Work Text:
Another Chance at Complete Happiness
Branch’s behavior is starting to trouble Creek.
Creek doesn’t want to worry about his lover’s behavior.
They’ve been mates for a solid year now and he intends for them enjoy their lives to the fullest after spending years of fighting off this attraction through snappish insults and enduring those fake glares that were merely passionate leers. And of course, the very few physical altercations they’ve endured between each other that they’ve discovered two months into their relationship were really excuses to touch the other.
But with those revelations disclosed and assorted through, along with the deepest apologies ever recited, Creek desires a normal life expected of a mate pair. They were normal as far as normal could be for the two of them.
Branch still refuses to attend the massive blowout celebrations while Creek deals with going alone to satiate his mate’s need to maintain a somewhat private life. Creek can’t stand being in the forest for longer than necessary because he can’t comprehend what’s so enjoyable about staring at trees, birds, and various herbs the way Branch seems to. Then there is a huge compromise that they’re still trying to accommodate for the sake of not being difficult when it comes to meals cooked. Branch prefers a meatier, protein based diet. Creek’s leaner physique and intolerance towards harming another creature leaves him being the one to prefer vegetarian viands.
Nonetheless, despite their differences, the pair have received compliments from many in the village about how they couldn’t find a happier couple. There isn’t a falsified image they portray for the village either.
Creek distinctly remembers how much of a tease Branch became once gaining his colors back, how much more playful and enthuse he was to be around Creek. They shared everything together, did everything together. And the mating, heavens, those nights and even days would seem endless. Their pod was filled with laughter, full of spirit and balance.
They were genuinely happy, or at least Creek thinks they are.
For the past month, the question of whether they were happy or not plagued Creek daily. Branch often goes off on his own, taking long quiet walks in the village that curiously leads to the Bienville Corner’s Playground and he takes a seat in the most remote area, either the swing sets or grassy patches, and watches. Looking at what per se Creek hasn’t quite figured out. He’s only figured out his mate’s journeys here a week ago after following him against Branch’s wishes.
Creek hopes the teal blue troll will realize how difficult it is to hold back caring as much as he’s supposed to. Creek is the more assertive one they discovered, the one who’s taken on the role of assuring their necessities and happiness were in precise order. Branch subconsciously steps back into his expected duties as the Heart of the Pod. He takes care of things inside their home, cooking, cleaning—the tidying sometimes is done with extreme overkill, but Creek can appreciate the effort. So, to see this untroll-like behavior causes concern.
Eventually Creek standing in the open catches Branch’s attention.
Branch’s gaze momentarily widens, then narrow, shining in reflective annoyance. Creek returns the gaze not as clipped or angry, but there’s enough of a defensiveness there to show he doesn’t appreciate the expression being directed at him.
Branch gives him an evaluative look, jutting his chin up defiantly and bends his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and returns to studying the colorful mesh of children and parents frolicking in merriness and cheer. Creek sighs, shaking his head. His mate’s feeling feisty. Glory be, help him. There’s bound to be some arguing, smart alack words and insults thrown.
Creek makes his way over, stride measured and paced until he reaches Branch’s side, looking the teal blue troll over, seeming to rule something out. “May I hold you?” Creek wrinkles his nose at having to ask bloody permission to hold his own mate. But it feels like he’s walking on a mountain of eggshells right now, so it’s excusable.
A delicate, somewhat jerky shrug is his answer. Not a verbal one. Creek sighs deeply, tilting his head to the sky and praying to the Great Spirits for patience. If he prayed for strength he’d likely use it to haul Branch over his shoulder and take them back to their pod to discuss their issues in private.
Slipping behind the other, instead of taking them elsewhere for seclusion, Creek settles into Branch back, pulling him between his thighs and has to wedge his hands beneath Branch’s folded arms because the troll wants to be complicated. He presses in close, lets small bunches of his hair leave their curled style to calmly coil into Branch’s stalk of royal blue.
The tension in Branch’s body slackens some and he relents to the gentle tangling of his hair and allows the two-tone strands to neatly swirl, twist and blend into his own. A moment later, he stretches out his legs and sinks into Creek’s embrace, eyes closing, mouth still a thin line and not the small smile he’s managed to achieve after gaining his colors. They’re still working on his happier expressions and Creek would like to see more of the smiles he’s successfully managed; not this gloomy grimace. It doesn’t suit his handsome face at all.
“Will you really have me ask what’s bothering you?” Creek asks light, urbane, and mildly agitated. “I despise guessing games, as you very well know. I can’t read minds.”
Branch scoffs. “But you can read auras just fine.”
“Quite right and as of late, yours has been so tainted in black and yellow, I can taste the emotions every time I kiss you.” Speaking of intimacy. . . “And on that note, we haven’t mated in weeks. Weeks, Branch. Bloody Hell, we were going at it like bunny rabbits at one point.”
