Every Flower Under the Sun

Every Flower Under the Sun

Part 1

Lilies.

The air fills with their fragrance as I watch him walk up the rows of chairs to the open casket. The withered woman with her gray hair and slim, wrinkled fingers no longer bears any resemblance to the agile laughter and flashing dark eyes that he fell in love with. The last of her slipped away along with her final breath. All that's left is this shell of imperfect mortal flesh that only embodies the suffering of her end.

His blond head is bowed and I can see those slim yet strong shoulders hunch against the weight of this day. Donnie doesn't show the years, but I know he carries them. They are etched into his spirit the same way the wrinkles wrap their way around his late wife's cool flesh.

They had no children. That always surprised me, since he always pushed me for them when we were together.

“Why do you want to get married so badly? We already live together. Fates, we've been together longer than most mortals live. What would change?”

His fingers would come up and tangle in my red curls, brushing them back from my face. “Having a ring on your finger is different. We're immortals, Gracie. No amount of time means 'forever.' You could walk out tomorrow and start again as fresh and new as the day we met.”

“So could you,” I'd reminded him, arching a red brow as I met his violet gaze. The first time I saw his eyes I found them unsettling. Now, their dark purple depths were safe and familiar; the first few notes to my favorite song. “But I know that you won't. Obviously we're not going anywhere. So why worry about it?”

He'd spread his hands, then, and scowl at the open, airy spaces of our city apartment. “I want to settle down; find a place in the country. Don't you want little ones, Grace? Merry and Ariel have Gideon. Evensong just had Lyric. Even your parents have Eli and Lydia now. Wouldn't it be nice to have children all around the same age?”

“Olivia is not my mother,” I'd point out coolly, completely sidestepping the topic.

At that point he would usually sigh and allow me to change the subject. Until the day that he didn't. That was the day we fought so badly, I nearly set the place alight and he packed a bag.

I hadn't seen him since.

Not until the day I watch him walk down the aisle of his wife's funeral, clutching a lily in his hand.

He looks down at her empty vessel so tenderly as he lifts her limp hands and slides the flower's living stalk between them. The white bloom nestles against her breast; a last breath of perfume before the stench of death takes hold.

He turns away and looks up. His eyes are just as vibrant as they were fifty years ago. He meets my own emerald gaze. I can see from his pale, even skin that he hasn't given in to tears yet, at least not today.

I incline my head.

He quickly looks away.

Part 2

Violets.

They twine themselves around my vases and urns. Like lavender eyes, they burst from porcelain surfaces with a surprising shock of color.

The white-walled art gallery is full to the brim of influential figures; people who will buy and sell and write articles about my work. They flutter about me like nervous birds, shaking my hand and buzzing with anxious delight.

“Oh my, it has such craftsmanship!”

“The positive and negative space! The activation of form! However do you make clay seem as if it is crying?”

I have heard it all before. And no one wants the real answer to their questions anyway. Lifetimes of practice and a lot of trial and error �" those are my not-so-glamorous secrets. Thousands of failed vessels thrown into the slag heap were the price of these few dozen successes. I stopped answering these questions honestly decades ago.

So instead, I nod and smile. I thank them graciously when they call me a creative genius and laud my talent. Then I let me eyes glaze over and wonder why on Cybele I even do these events anymore.

Then he walks in the door and I feel my muscles tense all the way down my spine.

Pale skin, violet eyes. He is in unity with this show, a perfect reflection of the white porcelain and its bleeding, purple flowers. Blond hair falls into his face as he tilts his head at one of the large sculptures near the door.

I step closer and find myself beside him without a conscious thought, joining him in contemplation of my art piece. I look at the organic abstract as if I have never seen it before. Vines twist about the ceramic, entangling it in tortured, helpless forms. The abstract figure seeks to escape, yet it also surrenders to its lilac lover; both bound and embraced at once.

“You've gotten better,” he murmurs, tapping a finger against one wrist as he clasps his hands in front of him. It's a nervous gesture I know so well. It feels like walking down a street I used to live on.

“Practice does that,” I reply evenly, mirroring his stance without really thinking about it.

“So you've always maintained.” A small smile tilts up the corner of his thin-lipped mouth and those lovely, purple eyes slide in my direction. He knows my soap box about talent verses earned skill.

