Treeguard


Water.

Willow did not like water very much. Maybe it was a byproduct of it being her natural opposite. Or maybe she had stepped into too many puddles in her youth. Besides it fulfilling the obvious requirements of bathing, drinking, and perhaps cooking – it served her no purpose.

Especially if it was continually falling from the sky.

"Wilson!" she whined, turning her attention to the Gentleman Scientist, "When will it stop raining?"

"I'd estimate it will let up in a few hours."

She looked at him as if he'd just told her that Santa wouldn't be coming this year, and he grinned at her. He was taking a small bit of joy at her apparent misfortune, but not enough to be considered malicious.

Nowhere near their Maxwell's level, anyways.

"Would you like to accompany while I gather some more firewood?" he asked conversationally, standing up and stretching his lanky limbs all the while.

She scrunched up her nose at the thought of going out in that rain, preferring the sanctuary that their tent provided. She knew that Wilson knew this, but she knew that Wilson also knew that she would forsake her own trifles with the infuriating substance and accompany him for his protection and sanity.

Furrowing her brows, "Why do you want to gather firewood now? Can't it wait until later?"

He shook his head solemnly, and gestured to their current reserves. It was adequate for another few nights at best.

"I'd prefer to harvest enough now so that we can preemptively dry the wood. Wet wood would be terribly difficult to set alight."

As usual, her Wilson had a point. She wondered how it felt to be inside his head. People are rarely aimless, and usually every action they perform is for a reason – though sometimes said reason was hidden in their subconscious.

Wilson was terribly accurate in his understanding of himself, and could substantiate every single action he performed with rigid reasoning. Sometimes, she felt out of her depth even interacting with someone of his caliber.

But then he'd poured a bucket of water over her head, and brazenly laughed at her. Granted, at the time she had been covered in more than enough mud to justify the said bucket of water when contemplating Wilson's mind – but the laughing was uncalled for!

Her self-doubt and worries had evaporated as quickly as the water on her skin as she relentlessly chased her boyfriend around their camp. Chester had joined in on the chase when Wilson picked up the Eye-Bone, which he had then tossed to her and she had caught it instinctively.

Which inadvertently caused Chester to pounce on her, and start licking her face.

He was such a jerk.

"Hello?"

Willow snapped out of her reverie, and focused on Wilson's quizzed expression. Brows furrowed, frown in place – he was definitely trying to figure her out. The effect was somewhat ruined by what he was wearing on his head.

"Hi." She blurted out, trying to stifle the laughter building up from within her chest. It was only partially effective.

He scowled, "Not a word about this hat. It's an effective barrier between us and the rain." He paused for a moment, "Haven't you laughed enough yet?"

She shook her head; she would never be able to laugh enough. He was wearing the Deerclops Eyeball which he had fashioned into a makeshift hat that also served as an umbrella. He had dubbed it the 'Eyebrella', and if it didn't sound ridiculous enough, it looked ten times more ridiculous on him.

Wilson rolled his eyes, waiting for the pyromaniac to stop her giggling. He had hoped she would have gotten over it by now, but his hopes for that were dwindling fast. He was proud of his invention – it served him well.

Eventually tiring of Willow's increscent giggling, he grunted and left the tent without her. Mere seconds passed, then, "Wilson! Wait for me!"

Ever the gentleman, he waited for her as she stepped out of the tent equipped with a spear and her own axe. Her laugh had mellowed down into a happy grin, and he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She met his stride, and they walked in amiable silence – content just to be with each other. Then, he felt Willow snake her free hand into his with animalistic grace. Perplexed, he shifted his gaze to her and saw she was studying the trees to their left with unusual intensity, a faint tinge of red coloring her cheeks.

He smiled, and gently squeezed her hand in acceptance of the gesture. He knew he was still sort of new to these casual displays of affection – but he took comfort knowing that Willow was just as inexperienced in these matters as he was.

He stopped abruptly, and Willow turned to him with puzzlement on her face. Slowly, and deliberately, he delivered a chaste kiss to her lips. Pulling away, he saw contentment and happiness in her gaze. It had a similar effect on him.

"So," she quipped eventually, as they neared the trees, "What was that for?"

Clearing his throat, "That was for…" he hesitated, "pouring that bucket of water over you, the other day."

She narrowed her eyes playfully, and declared, "You'll have to do much better than that before I decide to forgive you."

Fighting the crimson tide rising in his cheeks, he replied, "Don't worry – I intend to."

Willow bit her lower lip in anticipation of his statement while he hacked away at the trees. They had yet to have their first fully intimate experience together, and had agreed that it should wait until they were free of this deranged land.

But it didn't mean they couldn't have fun with other things.

She relished the childlike romance they currently had, still innocent in nature, and she knew Wilson enjoyed it as well. The gradual climb to love was as enjoyable as the destination.

"What on earth…"

The words were barely out of his mouth before a terrifying roar echoed throughout the woods, startling him and causing him to drop his axe.

The tree was alive.