“Is that all you care about? Our lack of activity in the bedroom?”
“Among other things,” Creek quickly deflects off a potential argument and presses on. “You’ve been acting peculiar. I can’t figure out what’s going on with you.”
“I’m fine,” Branch moodily affirms.
“No, you’re not fine. We wouldn’t be out here at the back of a playground, staring at nothing if you were fine.” Creek considers, then questions, “What exactly are you staring at anyway?”
Branch stiffens all over and then his lovely, even shade of teal blue begins to darken a soft mauve. “Nothing.”
“Just as I said earlier, nothing, but somehow,” Creek tightens his hold around his mate’s waist and tugs him inward so he can rest his chin on Branch’s shoulder, “I really doubt that this nothing is nothing at all. It’s definitely something. So, tell me what it is.”
“Nothing.”
“Branch.”
“I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”
“Then, when will you?”
“Not now!” Branch roughly pushes out of the embrace, and pulls his hair free of the probing. Creek lets him go without protest and stands to meet his mate’s gaze evenly. Branch stares back, but realizing he may be being a tad hard, Branch’s expression softens and he folds his arms around his torso, looking towards the ground. “I don’t wanna talk about it. You’ll get upset with me.”
“Oh, precious,” Creek comes towards him to wrap his arms around Branch’s shoulders and brings him in close, absently stroking his hair. “When have I ever, ever thought anything you said could possibly upset me? —besides the times we weren’t together! For goodness sakes old boy, leave that bit of evidence alone already.”
With ill-grace, Branch clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head.
“Exactly, so why should now be any different?” Turning on more charm, Creek oozes closer to him, nuzzling his orange nose under Branch’s ear. “How could you possibly think I wouldn’t find your interests intriguing enough to pay attention to? I love everything about you. . . even your more uncommon activities.”
“Did you just call me weird on the sly?”
“I only dodged it because I hate that word as much as you. I thought a synonym of the term would be more appropriate.”
Branch huffs, mimicking Creek through subtle movements of his mouth. Even irritated by his mate’s words, he appeals to Creek’s affectionate touches by grabbing Creek’s wrists and encircling himself in the purple troll’s arms. Branch smirks at the small smile Creek gives at the gesture.
It’s short lived. The instant a high-pitched guffaw sounds off in the distance, Branch looks over his shoulder moonily, eyes skating over the spread of children and activity in shameless rapt. That only further proves there’s something there that Creek fails to see. By and by, he wishes he could share his mate’s eyes and understand what’s keeping his focus.
Suddenly a body-deep shudder rushes through Branch with an intensity that shakes Creek as well. Branch flexes his fingers over the joint connecting Creek’s arm and shoulder; he’d walked his fingers up that far until hearing the laughter. “I’m gonna go home,” he murmurs. He tries to move away, but Creek fastens his arms around the teal blue troll’s waist with a determined grip. “Babe—”
“Branch—”
“—Please, Creek.”
Branch doesn’t meet his gaze. He does everything he can to avoid the searching on his face. Then Creek reluctantly loosens his hold and Branch immediately flees without a backwards glance.
Leaving Creek to contemplate long and hard at the playground about what it is causing his mate’s emotional unbalance. . .
. . . Then at the second, louder, more cherry-sweet giggles coming from a horde of little trollets, Creek’s face jerks his gaze at his mate’s retreating back, then to the children and he feels like the most foolish troll in the universe. How could he have been so blind?
It’s with great haste he gives chase to his mate, mind screaming to fix this problem before it festers further. Heavens forgive him, his mate’s been suffering all these weeks and Creek hadn’t noticed.
This talk simply cannot wait.
Creek came through the door expecting something. Anything. What he finds is Branch with his back to the entrance, curled tight on the couch like a child afraid of reprimand and quaking from the audible sobs pushing through his lips. That’s not what he was expecting.
Whatever angry shouts and belittling words Creek had piled on the bed of his tongue left him in tidal waves, replaced with the urgency to cradle his mate and ease his sorrow. He wants to, more than anything, but his own pride and hurt keeps him rooted in place, internally struggling against what he’s learned.
“Why. . .” he swallows thickly, fists wound tight at his sides, “Why didn’t you tell me, Branch?”
Branch goes still, like the sound of Creek’s voice were a stab to the middle of his back. He timidly peers over his shoulder, bottom lip gnawed raw. As soon as he meets Creek’s fixed stare, he chokes back a harsh sob and turns away, burying his face into the cushions.
Then Creek saw the coming hints of the darkest color in the world, that despicable black threatening to engulf Branch’s hair and the soft glow of his teal blue becoming dingy and grey, starting on his arms and by the slowest degrees, spreading like poison.
