From: Kirsten Kerkhof Date: Fri, 2 Jul 2010 11:12:47 +0200 Subject: "To Plant a Tree" by Kirsten Kerkhof Source: direct TITLE: "To Plant a Tree" AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof * CLASSIFICATION: MSR KEYWORDS: S R A RATING: G SPOILERS: IWTB SUMMARY: It's been said that every man should build a house, plant a tree, and have a son. DISCLAIMER: They're mine! *laughs like a lunatic* No seriously, I don't own them, nor would I want to (seeing that I can barely keep myself on the money I make). I do think I could make them happier though ARCHIVING: Sure. I'll do Gossamer myself, all others: you're welcome when you tell me where it's going, 'kay? FEEDBACK: Cherished and worshipped at XxXxX To Plant a Tree by Kirsten Kerkhof XxXxX I find him on the porch, sitting on the wicker couch that looks out over the fields next to our house. Nothing useful will grow in these fields, I don't know what's wrong with the soil, but it does give us privacy, even if the necessity of staying out of sight has been lifted since that stint back with the Bureau almost two years ago. He's leaning his arms on his thighs and his gaze looks miles away. I wonder what he's thinking. "Mind if I join you?" I ask with a smile and he turns his head to look at me. He smiles a little and shakes his head. "Of course not." He pats the seat next to him and I sit down, leaning back so I can see him from the corner of my eyes. He'll talk to me when he's ready. A comfortable silence falls between us. I listen to the wind rustling the leaves on the trees around our house. Cicadas are chirping loudly in the fields and the odd bird is chittering away in one of the trees. In the distance a dog barks. "I've been thinking," he then says. He doesn't look at me, but I nod anyway. I don't say anything yet though. I have a feeling he needs time. He sighs deeply. It touches my heart and I put my hand on his back, rubbing gently. 'Take your time', it says, 'I am here.' He looks at me and smiles thank you. Then he looks out across the fields again. "It's my birthday in a couple of months," he continues, and I nod again. "I'll be 49." Another nod from me. He takes a deep breath. "I'm almost 50," he goes on. "I never thought I'd live to be 50." I frown. "Why not?" I ask, deciding to speak now. He shrugs a little. "I'm self-destructive, I always have been. Especially before I met you. Ya know, live hard, die young. I always thought I'd die young ..." "But you didn't." He shakes his head. "No, I didn't. Mind you, I'm not sorry I didn't, it's just ... well, surprising ... sometimes ..." I go on rubbing his back and he chuckles a little depreciatingly. "Of course, it's not as though I didn't try or anything." I frown. "Stop that," I say, unwilling to go there, but he seems equally unwilling to let go of the train of thought. "I did die." I give him a look that says I'm not amused by this. "So you did. What's your point? You're here now." He nods, but there is something in his eyes that bothers me and which I can't quite place. "But ..." "But what?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Never mind." Normally I would've pushed to find out, but somehow I think I don't really want to know. But I'm not going to let him wallow in self-pity and exclude me. We're in this together, partner, for better or worse, whether you like it or not. "Are you happy?" He smiles and I see it's a genuine smile. "Yes." Then it fades. "But I'm almost 50 years old and ..." I scoot a little closer to him and he wraps his arm around me. "Tell me what's really bothering you," I say. "It's not the age, that's just a number. I know you better than to believe that you're bothered by turning 50." He gives me a wry smile. Busted ... "You know," he then says, "I read somewhere that every man should plant a tree, build a house, and have a son." I smile. "You have a son." He nods, but lets out a sigh. "I never really knew him." There's a tone of unspeakable sadness in these few words and I feel my heart break for him. "I'm sorry," I whisper, wishing for the n-th time that I hadn't given our baby up. "You did the right thing," he whispers back, but I know we're not so sure anymore. Oh, rationally speaking we still know I had no choice, but the human side of us, the parent-side of us is having serious doubts. And that side, that part of us that just wants to be a father, to be a mother, is steadily gaining ground. It's beyond our control. I decide not to persevere, it's pointless. William is lost to us until the moment he decides to find us. If he doesn't find us, for whatever reason, we'll never see him again. He pulls me to him and for long minutes we just sit, lost in thoughts which I have no doubt are pretty similar. Our son. Our baby boy -- who's no longer a baby. He's nine years old now, not even a small child anymore. If he's still alive of course, we don't even know that for sure. Would we