On the week following the disaster that took place in International Incident, Undertaker barely showed up. He holed himself up inside his funeral home, even more than usual, and decided to dedicate almost all his time to work. Even though some of the tasks he chose to do were very repetitive and droning, those activities always helped him when he needed to take his mind away from anything that was bothering him at the moment.
Still, there were still invasive thoughts bubbling on the back of his mind whenever he decided to take any break.
What infuriated him the most was the fact that he should have known better. He knew he was letting himself get involved far too easily, but for whatever reason that didn't seem like the wrong thing to do. For once he didn't want to be paranoid about something. And now he felt like he just allowed someone to make a complete ass of himself.
He also hated how much that bothered him. That shouldn't stick to him so much and yet, there he was, banging on nails with a hammer with way more force than necessary, in an attempt to let all his frustrations out. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't. He honestly just wanted to default back to a couple months ago, when he would just go through the day without really reacting much to anything. When was the last time he was able to completely detach himself from everything and not even think twice about anything?
By the end of the week, during the day, he heard a knock on the front door of the parlor, and quickly got up to answer it. He knew is wasn't Bearer, because he didn't bother knocking, so he just figured it was some costumer, which was good, since business had been quite slow.
"Good aft-" Undertaker started, but stopped talking immediately when he saw who was at the door.
"Can... can we talk?" Goldust's voice was quiet, almost shaky, which was very uncharacteristic of him. He was very, very nervous, and he wasn't even trying to disguise it. In fact, he had no idea why he was there in the first place, because he was sure Undertaker didn't want to talk to him at all, and probably he should have waited more than just one week to let the deadman's feelings simmer down, but honestly, with how much he screwed things up, he couldn't possibly make them worse, right?
"I am not interested." Undertaker said flatly, moving to close the door, but was stopped midway by Goldust holding it.
"Look, I just... just give me five minutes." Goldust hated just how pleading his voice was sounding. Hated it, but didn't quite care. That past week was awful and being alone with his thoughts just made him feel even more guilty about what he did, so he wanted to at least say something to get him and Undertaker in better grounds.
"... Five minutes it is." Undertaker let go of the door and walked away from it so Goldust could enter. He would let the other talk, but he couldn't guarantee he would pay attention.
Goldust nervously walked inside in short steps, then pushed the door just enough to keep it a little ajar. For a moment, he just stood there in the middle of the room, looking around. Surely, since they were in a funeral parlor, he expected things to be a bit grim, but there was something downright chilling about the entire place, with sharp tools hanging on the walls and pieces of wood scattered all over, a strange smell hanging in the air.
Goldust scratched his forearm, trying to find what to say as Undertaker walked up to a nearby casket, picking up a piece of sandpaper to smooth out the surface of the lid.
"I suggest you speak up. Your time here is limited." Undertaker said, not taking his eyes away from his work.
"Yes... right..." Goldust searched his mind for something to say as he chewed on his bottom lip. In retrospect, he should have written down everything on a piece of paper, because he didn't even know where to begin. "Whatever you are thinking I tried to do, I... I didn't mean to."
Undertaker said nothing in response, still focused on the task at hand.
"It was... it was a bad idea I admit it. I just... I guess I thought it would be a little funny to reprise what happened when we had our first match. I didn't... I don't want to make you look like a fool." Goldust rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't even sure if Undertaker was listening to what he was saying. He seemed far more interested on the casket's lid than on him.
"I know you are probably not going to buy this, and you are going to think I'm just saying it to get sympathy from you, because, well, I keep playing it like I'm very secure about what I'm doing all the time, but..." Goldust paused, letting out a sigh. "All this that's going on between us. I'm... not very used to that."
Goldust was way more used to his romantic escapades being more fleeting than what he was trying to achieve with Undertaker. All his past relationships – at least the ones that got to an intimate level – required far less thought and planning, and all feelings were kept at a minimum. Everything was very superficial and physical, and he grew bored of most of his playmates within a month or two.
