-O-

Taming Branch

By Dreamsinger

Chapter Eight

To Hug Or Not To Hug

Note: This chapter begins two days earlier than where we left off in the last chapter.

"Love, Poppy."

"Love, Poppy."

"Love, Poppy."

Kneeling on the floor of his bunker, Branch gazed at the scrapbooks laid out in a neat row in front of him. Three times. Three times now she'd said that she loved him. Him, the un-fun outsider who'd turned his back on the village as a teenager and went away to live alone.

She can't mean it…can she?

Hope collided with anxiety, and his mind reflexively veered away. Stop it, Branch. All he'd done for the last three days was waste time wandering around his bunker in a dither, unable to focus on anything. Tangled thoughts worse than any hairball, thanks to that cute little nuisance-

Branch slapped his cheeks to shake away such silly fantasies. Of course she didn't mean it. Not like that. She probably signs everything that way.

He sighed, got up and began to walk away, then paused uncertainly. "But she did say 'I care about you' in the first scrapbook, and she always writes 'I miss you" at the end…" he mused aloud. "And back when I was first showing her the way to my meadow, she said, "'You're way more interesting than a bunch of trees.'" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Interested in me… What type of 'interested' did she mean?"

For a single, tempting moment the gray troll allowed himself to wonder, then shook his head to dismiss the idle thought, denying himself hope as he always did. Hope didn't pay off; hard work did. Being well-prepared did. Being cautious and pragmatic did. Seeing the world as it truly was was how you survived without getting hurt. He'd learned that long ago.

"Nah. There's no way. I'll bet she's with that Milton guy she mentioned," he told himself firmly. "She only comes to see me because she feels like she has to, because she's the princess. She feels like it's her duty, that's all."

Something else occurred to him. "Or it's just because she's so infuriatingly nosy, like all the rest of them. Always wanting to know where you're going, what you're doing, what you had for lunch…" he grumbled. "And worst of all, what you're feeling! None of your business! Can't you just leave a troll in peace?"

Branch looked over his shoulder at the tempting scrapbooks, waiting for him to page through them yet again. He resisted for as long as he could, then groaned and went back to sit down again. He needed to figure out what to do. Ever since their fight, his thoughts had been cycling around and around in his head. Sometimes up, sometimes down. Be her friend and let her intrude on his life, or shut her out?

Some days he wanted to shut the whole world out. Then Poppy would come and sit in the meadow above, and he would feel a ridiculously strong pull to go out and join her. Weird, right? It was seriously messing up his productivity.

Honestly, it would be better if he just ignored her and went about his business. But the reclusive troll couldn't deny that his life had gotten a lot more interesting since she showed up. He hadn't realized how monotonous things had gotten over the years, with every day just like the next. He'd gone about much of his day on autopilot, responsibly tending to his usual routine without a lot of thought. Only when he ventured past the land he considered his did his mind truly wake, hyper-alert for signs of a threat. Of any kind.

Then a certain pink princess had entered the picture, and things hadn't been routine since. Every time she came, she wanted to do something different than the day before. She brought treats for him, too; old favorites he hadn't tasted in years, or savory new flavors that reminded him just how delicious food could be. She was full of stories and news about the village he'd left behind so long ago. Most of it meant nothing to him, but just listening to her talk was oddly reassuring.

One thing that was routine was the visits themselves. He wasn't sure just when it had happened, but sometime over the past two months he had begun to accept her presence in his life. Lately, when he made out his weekly schedule, "visit from Poppy" had appeared every afternoon at four o'clock sharp.

Not that she followed his schedule precisely. Sometimes she was a few minutes early, and sometimes a few minutes late. The first few times she was late, he'd been worried and had gone out looking for her. He'd been terrified that something in the forest had gotten her, only to see her cheerfully swinging through the trees toward him as if nothing was wrong. He'd gotten upset and yelled at her. She had merely apologized as if it was no big deal, casually explaining why she'd been late while he ground his teeth in frustration.

Her relaxed attitude toward time management was one of many, many things about Poppy that frustrated him, but he was beginning to understand that she was actually quite prompt for a troll. Unlike him, her schedule was ever-changing. Lots of things interfered with her ability to leave on time.