Fear drifts into Creek’s core like a winter’s breeze. His mouth twists grimly. “No, you won’t do this to us. Not after all we’ve been through.” He comes inside at last, shutting their door, stretching his hair to close the blinds as he went and uses the same lengthened ends to possessively coil into Branch’s own.
The darkening hairs, thankfully still more of their purplish-blue hue then that forsaken black, reject him and erupts up and outward before it wildly flares and cloaks all of Branch’s body like a cocoon.
Creek kneels and drops his forehead against where his mate’s back would be, speaking in a tone strangled with angst. “Branch, darling, forgive me for not realizing sooner. What sort of mate am I if I can’t recognize when my beloved’s with-pod? I thought, I mean, how-how could I have known? You weren’t showing. I’ve read the books. I-I really assumed I’d been paying attention. But for it to happen this quickly? We’d only started trying for children two months ago. . .”
Silence answers him and minutely fidgets. Creek reaches out and strokes along the lumpy black mass. It’s utterly useless and unresponsive, until Creek’s fingers catch at a small opening. He takes the chance to slip his whole hand inside and feels around until he clasps Branch’s hand and squeezes.
“I know now, precious,” Creek tells him. “Better late than never. I say we do things right this very instant to ensure our child grows strong, becomes the best troll they can be. We can even start going on more of those nature strolls you like so much. Anything at all, but please love, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt us. Don’t go grey. Not when I’ve scarcely had your beautiful self in my life.”
The grip loosens and pulls away. Then Creek’s hand is pushed out and that tiny open seals itself.
“It isn’t you,” comes the small, dull voice. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. All mine. I should have been. . . if I had been more careful. . .” Another wretched sob sneaks through and Branch can’t contain the heart-shattering cry that echoes out. “It’s my fault. All my fault!”
“What is?” Creek stands up. “Branch what on earth are you—”
“I’m not with-pod, Creek. . . not anymore.”
“You’re not? I don’t understand. . . Branch. . .” Creek’s heart sinks with an indiscernible heaviness. “Oh Branch.”
The hair peels away, revealing a half-turned Branch. His body has nearly lost of all its brighter hue and his hair is two-toned, a saddened blue and pitch replica of Creek’s own.
“Forgive me,” Branch whispers and raises his arms. “Creek, I’m so sorry.”
“You should have told me,” Creek hoarsely snaps as he bends, scooping up Branch with ease. He takes them to their bedroom, kicking the door shut. He pulls the comforters back with only half his hair, since the other half had taken to curling around Branch’s crown like a halo. Branch is slid in first, then Creek himself and he pulls Branch’s head against his chest where the teal grey troll proceeds to empty the rest of misery and tears against Creek.
Creek calmly strokes over the back of Branch’s head, eyes closed and chest tight. “You never said anything. I had every right to know. Branch why didn’t you say something?”
Branch shakes his head. “Because I wasn’t entirely sure myself. Ya know how many times we came up negative when I took the tests. All the flowers bloomed red instead of blue.”
“All of them?” Creek utters in disbelief.
“. . . Except one.” Branch softly confesses. “Even then I wasn’t sure. I thought it was a fluke. How could nine out of ten say no and only one say yes?”
“That alone should have been reason enough to consult a healer, Branch. Just to be safe. Weren’t there symptoms? Any indications?”
“No, none. Not until two weeks ago.” Branch wets his lips, cheeks burning as hot as the tears spilling from his eyes. “I felt awful and something went wrong with my hair. I couldn’t use it for anything. Climbing, swinging, conjuring, nothin’. Each expectancy is different for every troll. S’ what I read anyway. Some will show immediately, while others,” he chuckles bitterly here, “will show later. And that’s what cost us, cost me, seeing our child.”
Creek consoles him with small caresses along Branch’s sides, listening, throat too swollen with emotion to speak.
“I didn’t understand what was wrong until I was out in the woods. I found a Bingle Bird; ya know the one that nests above the mushrooms I told you makes good facial ointments?” At Creek’s nod, Branch continues. “I was climbing up there to get it. . . The strain from the rope must’ve been too tight around my waist. . . I lost my balance and it. . .”
Branch looks at him helplessly, and brings his pinken bottom lip between his teeth and starts to chew harder.
A trickle of colors spills from a corner of his lips. His breath was coming faster, and his darting eyes were a dangerous thing. Then he’s shaking his head harshly and his hands come up to bunch in his darkening hair and he tugs hard.
“It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault!”
“Branch, you didn’t—”
“Stop it!” Branch shoves Creek’s hands away when he tries to hug him and he turns around under the sheets, curling into himself again. “Yes, it is. You gotta hate me. I’ll feel better knowing you did instead of dealin’ with seein’ you look at me like I was the worst thing to exist. Like-like I’m that grey stain in the middle of a rainbow!”
Creek sniffles strongly, roughly rubbing his wrist under his nose. “See here, now,” he retorts tartly. “I’ve endeavored to be the best mate I can be for you—”
“That’s why I hate myself for being the worse mate to you!”
