Had he ever properly appreciated flowers before? He doesn't think so. Lucy had never been a cut-flowers and careful arrangements sort of girl, more meadow-of-wildflowers and chaotic clash of colours, so there hadn't been many around the house when she was alive, and the necessarily sterility of industrial space ship design and construction left no place for floral displays at work.

Even when he could, he had never noticed flowers before so, somewhat strangely, they were something he missed desperately during his years away.

The sun pouring over his shoulder, warming his back and casting a deep shadow is a world away from the harsh, cold blue artificial light that he had lived with for far too long: it has been almost shocking when he felt that again for the first time. It gives the flower before him a luminescent quality, a golden aura.

He plucks the stem – firm, but with a springyness to it - from the plant with a soft but solid snick as it comes away, so he can stop crouching, ease his aching knees, and examine the flower properly.

The petals are soft, velvety, and cool beneath his fingers. He can bend them right back, but there is a strength there that doesn't let them tear, and he's not harsh enough to cause them damage, just luxuriating in it's flexibility. With the blossom this close he can see that what, at first glance, appeared to be solid red was a patchwork of different hues, stripes and spots that covered the petals in an intricate design. It's vibrancy and gentle curves, unique amongst the infinite variety that just this single plant offers, is overwhelming compared to the harsh lines and bland surroundings that had come to make up his small, confined, monotonous world.

The scent – he had almost forgotten anything except metal and fuel – it's heady to breath in the warmth and texture, the smell of pollen promising a meal to the buzzing insects but giving something softer, lighter, more intimate to him, that he is yet to figure out.

"Dad," A voice yells down from the house above. "You ready for dinner?"

"On my way," he calls back, letting the bloom drop back to the soil, to begin the slow walk inside, still unused to all this gravity. He has time for more flowers later, time for all of it.