He shuffled backwards as it raised an arm, or a branch, and swiped at him. He narrowly avoided being disemboweled and unceremoniously fell on his behind. Willow was still standing behind him, rendered immobile by shock and fear.

The tree struggled to stand, roots tearing through the muddy soil with much difficulty. Wilson snapped out of his reverie, and scurried up to his feet before grabbing Willow and making a run for it.

Willow stumbled slightly, but managed to break into a run, albeit jerkily. They managed to place a fifty meter gap between themselves and the monster, before turning around to observe it. They watched with morbid curiosity as it uprooted itself from the soil, and grudgingly started treading towards them.

Wilson took one look at the beast and understood it would not stop pursuing them until something abated its hatred – most likely their demise. He turned to regard Willow, and saw genuine fear in her eyes – but then saw it replaced by fury.

He let go of her arm, it was rapidly becoming hot to the point where it would be searing – even in the constant drizzle of the rain.

Wilson understood that Willow had some form of pyrokinesis, though neither he nor she had a full understanding of that power. Power as great as that should not be wielded with ignorance, he had decided that after the incident with the Deerclops.

She had never mentioned it, but the event had drained a significant portion of her vitality on that fateful day. He saw it in her hazy eyes as they made their trek here, in her clumsy movement as she struggled onwards.

Thankfully, hearty brews of foods rich in proteins had returned her to her former pallor. He had promised himself that he would never allow her to use her power so recklessly again, and he intended to keep it.

Reaching out, he put his hand on Willow's shoulder reassuringly; she looked to him in surprise as he shook his head solemnly.

"Let me think." He requested. Taking a deep breathe, he could no longer hear the ominous thudding of the encroaching giant, or the pit-patter of raindrops on his hat. Nor could he feel the wetness of his clothes, or the texture of Willow's sweater.

He was an empty vessel for thought, and he used it.

The tree was sentient, and angry. Wilson saw it look at its fallen comrades, trees that he had already felled, and roared.

He had an idea. Rummaging around in his backpack, he found the desired item. Willow didn't even have time to stop him as he rushed forward, towards the approaching tree, issuing a simple "Stay back!" as he slipped from her grasp.

She gasped as she saw him fall to his knees in front of the monstrosity. Was he going to beg for his life? It seemed ludicrous, but there he was on his knees, hands placed on the ground before him and groveling before the creature.

Whatever madness had coerced her Gentleman Scientist into doing such an outlandish thing, she had to get him out of it. She rushed to his side.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, frightened. She looked over his shoulder, and saw him digging a small hole. He gave her a look of surprise, and then went back to his business.

With careful deliberation, he planted the pinecone while Willow watched the creature.

The monster faltered in its dreary step, and growled threateningly as it regarded them. Wilson did not dare tear his gaze away from the bleak eyes. Long moments passed in tense silence, as both parties regarded each other.

Eventually, the tree turned and began shambling back to its home. It was appeased, for the time being.

Wilson let out a jagged breathe of relief, simultaneously surprised and glad his ruse worked.

Willow, still unaware of what had pacified the beast, looked to Wilson with an unspoken question on her lips.

He shrugged, "I planted a pinecone."

"You thought I was praying to the creature?" he asked, perplexed.

She nodded dumbly from the entrance of the tent, somewhat embarrassed by her assumption.

Wilson rubbed his forehead, "Well, I was trying to appease it – which could be considered as a form of prayer."

Willow let out a weary sigh, her spirits dampened by the encounter with the Treeguard, "I just wish everything wasn't trying to kill us here. You think you're safe, just chopping away at some trees for firewood, and then one comes alive and tries to kill you."

The Gentleman Scientist saw her curl her fists up in frustration at their seemingly hopeless circumstances. Standing up from his work table, he went to sit down beside her. He took one of her fists in his hands, and slowly uncurled her fingers.

Her palms were slightly calloused; it came with surviving in this place, but still retained some of telltale softness that only feminine hands could possess. Gingerly, he massaged them with his thumbs. It had the desired effect, and the tension left her hands, and then her body.

"Feeling better?"

She murmured something in the affirmative, and leaned into Wilson's embrace. It was comforting.

"What'll we do now?" she asked.

"About what?"

"Our firewood."

He thought about it for a moment, "We'll just have to be careful with which trees we decide to cut down," he paused, "and always carry a pinecone with us."

Nodding in approval, she changed gears, "Have you worked out the key to resurrection yet?"

Wilson shifted slightly, "As a matter of fact, I've designed a hypothesis and suitable experiment I'm hoping to test tomorrow – if conditions allow. Hopefully, it will discern whether consistent resurrection is a viable strategy to the dangerous lives we currently lead."

She didn't reply immediately, instead taking time to choose her words carefully.

"What was it like, coming back to life?"

"It was the most disconcerting event in my entire life."

She frowned at the thought of that, but it was probably a small price to pay for the power it provided. She flinched as lightning struck outside; hitting the lightning rod that Wilson built.

At least it had stopped raining, for a bit, and they only had to contend with a faint drizzle.

But then, Maxwell materialized a few feet in front of them on the other side of the fire.

