The cold has receded to a point where my brain had come out of hiding. Ergo, fic.
Oh, and in the interim, I figured out how it's going to end. Finally. And don't worry, there's a lot to go between here and there.
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Mark stood and wandered around the area that used to be the oasis. He knew that there was no point in trying to talk to Anne right now, so left her alone to brood while he looked at a few of the marvels around him. He wished that he had time to look at all the things that tantalized him, but realized that his time in the paradise was going to be short by necessity.
It felt so odd to be walking on grass. He knew that he shouldn't, knew that his very presence was killing it, but Anne hadn't made any paths through her garden. He couldn't really see why she would neglect something so vital, but she had. So he stepped as lightly as he could, and tried to ignore the guilt that his visible footsteps caused.
It was amazing, simply amazing to be surrounded by such a plethora of life. Here, roses snaked up and around one of the rock spires, their fragrance filling the late afternoon air. He looked at the flowers, at the petals and leaves, and he figured out where the cuttings that had been stolen from the Rose Quarter had gone. There had been a minor uproar when the desecration of the garden had been discovered. One flower had been deliberately snipped from each bush, the scar mocking those who took pleasure in a stroll around the flowers. Some had thought that it was a lovesick beau, some felt that it was malicious vandalism, and some felt that it was just a prank, but no one had ever been able to figure out who did it, or why. The flowers themselves had disappeared, not to be found in anyone's possession, or even in a random compost heap. Much of the city had helped look for the perpetrator, an effort that had banded together disparate groups for a few weeks. A smile teased his lips as he remembered how nonchalant Anne had been during that time. Plants grow back, he recalled her saying.
He looked at the towering bush in front of him and contrasted it mentally with what lived in the garden. That small, spindly sample couldn't hold a candle to what she had grown. How did she do it? Did she know how to make them grow, secrets lost to the denizens of Gunsmoke, or was it just more of her tricks?
He grabbed one of the apples and bit into the crisp flesh while he wandered Taste exploded on his tongue, sweet and tart at the same time. It was easily the best fruit he had ever tasted. There was so much to see, so much that called out to all his senses, and yet the light was fading faster then he could take it all in.
Night fell differently here then it did in the desert, he discovered. Instead of being drawn like a curtain with the passing of the last sun, it seemed to collect under the leaves as the great stars slipped towards the horizon, then pool outwards like water cascading over a table, spreading over everything without seeming to diminish at all.
The birds began to chirp softly to each other, sweet sounds of preparation for sleep. Leaves rustled together like sheets of paper as they flitted to what branch they called home, the green shields hiding the small bodies.
Mark breathed deep of the rich, warm, living scent of the air. He wondered if this was what Earth was like, back in the days before there were too many people, before the offered beauty was despoiled. He filled his lungs, then exhaled and filled them again, trying to imprint the memory of everything he had seen and felt on his mind, feeling the magic inherent in the moment, inherent in the life that surrounded him tingle in his veins. Then he turned and walked back to where Anne still sat.
He approached as gently as he could, then sat down beside her. After waiting a few seconds, hoping in vain that she would acknowledge his presence, he spoke. "We need to go back now, Anne. It's getting late, and this place is iles from December."
"No," she said softly, almost whimsically, but she didn't move.
He waited again, wanting her to say more, then added, "We need to get to work tomorrow morning."
She shrugged her shoulders in reply.
He sighed. "Are you running away from the problem?"
"No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I'm thinking, Mark."
"Thinking about what?"
"About what I'm going to do next. About how I'm going to officially react to what Ace told me. About if I can make myself go home again or not."
"What did she say?"
"She hates me."
"Was that it?"
"…No."
"Then what was it? I know it involves her and Knives."
She sighed. "She manipulated him into a relationship with her, just to hurt me."
Mark looked at her for a minute, then shrugged. "So just tell him that."
"Like he'll even believe me."
"Have you lied to him before?"
"Yes. Often."
"Oh. Has she?"
"Not that I know of, save for this big one."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well, we can't stay here."
She sighed. "I know. We have work."
"Do you have anywhere to go?"
"I can get a hotel room, I guess." She frowned.
"What?"
"I forgot to pick up some clothes when I left," she explained, then shrugged. "Not a big deal. I remembered the computer," she offered when she took in his puzzled glance.
"You were running out on your family, and you thought to grab that stupid cube?"
"If I'm not going back there, it's the only thing I can't replace."
"But…" He shook his head, bemused.
"Besides," she continued. "They aren't my family."
"What?"
"We may all be plants, or most of us, but they aren't family. They just aren't." She turned her head away as she stood up, and he carefully didn't notice as she wiped at her eyes.