Growth isn't all in the Garden.

Posted on Wed 30th Oct, 2019 @ 5:27am by Khellian s'Siedhri MD
Edited on on Wed 30th Oct, 2019 @ 6:37pm

1,047 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Dr. s'Siedhri's Garden
Timeline: MD5: 1715

In place of desolation there was rage. A pure blinding fury that he'd never experienced before. He'd actually thrown his cup at the door, and the shattering noise actually made him feel better than anything else had. She'd stood there, and to his face called him a coward. A coward. The very injustice of it wrankled him, after all he'd done to care for her and keep her safe she had the nerve to call him a coward! She's right though His little voice of reason whispered into his ear.

The glittering shards of glass flickered at him from the floor, reminding him of his outburst. Fickle bits of glass, that still made clinking noises upon the floor as they spun. Shoulders falling Khellian paced to the door and knelt, picking up the largest shards with his bare fingers and collecting them in his upturned palm. He seemed to deflate, as each motion of picking up glass made him pause. What am I doing? Truly, what? Throwing glasses like a common dha'rudh* And throwing them at your daughter who was doing nothing but try to get you out of this funk you're in. Cleaning the floor of sticky residue and dropping the whole mess into the recycler didn't take a long time, but it seemed to take an enormous amount of energy for Khellian. This whole place needs a clean. I'll add it to my list when I come inside.

It was only then that he stepped outside. It was warm, but it was always warm. Evenings got cool sometimes, just enough to warrant a sweater at times. It was almost like the turn of seasons on Romulus, without winters bitter bite. He didn't have an enormous amount of time before the Station would say it was evening and some of the light he had to work with would fade. But he could do some damage control, and set himself up for the morning to really repair and replace his plants. He could even rearrange his plots if necessary -tomorrow. Pacing his way around his gardens he surveyed the damage. The taklosi was dead, and would have to be reseeded. He had plenty of that seed. Some of the hardier Vulcan and Romulan herbs were well enough in their glass enclosed container which simulated the desert air. The Makow plant was turning blue at the edges, a sign of under watering in the Klingon herb. His Kir was wilting, but that probably just needed water. Pinching off one leaf he rubbed it between his fingers to examine it. The strong, tangy aroma of the herb expanded as he broke the leaf, and the sap flowed from it more freely. Inhaling slowly Khellian closed his eyes. The simulated sunshine warmed his back and he wished briefly that he wasn't enjoying it alone. What was the harm in wanting more out of life.

He was a male in the prime of life, especially for a Romulan, who like their Vulcan cousins could live well into the 300 year mark if one cared for oneself well enough. Not like you've been doing of course. Sitting in the cold like a veruul. Makila's right, you could find a woman to warm your bed if you really wanted one. You already had one since you arrived, and you never thought THAT would happen. And yet, my heart aches for Brooklyn in a way I never expected. I truly thought we might wed and have more children. I do want more children. Dropping the leaf into the soil, he raised his sap covered fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply of the scent of home. Kir, was his mothers favorite spice and she'd cooked with it often. He hadn't raised Makila with it, because until now it was difficult to cultivate, the small plant was quite needy in its early growth period. Moving locations before the growing season was done, meant that he couldn't get it to grow reliably. Then it had to be dried before it could be used, unless one was making the sap into a syrup. It was too sticky now, the plant definitely needed watering. Moving on, he inspected the hardy human herbs. They were overgrown, but nothing a good trim couldn't assist with. The lines of various mushrooms that were separated by small metal stakes with blue circuit ball on the top that generated tiny forcefields between them. Their purpose was to keep the dirt separate with a physical barrier so the fungal hyphae couldn't take over the garden. They were thriving but they were beginning to dry out in their bed and he made a note to harvest some before he watered, both for his dinner but also to dry for medicinal purposes.

His thoughts drifted back to Makila and the words she'd thrown at him the previous day and just hours before this bit of introspection on his part. She was always so fiercely independent, even as a baby. Her first steps happened on the rescue transport away from Romulus, clutching his first finger. My baby girl. I have not done right by you. I'm so proud of the woman you're becoming. He would forever see her as the baby he delivered, and stole away...with huge black eyes and tiny black curls. He'd been smitten from the first moment he'd held her. Tucking her, wrapped in a blanket into his medical bag and pretending as if nothing was wrong as he walked out of the Manor with the chilld. It was his crowning moment of deception, and the moment that had upended his life to set him on the path that led him here.

Now she was grown, and venturing into the world a fierce and confident young woman. While she'd absorbed all the lessons he'd taught her with a fervor that warmed him to the core, he wanted more for her than what he had. He hoped that she'd find a path that would make her happy, but for now... he needed some water. Rising from his seated position, he walked to the small storage area that held his tools and a watering sprayer.

He...had a garden to rescue.



*dha'rudh- Fool/Jerk
*veruul- Idiot

 

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