Author's Note: Fluff.

Pairing: Mary x Dickon

~BD

Crossroads

"Quick, behind here!"

She hissed at him like a goose, grasped his coarse fingers in her dainty ones, and quickly pulled him towards a clump of tumbling, towering pink roses.

"Miss Mary…! Wait a…"

But she had already collapsed behind the mass, and he was unable to avoid tripping over her legs and falling half on top of her. Embarrassed at his clumsiness and the fact that he was suddenly sprawled on the ground with her in a most improper fashion, he started to apologize – but before he could, she simply tugged him closer to her, out of sight of the door.

Then he started to protest, but her hand pressed over his mouth.

Instantly, he could smell the heady scent of earth on her skin, even though she'd brushed her palms against her dress only moments before. It mixed with the natural, musky scent of sweat on her body, for they had been working for nearly two hours in comfortable silence, as they always had as children and as they did now whenever she was home from her schooling in London. But this nearness made his skin flush and his heart race. Her face was so close to his; separated only by her hand, and her blue-gray eyes were wide and a little frightened, though he'd no idea why. Colin was coming down the walk (for they had heard him talking loudly to Ben Weatherstaff as he approached), but that shouldn't have made Mary panic so. And yet, even as he wondered what on earth was going on, he couldn't help but notice every silken strand of her blonde hair, slightly mused from being out-of-doors, when only the night before he'd seen her walking across the lawns with her cousin after dinner, with it done up in soft curls.

And then, a second later, the garden door creaked open, and Colin's commanding voice called out, "Mary? Mary, are you in here?"

She bit her lip, but otherwise remained perfectly still, refusing to remove her hand from Dickon's mouth.

"Mary?"

Her eyes closed, as though she were praying, as though she were willing her cousin to leave by Magic, and Dickon noticed her chest rising and falling more rapidly.

The prolonged seconds ticked by slowly, but after what seemed an eternity, the garden door clicked shut again.

Still, Mary did not move right away. She turned her head soundlessly, her hand tentatively drawing away from Dickon's mouth so that she could peer through the tangled vines of the roses for a glimpse of the door. And only when she was certain her cousin had really left (for they heard him telling Ben off that Mary was apparently not in her garden), did she exhale a sigh of intense relief and turn her slightly sad gaze back to her closest friend.

"Wilt thee tell me wha' tha' was all about?" he asked in a low voice, more than a bit confused. Mary had always welcomed her cousin into her garden, where Colin was usually more than willing to help with the weeding and pruning and planting. Had they had an argument recently? If so, it wasn't known to the servants of Misselthwaite, and those sorts of things were always the subject of eager, juicy gossip in the kitchen.

Hopelessly, she twisted her fingers together and whispered, "Colin doesn't want me to come here alone any more, actually. I knew he'd be angry if he realized I was in the garden."

"But... 'tis tha garden, isn' it? Tha uncle gave it t' thee over four year ago. No one would bother thee here."

"Yes, I know. But... Well, you see... The fact is..." She was struggling with words, and after a couple of tense seconds, she looked up into his cobalt eyes. "Colin's jealous," she stammered softly, her cheeks flushing a warm pink.

He stared back at her for a few seconds, when quite suddenly, the realization dawned on him like a thunderclap. It was awfully painful, as though someone had stabbed him with a knife, and he could think of nothing to say except, "Oh."

Worse, when he stopped and really thought about it, he couldn't quite understand why Colin should be jealous at all, because Colin had everything in his favor. He'd known that one day, this moment would come – in some form or another – and they would all three of them reach the crossroads of friendship and be forced to chose their next paths. It was a bit surprising it hadn't happened already. He had assumed they had all thought of it before now, for as they grew older, they were forced to consider social structure more seriously.

Yet, she was still trying to cling to their childhood, desperate for it to continue into fast-approaching adulthood, as though nothing had to change – when, truthfully, it must change, for there was no possible way it could remain the same forever. He was a moor boy; they were wealthy and pampered. He had nothing; Colin would inherit his father's title and Mary was already transforming into a beautiful, educated woman with her parents' fortune waiting for her in a bank in London. And she would choose Colin because society expected it. Perhaps she even loved Colin, or some other young man she had likely met in London while at school. Dickon sighed; because, even though he'd prepared himself for this terrible moment for the last few years, it still felt as though something within him was shattering – not just once, but over and over and over again.

After a long, awkward moment, he diverted his eyes and said quietly, "I should go. I should be helpin' Ben t'day."

He started to rise, not at all ready to leave her forever and take his real place in society – one where he was a servant, and no longer their friend – but he had no other choice, and he knew it.

But before he could even get to his knees, she quickly reached out to cup his cheek, pulled him back to her, and kissed him lightening-fast on the mouth.

For the briefest moment, he was stunned. Then, his life flashed before his eyes – a common moor boy who could charm animals and knew all about Magic, who worked as a servant in the gardens at Misselthwaite and made everything grow, and who was hopelessly in love with the beautiful, young niece of his employer. Every memory, every cherished thought, every dream and hope he had ever possessed, culminated in that one instance when Mary pressed her soft, warm lips to his. He whimpered, partially from the pain he felt inside his heart that kissing her should be impossible, and partially from how perfect it felt. She tasted like he had always imagined.

Nor could he pull away from her. Instead, he sank back to the ground, his breath hissing in slightly as she kissed him again, angling her mouth differently to kiss him deeper. It was still slow and lovely, not frantic or passionate, but with a hint of becoming both, and very soon if they weren't careful. He could already feel his blood desperately pounding in his ears, and when Mary sucked his lower lip between her teeth, he had to clench his fingers into fists to keep from pushing her onto her back in the grass and lying on top of her.

When they finally parted a fraction to gasp for breath, she whispered in a shaky voice, "That's why he doesn't want me to come here. Because he knows I'm in love with you, and he disagrees. He doesn't understand why I would be so willing to give everything up for you, instead of marrying him. I can only imagine that he must have become blinded in London... That he's forgotten all about the Magic. But I haven't. I never will. If... if you don't love me, then please tell me, Dickon." She swallowed hard, suddenly looking quite fearful. "I shouldn't have kissed you without asking first. I'm sorry!"

He closed his eyes, wishing her fingers would remain tangled in his curls for a while longer, and his mouth curved just slightly into a smile. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, and whispered, "Donna apologize for somethin' so perfect! I'll always love thee, Mary. But... th' truth is..." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, meeting hers. "Mary, I'm jus' a..."

She cut him off, pressing her finger against his lips, her eyes suddenly blazing with emotion. As if she were suddenly so happy she couldn't contain her feelings.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change how I feel. I belong to thee, if tha wants me. Does... does tha want me, then?"

For a brief moment, their eyes met. Then Dickon leaned forward, slowly, and touched his lips to hers.

"Aye, lass. I want thee, if tha'll have me. I have nothin' though."

Mary sighed softly and whispered against his mouth, "Nothing is all I want, Dickon."

~FIN~