The lumpy forest loomed, tall and threatening, before the girl. Willow felt herself hesitate, her steps slowing, as she neared the edge of the meadow. She half expected a tree to blast her into the sky with a well-aimed swipe.
"This is stupid," she grumbled, shaking her head violently. "Why am I scared of some dumb trees?" She took a deep breath and carried on into the forest, lighter gripped tight.
Her adventure was not without purpose; earlier that morning, Willow had been cooking seeds over an open flame. She had been grumbling about how long it took berry bushes to bear fruit again. "If you ask me," she had said, "I think they're being entirely selfish about it. Heck, they're probably sentient here; I mean, if the trees can be big angry jerks, then what's stopping the bushes? Plants are plants."
Wilson hadn't been listening, as Willow expected. He had been fiddling with some strange contraption that he had spent the whole night building. Willow popped some seeds into her mouth and joined him by the machine.
"How's it coming along?" she asked around her mouthful of seeds. He hardly spared her a glance, his bloodshot eyes still trained on the machine. He mumbled something incoherently. Willow clapped her hand on his shoulder.
"You've been messing with that thing for too long. Come on, even mad scientists need sleep."
"I'm fine," he snapped. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes, which bore larger bags than usual. "I'm just a bit frustrated; I'm missing a key component for an invention that could make our lives immensely easier. I was actually about to set out to gather it-"
"Oh no you don't," Willow said sternly. "You'll walk two feet, fall down a hill somewhere, and die. I'll go get the thing you need."
Wilson huffed, visibly forcing back a massive yawn.
"Fine," he conceded, turning his body away from the machine. "I think this task will be better suited to you, anyway, with your affinity for flames." Willow's eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite force of nature.
"Do I get to burn down stuff?" she asked giddily, bouncing on her heels excitedly. Wilson smiled.
"Actually, yes. I need charcoal, which means you'll have to-"
"Burn down a forest?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself; I don't need a forest's worth of charcoal. A few handfuls should suffice; you only need to burn down a few trees."
Wilson failed to bite back a second yawn. Willow smiled warmly at him.
"Don't worry, science guy, I'll get your supplies."
Wilson gave her a final, terse nod before heading towards the fire pit. He spread his straw roll, systematically smoothing it to the best of his abilities before curling up on top. Willow turned away and walked towards the birch forest.
"Try not to set the whole island on fire," he called to her. She gave him a parting wave.
She found a particularly large birch tree, and had nearly set it aflame when she remembered a crucial detail; these trees dropped edible nuts when felled, which made them an excellent source of food. If she burned them down, she wasn't sure that she'd be able to salvage the nuts before they, too, burned to ash.
She sighed. "Count yourself lucky," she said to the large tree. The tree didn't respond.
Willow lamented the fact that she and Wilson had cut down the few pine trees that had lived in their valley; despite his (very reasonable) concern regarding the coniferous plants, he had been just as concerned about their camp accidentally catching fire.
"It's not like we have anything irreplaceable," Willow had grumbled, but Wilson's decision had been firm.
She wandered west in search of a proper, non-wasteful forest to burn. The young woman eventually came upon a small meadow, ringed by the birch wood at one end and a forest of misshapen pine trees at the other.
She had approached, given herself a pep talk, and set her feet back in motion; she walked up to the base of an ugly pine, lighter at the ready. With a well practiced flick of her thumb, she brought forth her tiny flame.
She watched the tree crumble in on itself, goose bumps rising along her arms and legs. It was so thrilling to set things aflame; Wilson knew that she had an unhealthy obsession with burning things, but he had no idea how deep that obsession ran. It was like a drug to her; she found herself itching to burn everything within arms reach whenever she was stressed, or nervous, or sad. Though it had afflicted her since childhood, Willow could have sworn that, since entering this strange world, her urges had only grown stronger.
It terrified her.
She never asked to be like this; Willow hated feeling chained to something as dangerous as fire to feel alive. She could never really relish her creations, and she had far too many close calls with flames to consider it truly friendly. The scars on her legs and feet, carefully covered by tights and boots, were proof enough of it's danger.
But she still felt a kinship with the element, and she couldn't ignore it's comfort. Once the tree crumbled to coals at her feet, her goose bumps fled and her pulse began to slow.
She bent down, scooped up the handful of coals, and tucked them safely into the pockets of her skirt. She frowned, annoyed at the coil of anxiety that came slinking back into her mind. This world had taken a toll on her, and she deserved some stress-relief.
"He did say he needed me to burn down a few trees..." she rationalized aloud. The creepy forest gave no reply.
Willow felt like dancing; embers were fluttering from the very tips of the pines, falling at her feet like snow. She nearly skipped from tree to tree, her lighter perpetually glowing beneath her fingers. She made the ugly trees beautiful with her pretty little fires, and she felt more composed and level-headed than she'd been in nearly two weeks.
"Burn, burn, burn!" she giggled to herself, staring up at her handiwork. She was so happy to finally, finally have a place where she could let loose and feel contentment without the fear of hurting others. Normally, giving into her fiery obsession resulted in intense remorse; she was often chided for putting herself above others, and that guilt ate at her constantly. However, the only other person on the horrid island was Wilson, who was safe and sound at their camp, miles away.