I'm so glad that doesn't happen to me. All my days go exactly according to schedule. Branch felt sorry for her, and also a little smug. That's one of the drawbacks of life in Troll Village. The more people you let into your life, the more messed up it gets. I could never live there. I like the simple life.

He was quiet for a moment, musing over the differences between her life and his. He decided, But even so, I don't really mind if Poppy wants to visit me. It had been a long time since he'd had any kind of companion. It's nice to have someone to talk to besides myself.

It had taken him a while to realize that that was what he liked most about her visits. Being listened to. Being paid attention to, especially by someone as nice as Poppy. Being able to talk to someone about what he was thinking, and getting a response in return.

Of course, there was a lot he couldn't talk about, like the fact that the meadow was actually his home territory. Or that his "bolt-hole" was really just the top floor of a huge, bergen-proof survival bunker, or that (at last inventory) it contained eight years and two months' worth of supplies. He wondered if she would be impressed by that, or if she would think he had wasted his time. He knew she didn't think that the bergens were much of a threat. Like the rest of the trolls, she didn't think the bergens were even looking for them anymore; or if they were, that they would never find Troll Village.

But they will. I know they will. She's too young to remember how vicious they were, how vindictive. But I remember. I can only hope if I keep warning her about them, she might listen to me and take steps to protect the rest of the trolls.

The trolls' greatest enemy aside, the gray loner had discovered that he actually enjoyed talking to Poppy about other things as well. True, she had an annoying tendency to focus more on fun and feelings than practical stuff, but even so, she honestly seemed to be interested in anything he said. Not like the other trolls. Many of them had avoided his company as if he were a bergen.

But I'm not! I'm nothing like them. Even though she thinks I am. He frowned as he recalled her last words to him. They still hurt. But he understood now that she hadn't really meant it. She had just been frustrated because he wouldn't hug her. If anyone understood frustration, he did!

In the scrapbooks she left him Poppy kept apologizing over and over, promising that she wouldn't try to hug him anymore unless he wanted to. She told him that she still wanted to be his friend, and do fun things with him. She seemed to mean it. She came every day and waited for him in the meadow, even though he didn't go out to see her. And she signed every scrapbook she made for him with "Love, Poppy."

Being told that he didn't have to hug her should have made him feel relieved. Instead, it made him feel guilty. He didn't need hugs, but Poppy did. Friends were supposed to care about each other, and take care of one another. If he was going to be Poppy's friend, sooner or later he would have to give her the dreaded hugs that she needed. Why couldn't the thing she needs most be gladnuts, or scrapbooking glue, or a machine to do her hair? I can give her almost anything. Why does it have to be hugs, of all things?

For days now he'd been torn with indecision. Except during her visits, when he wistfully watched her through his periscope as she did her fun little activities without him, he had done nothing but restlessly pace the floors of his bunker. Sleep was no reprieve, either, plagued with dreams of loss and frustration. He was a mess.

Oh, it would be so much easier if there was a good reason to keep her out of my life! So far he hadn't seen any signs that Poppy harbored any ill intent toward him. And he'd been looking.

As far as I can tell, she's telling the truth when she says that she only wants to be my friend. I even showed her the location of my meadow on purpose as a test to see if she was trustworthy. And she is. I know she didn't tell, or I'd have been mass-hugged by now.

The princess of the trolls had promised not to tell anyone about the meadow, and she had kept her word. Despite himself, he couldn't help but find that reassuring. When Poppy said she was going to do something, she did it. Hard as it was for her, she'd even kept the promise she'd made to him about not hugging him, right up until their fight. Even then, technically he was the one who had broken his promise, not her. He'd thought he could manage a quick hug, but when it came down to it, the idea of hugging anybody set off every warning-instinct he had. A flash of panic and doom, triggering an overpowering need to get away.

I feel bad for breaking my promise, but it's… It's just impossible. Helpless dejection crushed him. I can't give her what she needs. I just can't.

But he had to do something, if only to keep his bunker from filling up with mountains of scrapbooks. Scrapbooks made just for him, by a sweet girl who signed them "Love, Poppy." Scrapbooks that pulled on his rusty heartstrings, drawing out long-buried memories of laughter and love.

