it was small. the little fawn, curled up in an old dingy blanket folded several times over. he might’ve brought it in a pokéball, but the baby had been so frightened that he’d had difficulty coaxing it into one in the first place. he hadn’t had the heart to try again.

they made their way onto the property, and around to where willow was working. the bee boxes were new to him. things were more often new to him, though, since they’d moved on from the days prior to his meeting Roman Maher .

as tiring as it had been, he missed working in the garden.

”woah. did you build those?”

he grinned, voice upbeat as he neared with the baby stantler still close to his chest. it mooed lightly, or whatever sound it was that baby stantlers made.

willow atkins

☉

much of her work was done in silence, except for the occasional hum to herself. as such, she'd banked on maintaining that silence to ensure she could slip into the tauros' pen and feed them while they slept with their legs tucked, deeply enough that she could usually scramble out if they came to their senses. 

but they rouse not at bo's footsteps tromping through dirt, but at gretchen's caterwauling. willow winces as the glameow tears through the dirt, past bo, and leaps (rather gracefully for her age) to a post beside the stable. 

willow leans against the pitchfork with a smile on her face. she regards bo and thinks several things simultaneously - how she's been distant in her texts and hasn't asked him around the property and i went on a date and it went well.

"yeah, actually," she says after clearing her throat. she props the pitchfork up against the pen that the tauros are now eyeing with agitated, flicking tails. 

"i met this guy. oh, you might know him actually. Greyson Connors . he said you battled him once. long story short, he needed some land for this project of his and my old man always wanted to build something like this so i thought 'why not?' the upkeep isn't too terrible and they'll be self-sustaining by spring and bo, what is that?"

she closes the distance to get a closer look at the moving bundle in his arms. eyes soften as she looks over the creature. she knows, instantly, that she doesn't have easy resources to take care of it, but she can't say no to it or bo. 

"where'd you find her?" she asks. 

boruta maher

☉

i met this guy.

his heart sunk a little. since she’d told him about the date, as much as he’d tried not to wonder, he did. was it him? Greyson Connors ? he'd been one of the handful to beat bo during the tournament. he’d enjoyed the battle a lot, and he’d liked greyson.

why did he have to like the guy? was this even the guy?

the invasive, toxic things going on his mind never crossed his face as he listened. when the topic shifted, he only grinned, corralling his thoughts towards the small bundle in his arms, and the way willow’s eyes softened.

”it’s a baby stantler.” he looked down and gently moved some of the blanket so that she could see better. ”found her while i was working on route 116 this morning. her mother had been attacked by something and didn’t make it. i didn’t want to just leave her there.”

looking back up at her again, he gave a hopeful smile.

”so… i dunno. i brought her here. will you help me?”

willow atkins

☉

she doesn't search his face because she doesn't want to see what's there. indifference? jealousy? curiosity? it shouldn't matter, so rather than contemplate whether it does, she removes herself from the equation entirely, choosing instead to keep her gaze down on the fawn in question. 

it makes a croaking sound as it shuffles in bo's arms, nestling closer to him for some of his warmth. it shivers. the blanket it's wrapped in, though layered enough to give it a decent amount of warmth, is rather thin. so she shrugs off her overcoat and tucks it around her. 

"poor girl. of course i'll take her in, but you knew that already." her eyes glimmer when she finally looks up. 

"she needs to warm up. let me just feed the tauros and we can take her into the greenhouse."

and with that, she grabs the pitchfork and shoves it into the haystack sitting in a bin under the stable's overhang. the tauros blow air from their noses, hooves stamping heavily into their churned grass. they eye the food impatiently. 

with surprise no longer on her side, she'll have to be quick. a couple of whistles and gretchen finally hears her call. the old cat leans her weight over the fence post and claws playfully at the stable's latch. willow holds her breath, hefts the pitchfork filled with hay, and then springs forward when gretchen manages to flip the latch.

cowslip and buckwheat both snort and shake their heads as they charge. willow shucks the hay into their trough and skids in a turn, tossing the pitchfork like a javelin as she runs back through the gate entrance. she slams her hand down on the latch and then falls backwards as the tauros ram the fence's sides. 

she allows herself a moment and then stands up before rejoining bo. 