recognise him if we met him unexpectedly? I'd like to think we would, but to be honest I seriously doubt it. Damn ... I decide to change the subject, even if only slightly. "How about that house?" I see a small smile curve his mouth. "Didn't do that. And I never planted a tree either." "You chose this house and we bought it with your money." "That's not the same as building it." I shrug. "Nobody builds their own homes anymore, not unless you're in that business. It's as close as you could come." I smile at him and the soft look in his eyes warms me. I reach up to stroke his jaw, feeling a need to comfort and caress him. "You provided your family with a home. I'd say that only a whisper away from building it yourself." He smiles even wider. I think he's prepared to accept my words. "My family?" I chuckle. "Well, you and me anyway." "You're not ...?" I smile a little sadly. "I'm afraid not. But that doesn't mean we can't keep on trying." He chuckles. "Damn ..." "Of course ..." I begin, and gently loosen myself from his arm around my shoulder. I get up from the seat and walk down the three steps that lead into the garden. A quick look around provides me with what I was looking for. I pick it up and return to his side. I take his hand and place my trophy in it. "... that just leaves that tree." "An acorn," he says with an odd quiver in his voice. "I think it's time to plant that tree. Fulfil the last goal." He looks at the humble seed as it rests in the palm of his hand. Then he slowly shakes his head. "It won't grow." I frown. "Why wouldn't it grow?" He bites his lips, still looking at the acorn. "I have a son, but I lost him. I have a house, but I didn't build it. I don't think I'm meant to grow a tree ..." I feel a tear slide down my cheek. I can't believe the sadness in his voice, the defeatist tones that resonate. I can't let this happen. "You have a son, when you were never supposed to have one. You have a house that kept us safe when the whole world was trying to destroy us." I close his fingers around the acorn, then lift his hand to my lips and press a lingering kiss on his fingers. "I think it's time you left your legacy ..." "A tree?" "A mighty oak tree which will outlive us by centuries." "It may never even germinate." I shake my head and look out over the back yard. The old oak is starting to lose its leaves, autumn has really kicked in. The days are getting shorter, the wind colder. But there is still something in the air. A promise of things to come. Things that will lie dormant for a while, patient, just waiting for their time to come. "Maybe not. Come to think of it, it's a bit like William, right?" He looks at me, not smiling. I don't know what that look in his eyes means, but suddenly it just pisses me off. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?" I ask. He doesn't answer, just looks at the fresh acorn in his hand, and sighs. Then he leans his head in his hands and shakes his head. I feel some of my frustration drain away again. "Is this the man who taught me to believe the unbelievable?" I say softly. "To see miracles where others saw dead ends? To open my mind to what others refuse to acknowledge?" I turn to face him and take his hands, making him look at me. "Because as a matter of fact, I just want to believe. What about you?" I see one corner of his mouth turn upwards and then a rueful smile appears. "You're fighting real dirty, you know that, right?" I nod, making him smile wider. He leans in and presses a soft lingering kiss on my mouth. When we part we smile, not saying anything. I turn a little, pull my feet up to sit on the couch sideways, leaning into his side. I feel his arm come around me and we just snuggle. "What do you think would be a good place?" he says softly. I smile. Yes! "Perhaps near the fence gate? That seems to be just about the only spot where plants seem to do okay." "You planted flowers there." "I'd rather have a tree." "All right." We fall into a companiable silence again. I don't know what he's thinking of course, but I'm back to those three things he thinks he should achieve in life. They make quite some sense actually, come to think of it. "What do *I* have to do?" I ask. "What do you mean?" "What's my list of things to achieve?" He looks at me and shrugs. "Don't know. But ..." "But what?" He smiles. "You gave me a son, you made this house a home, and you found me an acorn. I'd say that's a pretty damn good record." I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Smooth talker ... "You want to plant this acorn now?" he asks. "Maybe we'd better. It'll be a few months before the snow comes, and we'll want that seed to be well settled for winter." He nods. Then he gets up. He reaches out and I let him pull me up from the couch and, with his hand in its old spot on the small of my back, we walk down the steps towards the fence. It's time to plant that tree. THE END