Life hadn't always been like this, had it? Once there had been warmth, and trust, and peace. Once he had cared for others, and they had cared for him. Then they were gone, and he was alone. He'd survived. He was safe. His heart might be empty but his bunker was full, and that was good enough. Wasn't it?

He'd believed so. But now there was someone. Someone who seemed to want to fill the empty void inside him with acceptance, kindness, friendship. Someone who was so unaccountably determined to be his friend that she was prepared to wait for him for as long as it took.

He liked that and he didn't. It made him feel strangely good to know she was out there waiting for him. Thinking of him. But her presence was also making him feel things. The more she tried to draw him out, the more he was waking up inside. It bothered him to feel so much. He didn't know how to handle all this emotion, and so he couldn't help but resent her for it.

His life had been calm and steady for years now. Memories that he thought he'd succeeded in burying deep below the tranquilizing surface of routine were still there after all, just waiting to get him. Bad feelings, bad thoughts, bad notes.

Everything was fine before she came along. If she hadn't spotted me that day…but then, it's my fault, too. If I'd been more careful, she never would have seen me or decided she wanted to be my friend, and I wouldn't be sitting here reading the same three apology scrapbooks over and over again…

He dropped his face into his hands, moaning softly. Will this ever stop?

On some level Branch understood that the only way to feel better was to talk to her about what was bothering him, but he wasn't ready to admit that. He wanted to see her and he didn't. He wanted to acknowledge her sacrifice, coming every day to sit there all by herself when she could be home having fun with the other trolls, but he was still angry and upset with her. She was the source of all this mental turmoil, whether she meant to make him feel bad or not.

Surprisingly, the thought calmed him a little. I know she didn't mean to make me feel bad. She wasn't trying to pick a fight; she was just frustrated. And to be fair, it was partly my fault. I didn't hug her like I said I would. I guess I owe her an apology, too.

For the first time in days, his stirred-up emotions settled down, making it easier to think. Maybe he could meet her halfway. He'd bake her some of her favorite cupcakes. I won't talk to her. I'll just leave them in the bolt-hole as thank-you for bothering me – I mean, for bothering with me. And if I decide not to see her anymore, they can be a farewell gift. Kind of poetic, really.

The baking went well. Pleasant memories associating his pretty little visitor with one of his favorite hobbies made him smile. He liked seeing her happy face as she tasted each new recipe, especially those with tasty, exotic ingredients unknown to a village troll. It was a nice feeling, to look forward to something.

The apology note he tried to write didn't go so well. When he tried to explain why he couldn't hug her, it kept turning into a tirade, spilling out of him like a waterfall. Scolding her for calling him a bergen. For disrupting his life. For reminding him of all the things in his past he didn't want to remember, like when she asked him if there was someone he missed. Or the way she kept trying to get him to hug her, or sing.

Not that Grandma's death was her fault. He knew very well who was to blame. But there was no way he could ever, ever tell her. I couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment in her eyes, the accusation. I was such a fool, singing like that right out in the open, leading that horrible, bloodthirsty bergen to set its evil red eyes on my sweet, loving grandma…

He shuddered violently. Poppy says singing will make me happy, but I just can't do it. Singing is not okay. Not for me. It's wrong. Dangerous, too. But she'll never believe that, not unless I tell her about Grandma. And I can't do that. Not even Poppy would want to be friends with someone who did something so awful.

Oh, what good was it to have someone to talk to when he couldn't talk about anything that really mattered to him? He didn't care about the goings-on in the village, and she didn't really care about the bergens, even though she was in more danger from them than he was. The whole village was. When the bergens attacked and the trolls found out how wrong they'd been, it would be too late!

Violent feelings surged inside him; terror and rage and anguish toward the stupid, innocent trolls who were about to get eaten, like his grandma had been eaten-

Branch found himself curled into a ball, his arms around his legs, rocking back and forth. Look at what she's done to me. I'm freaking out and I'm gonna have nightmares again tonight and it's all her fault for reminding me!

"This is why I left in the first place!" he ranted desperately, a cry in the dark. "Nobody in the village listened to me. Nobody liked what I had to say. Nobody understood me!"He pressed his forehead to his knees, wishing someone would come and stop the pain.

Then a delicate image wandered into his mind, of a cheerful pink troll with a bright magenta topknot and gentle rose-colored eyes. She was sitting in his meadow in a shaft of sunlight, waiting for him. A tiny thought whispered, Poppy listens to you.