We stand in silence a moment, staring at my emotional torment in solid form.

“No Gabriellan blue this time,” he comments, glancing around the gallery.

“No,” I agree, “The only thing on my mind lately has been violets.”

Part 3

Roses.

They sit on the table as I walk into Donnie's tiny apartment. They are red as my hair and fill the whole kitchen with a faint, lingering scent of romance.

It has been years since anyone gave me flowers. Being the head of a supernatural police force can be a little intimidating, I guess. Donnie knew me long before I was head of the Overwatch, though. Back when I ran security for the Inspiration. Back when I could still remember the way James and Liam looked just by closing my eyes.

I can't envision them anymore. It's been too long and the only thing I brought with me into the past was two vials of immortality and a written account of my own glaring mistakes. I didn't think to bring any photographs.

My boys. My heart. The second two men I ever loved, right after my father. I managed to save Gabriel. Dad's another immortal and awfully hard to kill. But I lost the other two... or at least... I think I did...

I try not to think about my personal obsession while Donnie pours out the sparkling grape juice. He knows I'm not a drinker and he's always respected it. It's one of the many things I love about him.

“I'm so glad you decided to come,” he says, glancing up at me with those indigo-to-lilac eyes.

I accept the glass he offers me with one fine boned hand, my fingers carefully twining about the glass stem as if it has thorns. “I've been meaning to comm you,” I say, taking a sip of juice. It is sweet and effervescent; just they way I'd hoped wine would be the first time I smelled it. “I guess it just never happened. I get so busy at work.”

“You've always worked too many hours,” he scolds me, lifting a slim fingertip in my direction, “Both at the OW and in the studio. It wouldn't hurt you to sit and think a while, you know. Let your mind wander.”

I shake my head and straighten my dress, feeling it pull across my ample curves the same way it had the day Donnie bought it for me. Had that really almost been a century ago? It's ridiculously out of fashion, of course, but it matches my eyes in saturated shades of green. The synthetic fibers haven't faded in my closet the way more modern, natural ones would have. I wanted something to remind both of us of the good things about our relationship.

“You know that's not a wise thing for me,” I tell him, taking another sip from my glass.

“So you're not over it?” he sighs and I see disappointment in his violet eyes.

I glance at the roses in the center of the table. They are full and velvet petaled; moist lips ready to be kissed.

“Did you really expect me to be?” I ask, “I promised them I'd take care of them, Donnie. I told them...”

“To stay close and you'd protect them,” Donnie recites my indictment by heart, “I know. We've been over this a few trillion times.” He sets down his glass of juice and turns to face me.

I spread my free hand and give him a helpless look. “I can't just forget about them. They're part of who I am; of where I come from and what makes me, me.”

He shrugs uncomfortably, his arms crossing and a scowl ruining the good looks of his symmetrical face. The floor lamp illuminates his hair in soft shades of gold and the fitted vest he's put on over his long sleeved shirt flatters his long, slender build. He's not as tall as Liam was, but I still feel sheltered when he wraps his arms around me. That much, I do remember.

“Why are you here, then, Gracie?” he sounds tired and we haven't even had dinner yet. I can see the echo of a hundred fights in the pain of his gaze. “If nothing's changed... I'm still not competing with a pair of three hundred year old ghosts.”

“Please,” I say, taking a step closer. My heart is a humming bird hovering at the base of my throat. “I know I'm not perfect. I have my problems and the boys are part of them. It can make me kind of hard to live with. I get that.” I touch his sleeve gently, fingertips brushing the folds at the bend of his elbow. “But when I dream now... it's not of Liam. When things go wrong at the OW and I want to be held, I don't wish after James. Not anymore.”

He glances up at me and I see fear in his eyes. I know I've put it there and it reminds me of another man who I put off and pushed away until it was very nearly too late.

I shove down the comparison and instead I bring up the seventeen-year-old boy I'd carried to safety from his own failing ship. Donnie had been so young then; uncertain and too strong for his own good. I'm not the only one who has a few ghosts and I see them rise in his eyes as he looks down into my face.

“We didn't work last time,” he mutters, “What makes you think this time will be different?”

