La Femme Nikita. Adam Samuelle. 053. Earth.
Title: The Tree Huggers
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Adam, Elena
Prompt: 053. Earth.
Word count: 867
Rating: G
Summary: Michael and Adam plant memories
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3.
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between A Matter of Good Taste and The Truth Hurts.*
The Tree Huggers
Michael was spending an unusually tranquil Sunday morning: legs crossed comfortably on the coffee table, the latest edition of Le Monde on the sofa beside him, awaiting his completion of the crossword puzzle in the London Times. Elena had a claim on the “easy” one, while Michael tackled the cryptic puzzle.
Six across. “Beat in return game (4).” Beat. Best? No; “tseb” wasn’t a word. But “golf” was; a game, and “flog” spelled backwards. Easy. Michael printed the correct letters in the corresponding squares. With the ‘L’, that made four down…
“Daddy! It’s today!” Adam tugged on the sleeve of Michael’s sweater.
“Yes, it is,” Michael answered the excited boy, picking him up and settling him on his lap. “It’s today all day long.”
“No,” Adam protested impatiently. “Today! You know. You promised.” Michael’s eyes sought Elena’s as she entered the room, asking for back-up.
“It’s Arbor Day,” she reminded him. “You promised Adam you would plant a tree.”
“That’s not till the last Sunday in May,” Michael protested, loath to give up his cozy Sunday posture.
Elena smiled. “It’s the 31st, Michael. Sorry, my love but you’re all of out of Sundays. No more stalling.”
“I wasn’t stalling,” he objected; stalling. “Besides, it’s only Arbor Day in England. We’re in France. No England; no tree.”
“Daddy!” a squirming Adam chided, climbing out of Michael’s lap to stand in solidarity with his mother.
“Michael, you did promise. Adam, go put your jacket on. It’s still nippy out.”
“And the soil will be hard as a rock,” Michael grumbled.
“Oh, stop whining,” Elena teased. “And put your jacket on as well. I’ll go get the camcorder. This momentous occasion with father, son, and tree should be recorded for posterity.”
“Um, we don’t have a tree,” Michael reminded her.
Adam appeared in front of Michael, needing help with the zipper on his jacket. “Yes we do,” he informed his father. “Me and Mommy bought it after school. It’s in the garage. Come on, Daddy! Let’s go!”
Conceding defeat, Michael reluctantly left his little den on the sofa and went to get his jacket.
As predicted, the earth in the back yard was hard from the harsh winter and unusually late spring. Michael stepped on the shovel with both feet to drive it in the ground. He thought the wooden handle might break from the strain as he finally managed to dump the soil next to the ‘hole’ he’d made. He repeated the procedure, praying that Elena hadn’t bought a California Redwood.
Michael paused in his labors, wiping his brow at the sound of Adam’s toy wagon rumbling toward him, the tree holding the place of honor inside. He groaned. Not a Redwood, but an Evergreen with a fairly large ball of roots; bigger than a football. He would have to dig a hole nearly a meter deep, and about the same in diameter. He unzipped his brown woolen jacket, his labors keeping him warm.
Digging went slowly, despite Adam’s cheering and Elena’s good-natured jeering. Finally, it was almost time.
“Adam, go and get the hose,” Michael directed. “We’ll need to water the tree. But don’t turn it on yet.”
“I should go with him. He’ll need help.”
“He’ll be fine, and I could use a break.”
“I thought so,” Elena chided her husband.
“When did you become a ‘tree hugger,’ anyway?”
“When I was six.” Elena didn’t deny it. “When Mummy took me to Rajasthan, we learned all about the Bishnoi village. People lined up and literally hugged the trees to keep the soldiers from ruining the woodlands. Many people died.”
“When did this happen,” Michael asked, intrigued.
“Oh, back in the 1700s, I think. That’s where the custom of hugging trees started. They still call rabid environmentalists ‘tree huggers.’ But Arbor Day isn’t about hugging trees. It’s about replacing the ones you’ve used. We cut down a Christmas tree last year.”
“Which you insisted on,” Michael reminded her.
“And so we’re planting this one to replace it.”
“’We’ meaning ‘me’.”
“Dig.”
Michael dug. Just a few more shovelfuls of dark soil, and he was ready.
“Okay, Adam. I need you to hold the hose, like this, so it sprays into the hole. Can you do that without getting wet?
“Yes.”
Elena was getting a kick out of watching her boys commune with Mother Earth. When Michael turned off the water, he picked up Adam under the arms, pretending he was going to plant the boy instead of the tree. Adam giggled, Elena laughed, and even Michael smiled, forgetting for just a moment that he wasn’t an ordinary suburban husband and father. Elena had her tape, but Michael wanted to make real, happy memories for his son.
After situating the tree satisfactorily in the freshly dug and thoroughly watered hole, Michael walked toward Elena, smiling for the camera as he suggested they trade places. Elena went to where Adam still had a death grip on the top of the tiny tree and knelt beside him. “Wave, Adam. Say ‘hi’ to Dad.”
Adam smiled and waved. Would he remember this day, or would the images in his head be buried as deeply as the roots of the newly planted tree?
