up to him, everything really did disappear. And all there was, was him. Her breath hitched when his hand cupped her face and his thumb brushed away a trail of salt near her lips.

And suddenly, amazingly, stupidly... she realized. This was it. This was where all of her affection for him had led her. To a very late realization that she wanted nothing more than for him to stop studying her face and just kiss her already. It was quite an obvious realization, but it didn't scare her any less. The last cog had been placed when their gazes met, and now something big and spectacular was coming to life inside of her. Going faster and faster as the distance between them closed.

He must have seen the fear in her eyes, else he wouldn't have pulled back so abruptly. She could almost feel it hurt when he moved away, unaware of how close he had come in the few moments of her self-realization. She reluctantly let her hands slide away from his back and took one to her chest where she was sure her heart was about jump away. Relief came between the waves of disappointment. But, she was afraid to face him again. What would she feel now when she looked at him?

He got up abruptly and she panicked, afraid he was going to leave her with this mess of emotions in her chest. "Wait!"

She grabbed his hand and looked up at him, not really knowing what was supposed to happen now. What was one supposed to do after a moment so intimate? He didn't turn to face her. His hand was sweating but his fingers were cold. She gave his hand a squeeze and stopped. This didn't feel like sweat.

"Oh my God Dickon! You hand!"

She felt him tug away but she held her grip. "What— what happened?" She stepped in closer and opened his palm drenched in red. "Oh, you're hurt! How did…?"

"S'nothin," he said as she absentmindedly wiped away the tears from her eyes.

"Come," she said pulling him behind her.

For a second he thought she was going to drag him all the way back to Misselthwaite to announce to the whole staff how inappropriate he had just been with her. But as she led him further into the garden he realized that she was just leading him to the water pump behind the Lilies.

Neither spoke a word as she sat him down and began pulling and pushing the lever until a steady stream of water came out. She took his hand and placed it under the stream while cleaning off the blood with her slender little fingers. When had her hands become so much smaller than his? He winced as her thumb grazed over the injury and she looked up afraid before he smiled down at her.

"S'fine Miss Mary. S' just a wee scratch."

She continued, although taking care to avoid direct contact with the pink line on his skin. All the while he looked at her, mesmerized. Amazed at how she could have come back even more beautiful than she already was. She filled a part of him so fully, so completely, just by being here beside him.

"This part here's a bit deeper. You might need to bandage it to keep it clean. Here."

"What is tha doin!" he asked panicking as she lifted her skirts to reveal the while lace and tool beneath. He set his free hand over hers to stop such an inappropriate gesture but she shoved him off impatiently.

"Oh, what else is lace good for Dickon?" she asked tearing a long strip close to her knee.

He shut his eyes and promptly looked away, ashamed that she was willing to do such a thing for someone as common as him. He felt her work on his hand in silence as the water dripped to a stop beside them.

"There," she said turning his hand over in hers and inspecting her work. "Not too bad."

He looked down, taking back his hand and inspecting the work for himself. It looked like he was missing half a lace glove, very much out of place with the rest of him, but she was right. It was holding well, not too tight or too loose, and the bleeding had already stopped.

"Does it hurt?" she asked sweetly.

He looked over to those big brown eyes and swallowed hard. Something did. "I'm sorry Miss Mary."

"What? Why? I told you, the dress is fine. Look you can't even see it."

He looked away, knowing she'd understand it wasn't the dress that concerned him. "I should 'ave told thee about... everything. An' I shunna done what I done back there. It wun proper an' I'm sorry."

She said nothing for a long while, so long that he turned back wondering if she was really cross at what had happened back on the bench. Her eyes were sad, but not angry. She looked down, seeming to make a silent decision before leading him to the arch next to the lilies.

"Mary," he said feeling nervous when she turned to face him full on.

"Be silent," she whispered placing a soft hand over his lips. It was cold, from having just been under the water, but the temperature had little to do with the shivers it sent through his skin. "Just, stay silent with me for a moment."

He was nothing against the silk of her voice. So he stayed silent and watched, scared but hopeful as she took both his hands in hers. She did nothing for a while, but look at their hands together. He warmed her hands quickly never looking away from her face, studying any reaction, or lack thereof.

"You'll come back," she said quietly, her gaze still on their hands.

He looked down sadly as well and gave them a gentle squeeze, "I canna know that."

"It wasn't a question," she said harshly.

He looked up to find angry eyes gazing up at him. He could only offer her a sad smile. She looked away again, put off by his gentle honesty. She gave a sigh and pulled him down onto the soft grass where she shifted up against him.

He'd kept his gaze on her features. When her eyes finally met his, the fear was gone, but sadness had crept back into them. He mirrored her expression aware that her left hand was intertwining her fingers with his. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

He willed his heart to be steady, to back away from such personal inappropriate contact. But her cheek pressed against his chest, her hair in the nook of his neck. Just today, just this moment in their garden he could have... right? He would face so much horror soon. He needed this moment of beauty, to remind him that there were still beautiful things in the world. He closed his eyes and set his chin over her head.

Mary reached over and grabbed his other hand while she pretended the drops of warm water over her hair were little drops of dew.

~~~o*o~~~

AN: I refuse to believe that Dickon showing his feelings makes him anything less than adorable… and slightly heartbreaking. So there.

This story is now dedicated to Sophie929 as she was the only one who reviewed my work and inspired me to keep at it. Even if it's just for you Sophie, I will finish this. Which by the way, inspiration having stuck me last night, I now know an amazing way to finish it! Well at least I think it's amazing. It might be really lame but as much as I have seen this story line done in SG fics, I have never seen this particular ending...

Intrigued? Read on, and review! Please! Even if it's bad, let me know how I can fix it. Too much ego food is bad for humility but too little is very disheartening.