But Undertaker was more complicated than that, not only because he was a complex individual, but because Goldust's interest was very real. He knew he wasn't just going to get tired of him in a short amount of time. The fact he had been running after Undertaker for over two months now was a dead giveaway. Although, how was he supposed to handle something he knew so little about? Goldust could shove all the gifts in the world in the deadman's face, but what good would that do if he didn't even know how to act around and towards him?
It felt like he finally got a step forward into their relationship only to immediately go three steps back.
"I know my lack of actual experience with this doesn't really take away the weight from what I did, but I just want you to understand I'm shooting in the dark here." Goldust sounded a little exasperated as he spoke. "I want you to understand what I did wasn't deliberate and... I'm sorry."
Goldust swallowed dryly, waiting to see if Undertaker would say anything, but he just kept on paying attention to the casket in front of him.
"Well, heh... I guess my five minutes are up, hm?" Not that Goldust was keeping track. His time probably wasn't up at all, but he figured it was useless to hang around with Undertaker not really in the mood to listen to him. He should probably try to come over some other time. Or maybe not come back at all. "I guess I sho-"
"Did you mean it?" Undertaker finally spoke up, as he stopped working on the lid and finally looked up to Goldust for the first time since he entered. "That you are sorry?"
Goldust blinked a few times, as his mind drew a blank for a second.
"Of course I do!" Goldust said, a little louder than he intended to. He let out a loud exhale and felt his shoulders drop. "I meant it. Listen, you are not an idiot at all. It was never my intention to make you look like one." It was his turn to avert his gaze away from Undertaker. "I just never know what to do with you. Or for you. Ugh... this is so frustrating..." He rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.
Undertaker found it odd, but also a little enticing, that Goldust was acting completely outside of his regular self. It was seriously fascinating to watch someone who was always so full of himself to finally show some manner of humbleness. See him admit he made a mistake. He wasn't totally sure if the other was being sincere with everything he said, because he was slowly learning it was hard to tell when Goldust stopped "acting" and when he started being himself, but he decided to believe in his words for the time being. Even if some degree of anger was still lodged inside his mind and it would take more than a "sorry" to dissipate that.
"Never expected to hear you admitting you are wrong." Undertaker said, going back to his woodwork.
"Suppose there's a first time for everything." Goldust still kept gazing at the floor.
When was the last time Goldust admitted to a mistake? He couldn't quite recall. In a way, he blamed the world he lived in for that kind of behavior. Hollywood was a universe which was both wonderful and unforgiving, and in a way it helped shape his personality into what it presently was. In the land of the stars, you either act as confident as you possibly can, or you risk having everyone stepping all over you at the first opportunity they get. And Goldust was good at acting confident. Maybe too good. To the point he came off as totally egotistic, and he never allowed anyone to see past that.
But he was more than okay with letting his guard down for a while if it meant Undertaker would understand where he was coming from. Understand he wasn't as perfect as he would like to believe he was.
"So... you have a very quaint place here." Goldust took another look around the parlor, trying to feel more at ease, but it was a hard. He definitely was not used to a place that rustic, and those tools lining the wall were still making him nervous, specially with Undertaker still being fairly angry at him.
Undertaker just nodded. Quaint wasn't exactly the word he would use to describe a funeral home, but he figured Goldust was just trying to be nice, and in a way he appreciated it. Most people didn't even try to disguise their discomfort when they entered his establishment. Not that he gave a damn about what they thought, but it was a little refreshing to see someone make an effort.
Goldust walked around for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. He didn't want to say anything that could undo the little good he did by going there, so he decided to wait and see if Undertaker was going to say anything. And, after what seemed like hours of silence, save for the sound of sandpaper against wood, the deadman finally spoke.
"What are you waiting for?" He asked, putting down the sandpaper.
"Hm? Waiting for?" Goldust sounded a little surprised by the question. "... I'm not waiting for anything."
"Then why are you still here?" Undertaker couldn't understand why he would just stay there, considering he clearly already said everything he wanted to.
"Eh... Well, I don't really have anything to do or anywhere to go, so... Unless you are one of those people who can't work while someone is watching?" Because Goldust didn't want to disturb Undertaker's job. He knew very well how annoying it was to have others disrupt your work.
"I do not care either way." Undertaker said, walking up to the backdoor of the parlor and opening it.