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Characters: Michael, Adam, Elena
Prompt: 053. Earth.
Word count: 867
Rating: G
Summary: Michael and Adam plant memories
Author's Notes: Spoilers through mid-Season 3.
*To preserve continuity, this story should be read between A Matter of Good Taste and The Truth Hurts.*
The Tree Huggers
Michael was spending an unusually tranquil Sunday morning: legs crossed comfortably on the coffee table, the latest edition of Le Monde on the sofa beside him, awaiting his completion of the crossword puzzle in the London Times. Elena had a claim on the “easy” one, while Michael tackled the cryptic puzzle.
Six across. “Beat in return game (4).” Beat. Best? No; “tseb” wasn’t a word. But “golf” was; a game, and “flog” spelled backwards. Easy. Michael printed the correct letters in the corresponding squares. With the ‘L’, that made four down…
“Daddy! It’s today!” Adam tugged on the sleeve of Michael’s sweater.
“Yes, it is,” Michael answered the excited boy, picking him up and settling him on his lap. “It’s today all day long.”
“No,” Adam protested impatiently. “Today! You know. You promised.” Michael’s eyes sought Elena’s as she entered the room, asking for back-up.
“It’s Arbor Day,” she reminded him. “You promised Adam you would plant a tree.”
“That’s not till the last Sunday in May,” Michael protested, loath to give up his cozy Sunday posture.
Elena smiled. “It’s the 31st, Michael. Sorry, my love but you’re all of out of Sundays. No more stalling.”
“I wasn’t stalling,” he objected; stalling. “Besides, it’s only Arbor Day in England. We’re in France. No England; no tree.”
“Daddy!” a squirming Adam chided, climbing out of Michael’s lap to stand in solidarity with his mother.
“Michael, you did promise. Adam, go put your jacket on. It’s still nippy out.”
“And the soil will be hard as a rock,” Michael grumbled.
“Oh, stop whining,” Elena teased. “And put your jacket on as well. I’ll go get the camcorder. This momentous occasion with father, son, and tree should be recorded for posterity.”
“Um, we don’t have a tree,” Michael reminded her.
Adam appeared in front of Michael, needing help with the zipper on his jacket. “Yes we do,” he informed his father. “Me and Mommy bought it after school. It’s in the garage. Come on, Daddy! Let’s go!”
Conceding defeat, Michael reluctantly left his little den on the sofa and went to get his jacket.
As predicted, the earth in the back yard was hard from the harsh winter and unusually late spring. Michael stepped on the shovel with both feet to drive it in the ground. He thought the wooden handle might break from the strain as he finally managed to dump the soil next to the ‘hole’ he’d made. He repeated the procedure, praying that Elena hadn’t bought a California Redwood.
Michael paused in his labors, wiping his brow at the sound of Adam’s toy wagon rumbling toward him, the tree holding the place of honor inside. He groaned. Not a Redwood, but an Evergreen with a fairly large ball of roots; bigger than a football. He would have to dig a hole nearly a meter deep, and about the same in diameter. He unzipped his brown woolen jacket, his labors keeping him warm.
Digging went slowly, despite Adam’s cheering and Elena’s good-natured jeering. Finally, it was almost time.
“Adam, go and get the hose,” Michael directed. “We’ll need to water the tree. But don’t turn it on yet.”
“I should go with him. He’ll need help.”
“He’ll be fine, and I could use a break.”
“I thought so,” Elena chided her husband.
“When did you become a ‘tree hugger,’ anyway?”
“When I was six.” Elena didn’t deny it. “When Mummy took me to Rajasthan, we learned all about the Bishnoi village. People lined up and literally hugged the trees to keep the soldiers from ruining the woodlands. Many people died.”
“When did this happen,” Michael asked, intrigued.
“Oh, back in the 1700s, I think. That’s where the custom of hugging trees started. They still call rabid environmentalists ‘tree huggers.’ But Arbor Day isn’t about hugging trees. It’s about replacing the ones you’ve used. We cut down a Christmas tree last year.”
“Which you insisted on,” Michael reminded her.
“And so we’re planting this one to replace it.”
“’We’ meaning ‘me’.”
“Dig.”
Michael dug. Just a few more shovelfuls of dark soil, and he was ready.
“Okay, Adam. I need you to hold the hose, like this, so it sprays into the hole. Can you do that without getting wet?
“Yes.”
Elena was getting a kick out of watching her boys commune with Mother Earth. When Michael turned off the water, he picked up Adam under the arms, pretending he was going to plant the boy instead of the tree. Adam giggled, Elena laughed, and even Michael smiled, forgetting for just a moment that he wasn’t an ordinary suburban husband and father. Elena had her tape, but Michael wanted to make real, happy memories for his son.
After situating the tree satisfactorily in the freshly dug and thoroughly watered hole, Michael walked toward Elena, smiling for the camera as he suggested they trade places. Elena went to where Adam still had a death grip on the top of the tiny tree and knelt beside him. “Wave, Adam. Say ‘hi’ to Dad.”
Adam smiled and waved. Would he remember this day, or would the images in his head be buried as deeply as the roots of the newly planted tree?
My fanfic100 prompt table is here.