The chill in his belly grew a little warmer. Branch stopped rocking and set his chin on his knees. Yeah, she listens. But I don't think she understands me, not really.

You could make her understand.

I don't know. The bergens are just history to her.

Not the bergens. You. You could try trusting her a little more and see how it goes. Share a little of your inner thoughts and feelings. If she does reject you, then at least you'll know, and you can go back to your calm, orderly life. And if she accepts you, well, then you'll have a true friend.

He looked at the cupcakes and an image of Poppy gleefully gobbling them up popped into his mind. She had a blob of icing on her cute little nose. Despite himself, one side of his mouth curled upward at the image. Playing tag with her was kind of fun…

In the end, he tore up all the notes and just left the cupcakes. He'd already made them, and he didn't want to waste food. He didn't feel like eating them himself. They'd only remind him of her.

Having taken the first step toward reconciliation, for the first time in days, his sleep was deep and peaceful.

-O-

The next day there was a fourth scrapbook beside the other three. Another cheery, hopeful message. Another request for his presence. Another "Love, Poppy."

Another swirl of warmth in his chest, plus an emotion he couldn't quite put his hair on. It had something to do with her faithfulness. Gladness, maybe? Yes, but also… It felt solid. Stable. Maybe he could trust that she'd remain a part of his life. Maybe being the princess gave her more of a sense of responsibility than the other trolls. Or maybe she just liked him as much as she said she did, and wanted him to like her just as much. Or even lov-

He shook his head vehemently. O…kay, Branch, let's not go there. Just focus on one thing: Do you or do you not want Poppy in your life? Is her presence good or bad?

Well… If I was smart, I'd say 'no'. And yet…

Up until now, Branch hadn't noticed how much time he spent thinking about Poppy. Thinking of things to tell her the next time he saw her, or wondering what silly game she'd have in mind for the day. The forgotten feeling of warmth in his chest when she noticed something about him that she liked, or praised him for doing something well; something he'd done a thousand times in the past with no one to acknowledge it. Being noticed, being recognized, being liked. Being accepted. He hadn't realized how much light she brought into his life, or the way it chased away the shadows in his heart.

He was ready to admit it now. I do want to see her again. I need to see her again. Poppy gives me things I can't ever store in my bunker. And that means I'm going to have to figure out some way to give her what she needs from me.

Hugs. He wrinkled his nose. I don't hug. I haven't hugged in so long, I can't imagine ever wanting to...

A flicker of an idea. Imagine... Hmm…

He opened his eyes and reached for one of the glitter-encrusted tomes. None of Poppy's scrapbooks showed the two of them hugging, but maybe he could get some ideas; figure out some way to bear it for as long as it took.

On one page a pink female danced next to a greenish male with black hair. Both of their little mouths were beaming with joy. Branch studied the pair, trying to picture himself taking his character's role so joyously. He tried to stretch his mouth into a grin, but it felt wrong. He tried again, and reached up to touch his face. Weren't the corners of his mouth supposed to go up? He tried that, but then it felt like too much of his teeth were showing.

Forget it. This is stupid.

He flipped to the next page. Roller skating. That one was okay. Good exercise. And next - doing a jigsaw puzzle. She'd managed to get him talking about hobbies one day and had obviously remembered that he'd said he didn't totally hate puzzles, which was Branch code for "liking them very much". Knowing that Poppy was paying that much attention to what he said both pleased and disconcerted him.

Branch didn't really know what to make of the next picture. The left side had the Branch-figure sitting on the ground with the Poppy-figure standing over him, brushing his hair. His eyes were closed into happy little curved arches, and he wore a big, goofy grin.

The right side had their positions reversed. Branch was gazing tenderly down at her, his eyes half-shut and his mouth curving gently upward. Poppy had her head tilted back to gaze up at him, smiling sweetly to show how much she was enjoying what he was doing to her.

Branch felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at it. Sort of quivery and tense, but not like he was sick or something. More like longing-

What? Ugh, no. Branch gave the page a look of mingled fascination, confusion and disgust, his bottom lip curling. Trolls are so touchy-feely. How do they stand it?