The creaking from the door shot a shiver right down Goldust's spine he most definitely wasn't prepared for. Why everything about Undertaker had to be so chilling and creepy? And speaking of creepy, when Undertaker left, Goldust quickly followed him out. He didn't want to be left alone inside a room full of caskets.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw on the back of the house though.
There was a large yard on the back, with a small dirt path lined by what seemed like hundreds of flowers of all types and colors. The fact the sun was still high in the sky and shining down on all those plants made them contrast with the interior of the parlor way more than they already would.
For a long while, Goldust just stood near the door, looking around and watching the flowers sway with the wind, as Undertaker grabbed a watering can to cater for them. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see on the back of that place, but it certainly wasn't that at all. He was more or less expecting a makeshift graveyard of sorts. Pet cemetery maybe. Even a Native American burial ground would be highly accepted. Not a field of flowers straight out of a dream.
"... Is there anything wrong?" Undertaker asked, stopping watering the flowers for a moment.
"Hm?" Goldust was so distracted he barely registered what Undertaker said to him. "No, nothing's wrong is just... Did you... Was it you who grew all of these?" Goldust gestured at the flowers.
"Yes...?" Undertaker raised an eyebrow at that, going back to taking care of the plants. "It is far less expensive to grow them myself for wreaths and arrangements than to buy them somewhere."
"This... this is so impressive. They are all so beautiful... And you don't even have a greenhouse." Goldust stared in fascination, crouching near a rosebush. Needless to say, the aroma on the back of the house was incredible, with all those flowery smells filling the air.
"I suppose." Undertaker couldn't understand what was so mind blowing about growing a few flowers. He figured it was unusual for him to be good at it, but anyone could do something like that, right?
"For how long have you been doing this?" Goldust asked, leaning closer to the roses to sniff at them a little better.
"Been years. Helps me take my mind out of things." Undertaker treated his garden not only as part of his work, but also has a type of therapy. When he turned undead, he thought he would lose interest on the garden, but as it turned out, he actually grew even more attached to it then ever before.
"So you take care of them, and put together the arrangements, all by yourself?" Goldust had to admire someone with such passion for his job.
"Mostly. Bearer helps me sometimes, with the arrangements that is. I once let him take care of the garden and he somehow managed to kill my snapdragons within a week." Since then Undertaker didn't allow anyone get near his garden for the purpose of taking care of it.
"Hah, I don't even know what snapdragons are." Goldust let out a soft chuckle. He then felt Undertaker approach him, handing him a branch full of small, yellow, funny looking flowers.
"This. This is snapdragon." Undertaker said, as Goldust got the branch from his hand.
"Oh, I see." Goldust looked over the flowers for a moment. They were pretty cute and had a nice smell to them. "You shouldn't have picked them just to show them to me though."
"I have plenty of them." Undertaker paused for a moment, looking at Goldust as he seemed to analyze the flowers very intently. "Those suit you well."
"Suit me? What you mean?" Goldust stood up, still looking at the snapdragons.
"Their meaning I mean." Undertaker went back to watering.
"Ah, and what's the meaning of these?" Goldust opened a soft smile.
"They mean grace." Goldust's smile opened even more at Undertaker's words. "But they can also mean deception and presumption."
"T-That's not funny!" Goldust's smile immediately turned into a frown. "Pick a better one!"
"That was not meant to be a joke. And I do not think there is a better one." Undertaker answered without missing a beat, ignoring Goldust's little tantrum.
"Oh yeah? And what's your flower? Something that means 'I'm a rude ass'?" Goldust asked. Despite the fact he was offended, he still kept holding on to the branch of snapdragons Undertaker gave him.
"Lavender." Undertaker said, as he grabbed a spray bottle filled with homemade pesticide that was sitting on the ground before crouching near a bush. Those aphids were back at it again.
"And what do they mean?" Goldust assumed it probably meant something along the lines of eternal doom or death.
"Solitude." Undertaker simply replied, clearly way more preoccupied with the insects around his plants than on the mater at hand.
