Work Text:
2005-
Dawn broke overhead, but the clouds prevented the sun from making a full show. Dew drops remained on the grass and various plant life. In the distance, birds could be heard chirping their usual morning calls back and forth across the woods. She stood at the edge of these woods, shivering in the morning chill. She shifted from side to side, her arms pulled up inside the sleeves of her dark green zip up rain jacket she had to dig out from the back of her closet late last night and set aside especially for this jaunt. She rocked back and forth on her heels, her hiking boots already caked with mud just from walking the distance of her car to the secluded meeting spot. Her jeans hastily tucked into the boots to protect them further from the elements. Bored as she stood waiting, she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets now and felt her fingers graze the pair of knit gloves she tucked safely away for this morning’s activity. Resting on the ground at her feet was a backpack filled with supplies; a towel to wipe away dirt and mud, bottled water, protein bars, her car keys, her cell phone, a map of the trail and park she was standing in, a compass, a small garden shovel and her digital camera. An odd collection of items no doubt, but things she had been instructed to bring less than twenty-four hours ago when this activity had been so hastily assigned to her.
She was almost ready to turn back around and go back to her car when she heard footsteps behind her, trudging through the dewy grass and leaves. He was dressed almost exactly like he did for shifts at work; khaki pants, a vest mixed with a flannel shirt, hiking boots, and carrying a backpack likely filled with the same supplies she toted.
She glanced around him in search of other group members only to be told it was just the two of them on this damp Saturday morning. She scoffed and crossed her arms in annoyance. He smiled, goofy, unbothered by her resistance. He nods for her to follow him as he makes a turn and heads towards the beginning of the trail marked with wooden signs staked to the muddy earth beneath them. She rolls her eyes, uncrosses her arms, lifts the backpack up to sling over her shoulders and trudges after him begrudgingly as a bird makes a louder squawk above them, either expressing her discontent with her situation or mocking her, she couldn’t tell.
As he walks ahead of her, she has to jog to catch up, finally reaching him and slowing her speed to match his strides but she’s still breathless. He’s carrying a notebook with drawings inside and a reference book filled with colorful photos of various mushrooms and fungi. The drawings have dates and names scribbled in his familiar writing which she observes as she peers over his arm, almost tripping over a tree root in her moment of negligence. He flips to a blank page in the notebook and starts scanning the ground. She mimics his glance down towards the trail floor, seeing mud, hard packed dirt, more tree roots, and so many green covered things, clover, moss, grass, leaves, pine, some she can’t even identify. As they progress down the trail, the sun stays hidden above them, covered by gray clouds and tall thick branches from various trees. She shivers despite the jacket and walking, feeling a few light rain drops on her face. He catches her vulnerable moment and smiles, pointing to the first specimen he sees at the bottom of a tree trunk.
She watches him kneel down close to the tree and make the notations in his notebook, a quick drawing to accompany it. She wonders how he can find this exciting when he seems to have already found and documented every notable mushroom in the pacific northwest but she tilts her head, observing his concentration and dedication in the moment, unphased by birds, rustling leaves, cracking branches, detailed, focused, everything he was for the job he threw into this hobby.
And now it’s her turn to smile for the first time since they’ve begun this journey.
They continue on the trail, making a few turns left and right, stumbling over thicker tree branches, hearing a variety of birds calling out to one another overhead, chittering squirrels, and the unknown rustling of mystery creatures they can’t identify. Every few yards, he stops to observe another mushroom species, taking photos, making notes, adding a drawing, giving her talking points about the species, the health benefits, the unique colors and shapes. She soaks it all up, wondering if he plans on quizzing her later, even trying her hand at drawing one of the mushroom clusters he points out.
She charges ahead of him suddenly, reaching the base of a tree and crouching in front of it, snapping a photo with her own camera, the strap getting tangled up in her hair in haste. She scribbles something in her own notebook, waving the pencil back and forth with hesitation, searching for the right words or phrases. Clarity comes to her and she continues her note taking, scrunching her face in concentration.
He stops dead in his tracks, observing this moment with a stunned look on his face. Every part of this sends his heart racing, the way the camera strap got caught in her hair, the way her curls fall every which way, how determined she seemed to be in wanting to be accurate with her documentation process, much like her work, the birds doing their sing song calls all around them, the tender way she tucks her supplies back into her backpack, might as well have taken all his breath away, unnecessary for the rest of the hike.
She straightens up and catches his glance, inquiring where to next, unaware that if she let him, he would take her anywhere in the world.
Energized, they walk in tandem now, trudging through muddy puddles, the infamous spring in her step when she walks gives her a slight bounce to her movements, a hazard of keeping up with him. Any outsider would have assumed they were just working another case, another scene, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something different.
They paused at a clearing where a few weathered picnic tables had been arranged for hikers to take rests. She lifts her head to stare up at the overcast sky, the familiar gray clouds unwilling to drop anymore rain on them in this moment which she's grateful for. A soft sigh and a sudden thought, he had her in this moment, documenting fungi on a Saturday afternoon on this specific date and time, but as the tree branches swayed in the gentle breeze, would they remember them, would he, as time passed, she could be snatched away, carried off by the wind like a stray leaf, vanishing into thin air with no regard.
That terrifying thought seizes hold of him as she passes him a protein bar from her backpack, flashing a genuine smile, unaware of the turmoil taking place in his heart. She manages to sit cross legged on the picnic table because that’s her, munching on her protein bar, apparently lost in her own thoughts as she has not spoken to him in a while. Maybe nature was healing some part of her soul he was unaware needed repair. If they stayed quiet for too much longer, she would probably become suspicious, so he makes the gentle suggestion that they carry on, deeper into the trail, which she indulges him by sliding off the picnic table and beginning to trudge forward along the muddy path.
He would not trade this journey for all the gold in the world, no buried treasure would come close to the salvation he had with her. Almost ten years of camaraderie with her and he was in too deep now, there was no turning back, she had him, much like the earth beneath their feet swallowed up the rain, the worms, anything that fell to its mercy. She’s walking ahead, taking charge while he follows at a careful distance behind, ready to catch her if she falls, envisioning his hand on her back to do so. He is entranced by the way her curly hair bounces when she walks, sways when she navigates the trail, shines in the brief moment of sunshine that peeks through the clouds.
She stops to lace up her hiking boot which has inconveniently come undone. Her fingers tend delicately to the cords, looping them around with such care. She remarks at the beauty of a gathering of birds in a tree, pausing to glance up at their ruckus. He catches up to her, admiring them with an upwards glance. She fidgets as she stands, fingers pressed against the zipper of her jacket, drawing it up and down absentmindedly. He touches her arm gently to persuade her to keep moving along the trail, she’s as soft as she looks. Her lazy glance at him in the sunlight before they continue to press along the trail, runs right through his soul.
If only the forest could talk.