It was just her and her flames.
Willow looked up, grinning ecstatically.
Her smile slipped from her face.
Every single tree was burning.
She spun around, looking for any possible route to escape through. The fire starter found none.
In her excitement, she had wandered into a denser part of the woods. The trees, which were larger and thicker than normal pines, created a makeshift barricade around where she stood. The wall was steadily turning bright orange as flames licked up the sides.
Willow was, in short, royally screwed.
"Crap," she muttered. A slow creaking met her ears. She looked up.
"Crap!" she screamed. She leaped away from the path of the falling tree, just barely avoiding it's red-hot foliage. It crashed in an explosion of ash and embers, and Willow followed suit a short distance away. She scrambled up from the soot-laced grass and stared, open mouthed, at the tree that had nearly ended her life.
"I have to get out of here," she breathed. She took a deep (surprisingly clear) breath of air and ducked beneath the branches of a flaming pine tree.
She found it odd how easily air flowed into her lungs, despite the thick smoke lacing the air. It didn't burn, or cause her to hack, or even give her pause; it merely tasted a little charred, which she didn't find unpleasant.
Willow's contemplation came to a grinding halt. Another tree had cracked under the assault of the flames, it's trunk toppling down onto the fleeing girl. She felt it's needles dig into her back and cried out.
"I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead," she chanted from beneath the burning pine. Instead of flesh-melting heat and searing pain, however, she felt only a pleasant warmth. Though she struggled, Willow eventually managed to turn her head enough to examine her situation.
There was no doubt about it; the tree pinning her down was completely engulfed in flames. The air was thick and hazy with the heat of it, and she expected each breath to burn beyond belief. As before, though, the heat failed to singe her throat; it merely felt like a sip of pleasantly hot coffee. The needles on her back felt like warm summer grass.
Willow was confused.
By all accounts, she should be dead by now, or at least horribly disfigured. The flames, instead of eating her flesh, merely licked at her cheek, nestled through her hair, and caressed against her arms.
A smile crept onto her face.
Perhaps this world wasn't so horrible after all.
The tree, due to it's size, took a good few hours to burn out. Willow waited patiently beneath it, lingering in a state of near bliss. Eventually she felt the heat begin to ease up. She pushed up against the trunk experimentally, and the tree caved in beneath her touch. Brittle and broken from the heat, it was a cinch for Willow to kick her way out from beneath the decimated pine. It rolled away from her, leaving a trail of cinders in it's wake.
Willow looked around at the dead forest. The once lumpy pines stared, cold and angular, back at her. They weren't as beautiful now that the flames had died, but she still thought their new forms were much more interesting. She took them down, one by one, with her axe, working steadily until a majority of the forest lay in her pockets.
With a final glance at the now-barren, burnt field, Willow began to head back to camp, her mind full of questions and blissfully at ease.
"Where have you been?" Wilson asked frantically once she returned to camp. Willow shrugged her sooty shoulders and dug into her pockets, retrieving handfuls of coals. "Getting the stuff you asked for," she replied. Wilson's mouth stayed set in a thin line.
"You've been gone for hours; it's nearly sundown! And why are you covered in ashes? Please don't tell me you rolled around in the dirt for fun."
Willow frowned, staring at the hand he had placed on her shoulder. She shrugged away from him as he began dusting off her shirt. "If you must know," she said coolly, "I spent the afternoon pinned beneath a flaming tree."
Wilson stared.
And stared.
And stared.
He continued staring until Willow waved her hand in his face. "Uh, hello? Earth to science man? I just told you something completely astounding and scientifically impossible; aren't you going to bombard me with questions?"
Wilson snapped out of his stupor, although he was still confused. He struggled to string together a coherent sentence for a few moments. "Why are you not burned? Where are your injuries?" He patted at her face awkwardly, searching for hidden burns on her cheeks. Willow resisted the urge to push him away; she would have appreciated his concern, had his inspection not been purely for scientific purposes.
"Well, you see, that's a really funny story. How about we have some dinner first? I haven't had a chance to eat anything besides seeds all day."
Wilson nodded, though he still looked perturbed. He took the charcoal clasped in her hands and smiled slightly. "Actually, it's funny that you mentioned that," he said warmly.
"How so?" Willow asked. The man didn't respond; instead, he began trotting towards his science machine, refusing to acknowledge Willow's questions. Her curiosity urged her to follow the scientist.
She stood beside him as he tinkered with the machine, pulling levers and squinting as if deep in thought. He made a few noises like "Hmm" and "Ah!" as he deliberated. Willow was still incredibly lost.
After a few moments of silence, the machine began making a loud clanking sound. It shuddered as it worked, churning and spitting almost angrily while Wilson watched it with glee. Willow had honestly never seen the man so happy.
The mechanism came to a grinding halt. It gave a final belch, spitting out seemingly random items onto the ground. Wilson's grin threatened to overtake his entire face.
"Isn't this incredible?" he asked, kneeling down to inspect his creations. Willow tried to feel excited, but she still felt horribly confused.