The colors were draining faster.
Creek scoots closer, pressing both his hands to Branch’s back. “You know what I hate?” His chest heaving, his tone’s livid with an underlayer growl that forces a flinch in Branch’s demeanor. “I hate that you kept this from me. I hate we lost our child, but more than anything, I hate how you’re losing faith in our relationship because you think I could hate you over something out of your control!”
“I’d feel better knowing you did. . . it’s what I deserve.”
The black deepens, overpowering the once rich royal blue so it resembles a burnishing wine midnight blue. Like an ugly bruise.
“You deserve me loving and supporting you. No matter what you may think, I don’t love you any less.” Creek shifts so his hands cradled Branch’s hips and he pulls the other into him. His head lifts and lands so that their cheeks pressed together, and as one, they shared at the decorative wall showcasing their many, many, many joyous moments together. A collage of sorts. It’d been Branch’s idea to place it there because he favors sleeping on this side of the bed and says when he wakes up, he wants to open his eyes to the reminders of their love for one another.
Maybe Branch is looking through them now, but Creek certainly isn’t. Especially at his favorite photo. Their first-time spending winter together, dressed in heavy coats, wrapped in a single silk scarf and each with a mug of hot chocolate in their opposing hands. Branch had been the only one staring at the camera when Biggie called out the signal to say cheese. Creek couldn’t tear his eyes away from Branch and all the love, affection and sweetness he had for the teal blue troll had been revealed in that singular shot.
“Do you love me?”
Branch groans like he’s in pain. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course I do. More than anything.”
“Do you trust me to protect us? When in case we do have children, do you accept me as the one to provide and care for all of us?”
“I never doubted you—”
“You have, you are now.” Creek reaches for the hand that’s mostly grey now and raises it for Branch to see.
He gasps, flipping his palm this way and that in shock. “But I-I don’t. It isn’t you!”
“Nor is it you.”
“Babe, I lost our baby. . . I can never forgive myself for being so reckless.”
“You didn’t go out there with the intent to harm our trollet. Knowing that is enough for me.” Creek joins their hands and kisses the fingers. “Misfortune is bound to happen in many ways. For better or for worse. Till death do us part. I’m fairly certain I wasn’t alone that day those vows were exchanged.”
A tiny chuckle escapes Branch’s lips. Then a short sigh. “I’m scared of screwin’ up again. I don’t want to ruin our chances.”
“All roads have bumps, curves and paths we aren’t willing to deal with. Such is life, after all.” Creek hugs him tight, kisses his ear and snuggles into his back. “We will mourn, remember, learn from our mistakes and move on.” He promises, then quietly adds, “And we will try again.”
Branch turns in his arms to face him, bewildered. “Do you trust me to be a good father? What if our child is born messed up or somethin’? I’ve been grey most of my life.”
Creek chuckles, absently patting Branch’s cheek. “Love, the baby could come out with pink polka dots, white hair, a peg leg and an eye patch. I’ll love it all the same because we made it.”
“Oh Creek,” Branch nudges their noses together, closes his eyes and steals a kiss. “You’re a sweetheart, ya know that? What’d I do to deserve you?”
“That list’s too long to go through,” Creek teases, earning a sharp pinch to his arm. “What? You and I both know I’m incredibly attractive. I’m every troll’s wet dream.”
“Right and real humble about it.” Branch kisses him again. “Thanks, babe.”
“No thanks neccesary. I only told the truth.”
Branch tries to pull away, but isn’t released. At his inquiring blink, Creek grins devilishly as he walks his fingers up the length of Branch’s arm. “I said we’d try again, didn’t I?”
“Huh?”
“Try now. Right now, preferably.”
Branch blinks like a dullard. “Try what. . . Creek wait, now?”
“Oh yes, sweetness.” Creek roughly pulls Branch beneath him, smiling like he caught the devil in him. “Right now!” And proceeds to pulls the sheets over them both, laughing aloud at Branch’s indignant squeaks and playful attempts to get free.
There were days easier to manage then others. As Creek said, they would mourn and they did. They remembered and imagined what life could have been like for their son or daughter, but those days would become distant memories when Branch discovers several months later upon plucking the flower that bloomed blue that he was carrying a pod. He didn’t hesitate to tell Creek and their times were happier, brighter and steamier.
So, it came to past that seven months later, Branch delivers a healthy pod and within it, a tiny baby trollet with green hair and a tint of grey to his lavender skin. The pair found themselves the happiness they’d ever been in their whole lives. Their son, Periwinkle as he was so lovingly named is soon joined by a younger sister, Violet, two years later that’s skin is the brightest purple and hair the deepest blue. Both trollets possessed Branch’s smile and Creek’s eyes.
For Branch and Creek, this is what it’s like to have complete happiness.