"you're lucky i didn't fancy cattle when i had you working out here," she says dryly as she beckons him to the warm greenhouse doors. 

boruta maher

☉

she began to shrug her coat off, and an alarm went off in his head. wanting to be a 'gentleman'. to be what he hadn’t before. to keep her out of the cold, somehow, whatever that meant in a million ways. 

“oh, wait, no, i can—” but the coat was already off, and his hands were too full to offer his own before hers was wrapped around the fawn snuggly. he looked down at it and frowned lightly, but then smiled up at her apologetically.

the fawn certainly did need more warmth. “yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

then, she fed the tauros, and he watched. the more he saw, the more impressed he became. the danger, the strength, the quickness. the bravery in the face of duty.

things he admired her for.

he was speechless for a moment as he stared down at her, wanting every bit to pull her to her feet and do something he shouldn’t. instead, he simply held the baby stantler tighter in his arms.

”yeah, no kidding.” he shook his head. ”damn, will. there’s gotta be a better way to do that.” none that he could put together at that moment, though.

he followed after her towards the greenhouse. the stantler poked her head out of the coat, looking towards their destination curiously and giving a light cry. bo snuggled it closer still and whispered mostly incoherent words of encouragement.

willow atkins

☉

"probably is," she says as she dusts off her rear end. "but the other pokemon just spook 'em more and they won't stay in their pokeballs. they're a handful, that's for sure." a handful she'd welcomed in with open arms after her hands were suddenly empty from roman's disappearance. next time she'll just get another cat. 

she smiles when she hears his mutterings and catches herself staring just a bit too long after opening the door for him. so she shakes her head, rubs her arms to warm them back up, and then points bo to an empty planter box on the far wall of the greenhouse.

"i should have some extra blankets around here somewhere," she says. most of them are tarps, natural insulation for plant pokemon that don't care much for down cotton or wooloo wool. she finds one tucked under a cabinet near her tool rack. it's dusty with disuse and she coughs as she shakes it out.

boruta maher

☉

tauros were notoriously hot-headed and stubborn. ”i believe it,” he responded. of course. he could see it. the country life had never been for him. watching willow tend to the atkins property and chores was like glimpsing into a world he hadn’t previously seen much or thought about.

his eyes raised from the bundle in his arms, whispers cutting short when he saw willow staring at him. he was directed to a spot to set the small fawn finally and went to do so, lowering to a knee. the stantler was placed in the planter, coat and blanket still wrapped around it. bo adjusted it so that the cold air seeping through seemed minimal.

when willow returned with blankets, bo looked up. a memory flooded back, of willow and himself, and of his mother, who had given him the blanket in the first place. it had been brought along for a night under the stars when they were teens, and he’d forgotten it.

for so long, until now.

”that’s… mine. damn, i forgot that thing existed.” he blinked, overtaken by the nostalgia. ”i mean… i don’t need it back.” actually… ”it was just, my mom gave it to me.”

he realized he hadn’t told her.

”she passed away eight years ago.”

willow atkins

☉

she shakes it out and more dust comes off it. the memory of how it had come into her possession slams into her. that night out under the stars - she'd often wondered if that messy night had led to roman. she gets nervous, suddenly, with the weight in her hands, with the truths he's telling her. 

she'd been a kind woman. 

"i'm sorry," she says. for a lot of things. "it's all i have right now, but we'll let the gal use it for now and i'll have it cleaned up and ready to go home with you next time you visit."

and she'll wrap around it cuttings of purple hyacinth and red carnation, a final goodbye to the woman she should have known as family.

she kneels beside bo so she can settle the blanket around the stantler's shoulders and so she can offer him some comfort.

"i'm glad i kept it."

she touches the fawn's nose and is happy to see it's not nearly as cold as it had been before. the stantler sneezes and then tucks her nose into the blanket, looking up through her lashes at the two people looming over her. 

boruta maher

☉

she shook out years, and revealed a memory in worn plaid. there was nothing particularly special about the blanket. it had not been handmade by mrs. maher, merely purchased on a whim at a market somewhere on a cold winter day.

but it had been hers, and then theirs.

he watched her kneel, smiling and shaking his head.

