Disclaimer: The Secret Garden doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Frances Hodgson Burnett and other related companies/people. The only thing that belongs to me is this fic.

Author’s Note: My second Mary/Dickon fic. This is from Dickon’s POV, and for those who are wondering, this is not a companion fic to Hands. “He” is Dickon and “she” is Mary.

This goes out once again to Romy, for being supportive and encouraging, and also to Mena, for being such a great support and telling me what she thought of Hands. [blush]

 

Abstract

He finds her abstract.

He doesn’t know how or why he does – he just knows that she’s abstract. Maybe it’s because of the way she does things – or maybe it’s because of her personality.

She’s unique, but not contrary. He’s absolutely fascinated with her, but not to the point where he’s stalking her. She’s a kindred spirit to him – almost as if she and he were the same person. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

To him, she’s a breath of fresh air from the ordinary. She isn’t boring at all – she finds new ways to do and see things – giving him, or anyone else, a completely different view on everything and at everything.

She does everything in her own way and doesn’t care what anyone else says about it. He finds that appealing – her being independent instead of dependent.

But what he finds that pulls him the most to her is that she’s a person who thinks and acts on her own mind, not anyone else’s.

She’s herself, a woman who makes her own decisions and chooses her own path. She might make some mistakes along the way, but she knows – and admits – that she’s not perfect. It’s her strength and perseverance that he admires, that he needs the most. They comfort him, she comforts him.

Not that he’s needy or anything, but the thing he lacks the most is the kind of strength she has. Sure, he can pull himself together when he wants – and needs – to, but he just isn’t strong like she is.

He’s something between a boy and a man, in between. When he needs to cry, he holds it in sometimes, but then when she’s there everything inside him just breaks, and the invisible dam in him cracks, letting all his pent up frustration, anger and sadness go. He’s stuck somewhere, and he doesn’t know how to get out. She helps him figure out where to go so he wouldn’t be lost anymore.

That, he feels, says a lot about her. More than enough – there’s not enough words in the world to tell how much he needs her or how lovely she is. His whole world is her, and nothing else. He knows that’s a blessing – definitely not a curse. It’s the best blessing there ever was, in his mind. She’s the only blessing he’s ever had – besides actually having a family. People who accepted and loved him for who he was. Like her, but at the same time, not quite like her.

Every thing she does is always done for her own or other people’s good. He marvels at her. How one person could care so much about the world leaves him at a loss for words. Caring for people like him, caring about humanity and nature. The “little things” in life that were often taken for granted, and that people don’t really care about. She cares for all of them and more.

Just seeing her tend to the flowers and give food or money or clothes – whatever she has that they don’t – makes him think. And marvel even more at her; at how incredible and unbelievable she is. But he knows she’s not a dream and is believable. “Too good to be true” definitely didn’t apply to her, although at first he had thought that about her. Now he doesn’t anymore.

He treasures every moment he has with her. Every bright small smile and twinkle in her eye that she sends at him he stores in his mind to keep and remember forever. He’s not the type to think he’s lucky or really unworthy to have her – because he knows he’s just happy that she’s in his life, nothing less. He’s happy to be her friend, even if he wants to be something more, and he’s happy that she wants to be – and is – his friend. Those are the best things in life, he thinks – having friends and being alive. Like he always feels whenever he thinks of her or whenever he’s with her. Even when she’s far away from him, he feels the same way, as if something inside him has been born and it’s a wonderful wonderful feeling. The best feeling in the world, he knows.

Sometimes he doesn’t need to be near her to know how she feels. It can all be told in her gestures, in the way she speaks to him, the way her eyes light up and a smile forms on her face. And sometimes she doesn’t need to be near him to know he feels. He knows that, and can feel it buzzing in him everywhere – in his head, in his heart. His hands shake a little and it’s when he finally realizes that nothing and no one should be stopping him, now or ever. He exhales slowly, a trembling urge to run nearly overcoming him; but he doesn’t. Since there’s nothing to run from.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her strolling by, admiring the grounds. He smiles to himself, gathering up all the fragments of courage he has, and catches up with her, the two of them immediately getting immersed in conversation. He revels in every look she gives him and in return he gives her his full attention – the both of them glad to be near each other and having one of their many conversations to remember.

He finds her abstract, but to him she’s the kind of abstract that he loves, and which makes him love her all the more. And for him, being abstract – and her being abstract – is the best thing in the world.