ARGH! I was halfway done this one and I saved it and it deleted itself! Miggy, but it could be Fax if you want it to be...

Title: Every Autumn

Summary: Iggy listens to bird calls all the time. They remind him of her.

Rating: K+ Clean, but off-camera character death and minor angst.


They used to listen to the birds every morning. The birds would chirp, caw, and sing. The calls would tell them what season it was, and what the weather was going to be like. Ever morning, they would go out together and listen to the daily chatter of the forest. Birds hopped from branch to branch, exchanging the gossip of the woods. In the winter, the more solemn birds emerged, usually single and bleak. No matter what the season, though, they were always out there, every morning, listening to the birds.

In the spring, they used to joke that it was mating season. The males would twitter loudly, attempting to grab the attention of a female. The other birds would soon join in the cacophony, creating and beautiful, enormous din. This, of course, encouraged him to squawk loudly, flapping his wings, earning a giggle and a shush from her. The cheerful summer and spring birds were so happy and blissful. They were heralds of new life and warm days to come.

Then arrived the fall, quieter and more modest then the hot months. The birdcalls of autumn were mature and reserved, not trying to outdo each other. They worked in simple harmony. It was more peaceful and the serene than the obnoxious chirping of the spring and summer. They would often sit on the roof for hours, just letting the melodious sounds wash over them. When he was feeling brave or unusually happy, he would sing wordlessly along, impeccably in tune with the birds.

Finally, when the last stragglers have migrated away, the warms days melted away, surrending to the cold and snow. This was when the lonely ravens emerged, their obsolete cries echoing around the trees. The destitute crowing sounded so austere and isolated. Those times reminded them that they weren't always safe, and that there was no guarantee that they would have each other. Those were the weeks they spent the most amount of time in each other's arms. But then the warm day return, banishing the ice and allowing them to relax again.

Of course, that of was all before it happened.

Now he listens to the birds by himself, the only thing he'll accept to remind him of her. Ever since she left – he refuses to think 'died' – he's been avoiding things that will make him think of her. He doesn't want to remember how much he loved, no loves her. It will only make the emptiness worse. But he tries to cope with it. He tries to act normal around his friends. They can't help but notice how he's been since it happened, but they say nothing of it, out of respect.

Now, every day, he listens to the chirps, caws, and singing by himself. Every day, in any season or weather. Autumn makes him the happiest. It brings back good memories, memories of short days spent together, singing with the birds. The colors he can feel in the leaves remind him of her hair, and her wings. The quiet and level-headedness of the calls sound like her voice. Even the smell of autumn, of falling leavings and hints of cold, had the same scent as her.

So that's what he named their daughter. Autumn.


A/N: I really like this one, even if it is a little depressing. No, I didn't go and look up birdcalls for this one. I actually sit and listen to birds. That's how I tell was season it is and what the weather's going to be like. Yes, I am weird. But hey, it's an easy way to get the forecast without getting out of bed.