”me too. actually, i think it’s kinda nice you’ve had it all this time. it’s like, another connection we didn’t know we had, y'know? even if it was just collecting dust in the shed.” he smirked, eyes sparkling at her. had she kept anything else?

”you should keep it some more,” he offered. because she was family.

his smile softened as his gaze fell over the sneezing stantler. ”what do you wanna name her?”

willow atkins

☉

the way he's looking at her...the blanket doesn't mean anything. it doesn't mean anything because she'd kept it. hell, she hadn't even remembered it had been his, had been used on that picnic, until he brought it up. this shouldn't have him smirking at her with those dumb doe eyes of his. 

"of course not," she says. because of what it means. because of the history behind it - the history she'd rather forget. "it was your mother's. you should have it."

she raises a hand to stroke the snout of the stantler. "hmm. let's see," she says, musing aloud as she combs through the dictionary in her head. she still has the book (pressed flowers and handwritten passages courtesy of her mother), but the meanings have all long since been burned into her memory.

"mint's not quite right. and you're a bit too skittish for sorrel." she scratches her behind the ears, looking for the spot that - ah, and there it is. her eyelids droop and she nods off, tucks her legs gracefully and curls up in the blankets. 

"tulip," she says finally, withdrawing her hand. "for the sunshine in her eyes." just like yours. 

boruta maher

☉

it made him a little sad, but he kept smiling anyways, and a good part of him would be glad to have it back in his possession. such an object was truly irreplaceable, even despite its element of mass-produced mediocrity.

he didn’t fight her on it, the corners of his lips only curling more for a second before his attention lowered to the stantler again, and they were on to names.

skittish maybe, but it seemed to warm up to her just fine. fingers lulled the stantler babe to sleep easier than warm milk, and bo wondered if it was just a mother’s touch.

her words surprised him, and a grin spread with some disbelief.

”tulip’s perfect.” he paused a moment, looking over the blanket that warmed their newest project. there was the smallest laugh beneath his breath, but sadness sat heavy behind it. his voice got lower. ”my mom used to say that. that i had sunshine in my eyes.”

willow atkins

☉

she thinks of all the things she'll need to take care of this baby and the stress works its way under her skin. but it passes through her and comes out her fingertips just as quickly, as she gently caresses the side of the stantler's face and coaxes her deeper into sleep.

when she's awake and hungry and no longer too exhausted to be scared, willow will have a time with her, but for now there's nothing but peace. 

and she's grateful for it, for this marvel of new life shared between them. because he wasn't there for her when her father passed. because she never expected him to be, not then, but gods, she'd wished he was. and maybe it's the same for him. 

so it's nearly a decade too late, but there's still healing to be done, so she gets comfortable by his side and tentatively leans against him. it's the closest she's been to him in years. and she hates that it feels so natural.

"maybe i heard her say it once," she mumbles. "thinking of them, it - it makes me happy you're here. i'm sorry things have been so difficult. with roman. i..." she swallows, jaw going tight as she tries (and fails) to fight off tears. 

"i don't know what to do, bo. what i did wrong to make him..." 

boruta maher  Roman Maher

☉

she leaned into him, and the feelings it sent through his body, through his soul, froze him still but filled him with warmth despite the weather. it did feel natural. to bo, it felt right as rain. the comfort of her beside him was something he had craved for so long.

he felt himself desire to push the boundaries; to test if they had changed any. he reasoned that if he never tried, it would mean failing them both all over again. but he had to time it right…

she was happy he was here. he smiled, though there was a heaviness that followed and he felt it deeply, loathing the fact that he hadn’t been there; that she blamed herself. the daydreams faded.

”you didn’t do anything wrong, will.” and of course this was inaccurate. no parent was ever perfect, but to him, she had surely done a remarkable job. he wanted to put an arm around her, to pull her closer, but he found that he couldn’t try because of the guilt that clawed its way up his throat. ”i did.”

willow atkins

☉