"Oh..." Goldust didn't know what to say. That wasn't really the reply he was expecting. It was quite the downer, to hear Undertaker identified with a flower that pretty much meant loneliness. "Was it always like this? I mean, was this the flower you always felt connected to?"
"... Not really." Undertaker paused what he was doing for a moment, gripping the bottle on his hand. "But this is of no importance."
"Yes, it is. That's why I asked." Goldust walked up to where Undertaker was, looking down at him. "Tell me."
Undertaker felt his hold on the bottle loosen a little, and he let out an almost silent sigh. "Snowdrops." He said, almost too quietly.
"Hm? Snowdrops? Aren't those the ones that bloom when snow is thawing or something?" Goldust asked. He honestly didn't know anything about flowers at all. And now, thinking back to all the bouquets he sent Undertaker's way, he was suddenly afraid of having sent types that meant something bad.
"Yes. I just... For a long time I was trying to thrive, just like snowdrops do at the end of winter. The first ones to overcome the snow and the cold." Undertaker put the bottle down before standing up. "But after some time I began to realize not even all the thriving in the world would be enough to make me feel better. The years were passing and I kept feeling... lonesome." He picked up the watering can once more, going back to his previous task. Why was he even talking about that?
Goldust watched Undertaker for a while. The look on his face was dark, but it wasn't the usual grimness he showed in the ring or when talking about how much he wanted to watch someone's carcass rotten under the ground. It was something that went far deeper than that.
"Is that why you don't mind having Bearer around? Because having him as company is better than having no one?" Goldust asked.
"He is not optimal company, but he helps." Undertaker put the watering can down, taking a moment to look at the flowers. "But I suppose I just grew used to the solitude."
Without a second thought, Goldust reached for Undertaker's wrist and grabbed it lightly with a gloved hand.
"I don't want you to keep feeling lonely." Goldust said, smiling as warmly as he could.
Undertaker stared at the hand on his wrist, then looked up at Goldust's face, and for a moment there was a void inside his brain. Was he supposed to say or do something? And if he was, what he could even say or do? And suddenly he felt that weird warmth spread across his face again, just like when he left the restaurant more than a month before.
Then, Goldust let out a light laugh, and Undertaker looked at him with a puzzled look, snapping out of his surprise some. "What is…"
"Your face got all red. I didn't even know you could blush." Goldust sounded very amused, especially when he saw Undertaker's eyes widen.
Undertaker pulled his wrist away, nervously looking around as he scrambled around his brain for something to say.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you look adorable when all flustered like that?" Goldust said, not even slightly surprised when Undertaker seemed to choke on air, nervously walking past him.
"Stop saying stupid things." Undertaker stammered, as he walked back inside.
Goldust followed him, a smile spread on his lips. He rather much preferred when they were on situations like those, where he could watch Undertaker fumble with words nervously. There was something oddly charming about that.
"Sorry, I was just stating a fact." Goldust said as he entered, watching Undertaker get all hunched over near a work table, suddenly seeming very interested on organizing a pile of nails.
"Bearer will be here any minute now." Undertaker straight up lied, hoping that would get Goldust out of the parlor. Not because he wanted him out, but because he was getting increasingly more nervous and he had run out of things to say. At least things that wouldn't embarrass him even more.
"Unbelievable..." Goldust let out a sigh. He really didn't want to ruin that day by listening to Paul's high pitched voice. "I'll take my leave then." He paused for a moment, then spoke up again. "I would like to hear more about flowers from you, whenever you have the time."
Undertaker stopped what he was doing briefly to look over his shoulder. "Yes, I could tell you more about it."
"Wonderful! Oh, and don't go missing for a week like you did. Everything was very boring without you around." Goldust commented, before walking up to the front door. "See you tomorrow?"
"... Yes." Undertaker said, back to paying attention to the nails lying on the table.
Goldust shook his head, then walked out the door, and it was just then he realized he was still clutching to the branch of yellow snapdragons Undertaker gave him.
… Grace and deception. Goldust thought to himself as he looked at them, before looking back at the door to the parlor. He shook his head, letting out a laugh. A garden, who would have thought! Honestly, if he told anyone that The Undertaker, of all people, took care of an amazing garden on the back of his funeral home, no one would believe him.