"Why, hello there. How are the two of you doing on this auspicious evening? I must say, it has been a while since we've had the pleasure of conversing."

In light of his casual appearance, and his seemingly disarming remarks about the weather, Wilson did which any reasonable man would do. He reached for his spear.

"You wound me, old chap." He said, holding up his palms in a peaceful gesture. "Would you believe me if I told you that I just wanted some company?

No hesitation marked Wilson's reply, "No."

"Then I confess you are more intelligent than you appear." He said, and sat down on an elegant wooden chair that materialized just in time. Wilson knew that to try and injure Maxwell, he would need something far more substantial than a sharpened rock on a stick.

Ignoring the insult, Wilson responded, "What do you want?"

Maxwell smiled malevolently, "I want to – as you say, get the ball rolling. As fun as it is to watch you two meander meaninglessly across these lands, I'd rather you actually do something constructive. To be honest, I'm quite surprised by your lack of ambition Wilson. And here I thought I'd found someone worth my time. Turns out you're just as useless as the rest. I wonder if it is the result of you partnering up with this woman…"

Wilson gritted his teeth, striving to keep himself about the insults that Maxwell was trying to bait him with. Maxwell tossed a device to their feet, a rod of sorts.

"They said it wouldn't be fair, but frankly, I couldn't care less. Take it, and use it to find my door. Then, the real games can start."

"Who are 'they'?" Wilson asked, skeptically.

Instead of answering, Maxwell turned his smiling gaze to Willow who met his with a fierce and angry stare. A few tense moments passed, and then Maxwell started laughing. It sounded mocking.

"My, my! You've got quite the temper there, young lady. You should be careful with it, lest you hurt your beloved with your ire." He flicked a glance towards Wilson. "Wouldn't want to scare him off, would you?"

She seemed to ignore his remark, but then almost casually, flicked her wrist in an upwards motion at the fire. It suddenly blazed with the fury of an enraged phoenix, and Maxwell stumbled backwards out of sheer reflex.

Wilson was surprised by the spectacle, not having seen her manipulate the element so voraciously before. Maxwell took a moment to compose himself, his earlier satisfied smile replaced by an annoyed frown.

"Well, I'll be taking that as my sign to leave," he glanced up, studying the darkening sky, "Charlie will be keeping you company soon."

"Charlie? Is that some kind of demented name for your pet?"

Maxwell had a moment where he looked genuinely surprised, and then rightfully furious. Wilson had some doubts applying the word 'rightfully' to Maxwell, but for some reason, it seemed to enrapture his current mood perfectly.

"She is not my pet." He hissed out, voice tinged by an unusual spark of anger for the seemingly indefatigable man. Before any of them could reply to the stunning display, he spoke again.

"I bid you two a good evening, and seeing as you two seem to abhor my presence so much, I'll send my hounds in my place tomorrow."

And then he vanished as quietly as he came, leaving no trace of his being behind. Wilson regarded the encounter appraisingly, and filed down Maxwell's sudden anger for later consideration.

"I'm not weighing you down, am I?"

He turned to Willow, her face no longer laced by anger or rage – now subdued and weary, and even a bit worried. Gently, she shook his head in response to her question.

"Of course not. Maxwell is a deviant, and almost everything that he says is a lie – in one form or another."

He sighed; it had been an eventful day, for better or for worse. Looking at the fire, he saw he would need to add a few more logs, mostly from Willow's little stunt. Recalling it brought a smirk to his face.

"That was amusing, though."

She turned to him, then understanding, "Oh that! I didn't even know I could do it. His face was priceless."

He nodded, and then in an expressionless tone added, "You seem to be able to use your powers more effectively when you're emotional."

"Uh, yeah, probably." She replied, not knowing what to make of his observation.

He smiled at her uncertainty, "I'm not reprimanding you," he ensured her, "Try to capture some of that emotion, and call it to your aid when you're practicing your abilities."

Nodding dumbly, sometimes the man before her could really feel like her teacher. It was a bit frustrating how submissive he could make her when he used what she dubbed, 'the teacher tone', on her.

Wilson stood up, and fetched a few of their remaining logs. They'd have to cut down a tree tomorrow, regardless of Treeguards. He returned, and deposited the logs on the fire. He made a small gesture to Willow, encouraging her to work her magic.

Hesitantly, she reached out and willed the fire to grow brighter, to burn hotter. Wilson watched as the logs caught fire in a matter of moments, amazed by the accelerated process.

"Amazing."

Willow turned to him, faintly bashful of the praise she was receiving. He smiled back at her, and leaned into her. He closed his eyes, content just to enjoy the peace

"Wilson?"

"Mm?"

Willow licked her lips, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Consulting his memory reserves, he came up empty. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing else he had planned for the afternoon. His latest invention was ready for use tomorrow, and his documentation detailing the experiment was thoroughly finished.

Opening his eyes, he turned to Willow and caught sight of the tiniest spark of lust and everything clicked into place. He indulged her silent request happily.

Behind them, the fire blazed with renewed vigor.


Updated :)