I slide my fingers around one of the roses and lift it out of its vase. I bury my nose in its soft scent and close my eyes a moment. When I meet Donnie's gaze, I try to be as honest as possible.

“Because I need you,” I say softly, “I thought I didn't. I thought I could just hide in my work and wait for my past and future to collide.” I shake my head and offer him the rose. “But I can't. It's too much to carry alone. I'm going a little bit mad all alone in Numen Artum and nothing Dad or Eli or Ariel can say makes me feel any better.”

Donnie shrugs, but he takes the rose in one hand and lifts it to brush the soft petals against his cheek. “I don't have the answer, Gracie. You know that. I may be a fate, like you, but that doesn't mean I know exactly what the future holds. My insights are as fleeting and random as yours are.”

“You don't have to know,” I tell him, “You just have to keep me grounded. That's what Dad used to say about me and I think it's what I'm missing about my relationship with you. I need someone who isn't a part of that past, who loves me as I am and isn't afraid to tell me when I've got my head on backwards.”

He glances down, between me and the rose. “I don't know, Gracie.”

“Please,” I whisper again. I slide a hand over his on the rose. Slowly, I apply pressure until I know the thorns are pressing deeply into his flesh. I may not be a telepath, but my senses are much better than an average mortal's. I can hear his heart rate pick up and when I look up into his eyes, I can see that they are so dilated there is hardly any violet left. “Who else knows you like I do? Who else can you really lose control and be yourself with? Haven't you missed it? I know I have.”

I watch him swallow hard, fighting down the urges my overtures have brought to the surface.

“That's a cheap trick,” he scolds me.

I tilt my head at him and lean just a little farther into his chest. He doesn't move away.

“It's not a trick. It's chemistry. We've always had that, if nothing else,” I tell him.

He slides a hand into my hair and I shiver as his fingers brush the line of my neck. “You've always been a beautiful rose,” he says softly, “I'm just not sure I'm ready to go back to dealing with your thorns.”

“Who are you kidding?” I ask him, leaning into him. My head comes up to the curve of his neck and I can smell his skin. He's warm and for the first time in years, I feel really alive. “The thorns have always been your favorite part.”

Petals fall to the tile floor as his arm finds my waist and pulls me hard against him. When he kisses me, there's fifty years of longing in the urgency of his touch and I know I've won.

That night, we re-explored every flower under the sun.

Author's Note

Done for a writing prompts "flowers."

Set in my usual world. Any feedback is welcome.

Reviews

[JessyJacob]

I loved you then when left for the last time uSA, and even when you got married. I didn’t keep you out of my heart, as there is no one who could love me like you do. God would have not made me go to take divorce just for no reason he could have stopped me, when my first love at college failed, I was having no reason to survive then Guruji told me to move on I listened to him and last time I met him he said don’t move on you/Jacob is my best love and you do love me, then I thought you still love me, I could feel your love every time even though you left me but was not sure that you will come for me. It’s just not faith it’s a truth or reality where you are still not with me. Don’t misunderstand me. I love youlove ❤️❤️😊 and I know you do love me still and keep loving me. You are just taking decisions but I still feel you shouldn’t have not given others to take advantage of you. Why did you get scared of her, I saw that pic you drew for me. You thought she would kill me, there is power beyond where it protects true love, no one can stop hurting us. If you would have explained to me, I would have told you then itself, but you never talked to me now also I am saying don’t give negative powers their authority and surrender to them. You will get more hurt. I am loving you and keep loving you. Our love keeps protected us in tough times too. Be loved by me don’t hate me.love 😊. Always loving you❤️❤️😊. ,

[JessyJacob]

why voilets seen dull and also why have been so lately in mind, is it the courtesy you are showing on them....

[JessyJacob]

You proved wrong in deciding your own future. Great sir writing, you change others fate and GOd change your fate, well done a very good lesson at the expense of other life poor pity, ......

[JessyJacob]

Its perfect ending, I am fine with it.

[Stan Lee]

Man! I am so in awe of your incredible imagination!!! You're a writer that's for sure. Inspirational. Thanks for sharing your art. :)

[Octavia]

Thanks so much for taking the time to read it and the kind words! I do certainly live in my own little world enough of the time... if that counts as imagination I suppose I will take it!