"Uh, yeah? It's a...pot, I guess? And some sticks."
"No, no, no! It is far more than that. Here, grab the sticks and follow me."
He jogged to the side of the science machine, the pot and charcoal stuffed beneath his arms. Willow followed dutifully with the sticks in her grasp.
Wilson snatched the sticks away and quickly assembled his creation. "Ah," Willow thought. "Now I see it."
A tiny stone pot was held aloft by four stick-legs, cradled securely over a bed of coals. Though it was small and a tad crude, she could definitely see it's relation to a crock pot.
"That's incredible," she said softly, kneeling lower to further inspect the tiny pot. Wilson lifted the lid and threw an assortment of meats and berries into the cooker.
"While that cooks, why don't you get me up to speed with your," he paused, turning to give Willow another look-over, "newest developments?"
Willow nodded, crossing her legs. The enticing smell of cooking meat reached her nose, and she bit back a desire to drool.
She told him about her afternoon adventure in it's entirety; Wilson, to her surprise, refrained from interrupting her. He nodded solemnly, made noises of astonishment, and occasionally widened his eyes, but was otherwise silent. Willow finished her tale with a dreamy flourish, sighing happily as she recalled her closeness with the flames.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
"I think," Wilson said, scrubbing at his stubbled jaw, "That we should run some experiments." He had a nearly manic gleam in his eye, one that worried Willow immensely.
"Uh, no."
"What?" Wilson asked. "Why not? This is a totally unnatural development, if what you've told me about your prior injuries is true. We need to fully understand this phenomenon so that it can be fully utilized!"
"I'm a human being, Wilson," she said through gritted teeth. "Not some lab rat you can toy around with for your own enjoyment! And don't try to hide behind the whole 'for science' shtick; I know you get off on this kind of stuff, and I'm putting my foot down."
He opened his mouth, ready to retort. Willow would not let him have it.
"I mean it."
He gave her a long, tired look, then sighed. "Apologies," he said quietly. Willow couldn't help but notice the subtle scorn in his voice.
She ignored it.
"It's alright."
Wilson stood up to collect the meal simmering in the crockpot. Willow, too, stood up, though she headed for the fire pit instead. She threw a bit of grass into it's center, fanning the flames with gentle hands.
She dipped her fingers into the fire, smiling as the flames climbed up her fingertips.
She heard Wilson sit beside her, two plates of meatballs held in his hands. Willow graciously accepted one.
He looked so sad.
Willow felt horrible.
She understood wholeheartedly what it was like to have an obsession; a tic that was so essential to her being that, without fulfilling it, she felt stressed and miserable for days on end. She had her cravings for fire. She wondered if science was Wilson's equivalent.
"Look," she said, stabbing halfheartedly at her meatballs. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."
He glanced up briefly, then continued eating in silence.
"I really didn't mean to. I mean, I think I understand where you're coming from, with all your science and experiments and stuff. It's comforting to you, right?"
"Yes," he admitted, setting his plate on his knees. "It is, actually."
"See, it's like how I am with my fire; it reminds me of better times. And I bet your science does the same for you. And now I can actually experience my fire the way I've always wanted to, and the first thing I did when you tried to get a sense of familiarity is-" she stopped and looked down. "Is shout at you. And I'm really sorry. Even though you were a bit tactless in your approach."
She heard him chuckle faintly, and took this as a good sign. Willow set her untouched food on the ground and turned to look Wilson in the eye.
"Look, I don't want to be a lab rat; I really don't do well in situations where I have no control. But, I do kind of want to understand this better. And I'll let you help me understand it. Is that alright?" Willow offered him a hand, hoping to wipe the defeated look from his eyes.
Wilson, too, abandoned his food on the ground. He reached for Willow's hand, clasped it tight between his own.
"Yes, that sounds lovely," he said. "Thank you."
The pair held hands for a few moments longer, enjoying the comfort of the contact. Willow eventually pulled away, her stomach growling angrily now that the guilty knot had been untangled. She shoveled her food down her throat too fast to taste, though she enjoyed the warmth and heaviness of the meal itself.
"That invention really is fantastic," she said around a mouthful of meat. She swallowed and yawned, the chaos of the day catching up to her.
Wilson smiled at the compliment. "Perhaps we can start learning about your newly acquired flame retardance in the morning?"
Willow nodded her assent, her eyelids beginning to droop. She cleaned the last bits of sauce from her plate and stretched groggily.
"Thank you, Wilson," she said quietly. He acknowledged her with a slow, friendly nod, then abandoned the fire pit. Willow assumed that the scientist was going to fiddle with his science machine some more. A gradual clanking confirmed her suspicions.
The waning fire beckoned to her; Willow fed it until it glowed, bright and hot and lovely, in it's little stone pit. She lovingly dipped her hands into it's depths, smiling at the soothing warmth.
She fell asleep curled against the rocks.
A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support!
PVZOmega: Thank you for the wonderful suggestion! Unfortunately I already have a majority of this story plotted out in my head, and Webber doesn't fit in the direction I plan to take it. I do plan on writing a Webber (and Wendy!)-centric story eventually, and I also plan on introducing a few other familiar faces in this one :)