His eyes were drawn to their hands. As the adoring male drew the brush through her vibrant magenta locks with one hand, the other rested along her jawline, gently supporting her head. Her hand was on top of his. Look at them, touching each other like that. That's not even a hug. So why do they look so happy? Why does it seem like something more is happening here? Why did she scrapbook us doing that?

Branch recalled that the pink princess had mentioned something about hair brushing the other day, but he'd been too agitated at the time to even consider it. But now he wondered, If I brushed her hair, would Poppy ever look at me like that in real life? So warm and adoring, like I was really special to her. As if she…felt…

The page wavered alarmingly, rippling in his hands as if the ground was shaking. An earthquake? Then his eyes began to sting, and he reached up to rub them. His fingers came away wet. What the…

He was – he was crying? Over a stupid scrapbook picture?

Branch slammed the book shut and dropped it on the floor. The unexpected flood of feelings caused him to instinctively shut down, retreating inward as if he were being attacked. Again.

"I hate this." He put his face in his hands, his chest tight. Oh Poppy, why'd you have to find me? Why you, of all trolls?

He'd managed to forget how much he'd once cared about her. How he'd watched over the little princess from a distance. How they'd been close for a time, before she'd moved on and forgotten about him, too. She'd even asked his name when they first met again.

At the time I'd been too surprised to see her to feel insulted, but unless there are other colorless trolls out there, you'd think she'd at least have remembered me for that.

Indignant now, he grumbled to himself, "You know, I was doing just fine before she showed up. Should never have gotten involved with her. Friendship, bah! Now look at me. Can't concentrate. Can't sleep. Our friendship's broken and I don't have the right tool to fix it."

Yes, you do, Branch. You know what will fix it.

"Well, maybe I don't want to fix it. I don't care anyway. I don't!" he huffed. "I don't need a friend that badly. Even if she does make the…cutest little sound…when she laughs." His voice faltered and trailed off as his mind turned inward.

She even got me to laugh, and she was really happy when I did. I'd forgotten how good it felt to laugh.

Not just for the feeling itself, but for how it had made him feel close to her. He'd wanted to reach out, to connect with her even more, and so he had. Her hand had felt so little and precious in his. He remembered how its warmth had surprised him. For one living, breathing moment, they had been a part of one another, as if their old friendship had never gone away.

Until she had to go and ruin that special moment by bringing up those exasperating hugs!

Okay, fine. He sighed in resignation. You're going to hug her sooner or later. You know you are, Branch. You might as well just get it over with.

The tightness inside him eased. Now that his decision was made, he felt better, more relaxed. He would do his best.

-O-

On the one hair, Branch's hug was terrible. The worst hug Poppy had ever gotten. His body was way too stiff, and his nervous hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles digging into her back a little.

On the other hair, it was one of the most satisfying hugs she'd ever gotten. It had taken her a long, long time to earn his trust and affection. In that moment, she honestly couldn't be happier.

He's giving me this hug of his own free will, and that's what counts. I've been wanting to hug him ever since I saw him in the forest that day, so wild and elusive, dancing back just out of reach. And now he's choosing to come to me. My sweet little foxfluff.

He was still trembling. Then she realized she was, too.

Author's Note:

Poor Branch; so conflicted! So scared of being vulnerable and letting Poppy in. He'd almost rather she proved herself untrustworthy, so he could write her off and go back to his quiet life, but no matter how he tries, he can't find a flaw bad enough to keep her out of his life.

At this point it's been about 2 ½ months since their reunion, and the more he's with her, the more he's learning about the good parts of companionship. It's a new experience, but one he's unconsciously craved his entire life. Having her all to himself helps, since there's no other trolls around to take her attention from him, so he's actually bonding with her faster than he would have otherwise.

Same for Poppy. She can devote herself entirely to him here, with no interruptions. I get the feeling that even though she knows her people well, she doesn't have the time to have more than surface-level relationships with most of them. And of course, they don't know her inner heart and vulnerabilities as well as Branch is now getting to know them.

He's seeing a side of her that few trolls other than her friends and father ever get to see. She's getting the feedback that she seriously needs, from a close friend who is not exactly her subject, so he can be honest with her in a way every ruler needs. It puts them on equal footing, so to speak. This experience is good for both of them.