Doefreckle hadn’t visited the garden since his return to SummerClan. Before his death, when he first created the garden keepers, the only garden had been a little section of the camp behind the nursery, tended to by Venuskit. And the mandarin trees he’d kept outside his beech den, if those counted. This specially appointed garden was new, and he hadn’t had the courage to face it. It was getting easier, seeing Ratstar in the den that had been his, seeing him making announcements and creating warriors where he had once done it, even watching Crow send out patrols in the early morning sun, though he had only been deputy himself for a very brief while before being thrust into early leadership; there was a part of him, beside the jealousy and the gnawing resentment, that was hugely relieved, like he could finally breathe. Being Doestar had had its own beautiful perks, but it had been a burden on his shoulders as well; he’d both felt closer to who he truly was than ever before, and incredibly far away. Someone new, someone who could have been great, someone who was reaching towards happiness, finally, finally, if only time had been kinder…

But the garden... It was something else. Seemingly insignificant, maybe, such a small and unimportant thing to be intimidated by, to mourn for; but it was like the most beautiful, purest symbol of his lost leadership and life, of SummerClan moving on without him.

Today, that was different. He’d been there since just before dawn, wandering the flower and herb beds, watching the world turn from smoky grey to pale blue to gold. Now, he lay on his belly beneath a poplar tree, eyes half shut in the warm sunshine, his calico pelt mostly hidden by the bright flowers of lavender, marigold, roses and carnations. The birds chattered overhead beneath an endless blue sky; everything smelled fresh and sweet and strong, enough to mask the smell of the camp at the bottom of the hill and make him feel truly alone; he’d already washed, passing his good paw over his ears contentedly, and now his pelt, usually matte, gleamed in the sun - it was the most peaceful he’d felt in weeks.

The sound of Vulturemalice’s voice made him open one eye, a drowsy almost-smile still on his face. He had never spoken to the young medicine cat, though he’d been quietly - and a little cruelly, perhaps - relieved that Graythorn had finally stepped down. He’d never been at ease with the old tom the first time round in SummerClan and had always been privately bothered by the fact that he, as leader, couldn’t seem to get on the same page as his medicine cat. Vulturemalice, though prickly, was a fresh face, and a welcome one.

Pushing himself to his paws, pelt warm from the sunshine and smelling of rosemary like it used to, Doefreckle nosed his way through the trailing flowers and limped to Vulturemalice’s side. “I was sorry to hear of Graythorn’s retirement,” he said softly by way of greeting, sitting beside the other tom and hiding his face politely for a moment behind his good paw as he stretched his jaws in a wide yawn. “He was medicine cat when I was leader and I always thought he’d be it long after I was gone. It doesn’t feel quite real.” He smiled. “But I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful successor. Oh, and I’m Doefreckle by the way. Hello, ta-ra, welcome home, thank you, all that jazz.” He let out a purr. His drowsy, cheerful eyes slipped to the heavy bit of wood he was dragging about; he tried not to laugh. “Can I help at all? Or is this some sort of twisted punishment?” The young medicine cat looked tired, malnourished, barely groomed, like he’d hardly been taking care of himself he was so overwhelmed. Doe could relate. His eyes drifted back to him, kind and quiet. 

Doefreckle listened calmly, not offended by the younger tom’s biting words. The first time round, he might have been wounded, might have taken it personally and slunk away, or fallen over Vulturemalice trying to apologise and make amends in a pathetic show of submissiveness; even recently, all his emotions and vulnerabilities running on high after coming back to life, he might have been stung, might have gone waspish, if only for his own insecurities. But he’d matured, and as leader he’d absorbed a certain soothed self-assurance - without StarClan’s help; a little of that settled over him now. It contrasted with the utter nervous wreck he’d been lately; his night of closure with Chim and the soft pink sunrise with Hywel had helped. He felt calmer, quieter, more full of life and hope than almost ever before. Now, it was like there was sunshine in his veins.

When he finally let out a gentle purr, it wasn’t dismissive - it was more like he was softly acknowledging his own mis-step and the validity of the young medicine cat’s feelings. His voice was sweet-natured, upbeat, cheerful. “Yes, and coming back to life after two years as a ghost with no understanding as to why or how, to find your mate dead and your leadership gone is such fun!” He let out another purr and gave Vulturemalice a warm smile - he wasn’t trying to put the other tom in his place; at that moment, he just didn’t take himself very seriously.

“It’ll get easier,” he went on more gently, tilting his head and giving the medicine cat a small, quiet smile. “I don’t have the best relationship with StarClan so I can’t offer any advice on that front other than don’t let those high-and-mighty snobs make you feel lesser than… but when I became leader I didn’t have anyone to lean on either. No real mentor, no guidance, a Clan I barely knew and who barely knew me. But you - they know you. They care for you. You aren’t alone, though it might be so tempting to tell yourself that.” He gave a wicked smile, crooked and conspiratorial. It softened a heartbeat later. “No one ever truly is. All it takes is a bit of courage.” His voice had dropped a little lower, warm and close; his eyes didn’t leave Vulturemalice’s, his gaze sympathetic behind all the sadness and his blinks slow and sun-glazed. “They want you to succeed and you will. Graythorn was a fine medicine cat, and you’re both clever - between the two of you you’ll sort it out. And if you need further guidance, there’s no shame in asking another Clan’s medicine cat for help. Just don’t shut yourself away.” His smile grew, eyes crinkling up. “And don’t ever say sorry for how you feel.”

Doe’s gaze wandered up to the sorry little flower crown around Vulturemalice’s ears. “Now,” he continued more vibrantly, getting neatly to his paws. Everything he did was boyish, or prissy, or dainty, or playful; sometimes, it was all at once. “Let’s get you something better than that. Half of anything in life is looking the part.” He flashed the medicine cat a bright-eyed grin and flicked the crown lightly with the tip of his tail as he turned, already swept up in his little mission. “Dandelions are your thing?” he went on off-handedly, already sniffing about in search of them. “They suit you.” He threw Vulturemalice another grin over his shoulder, chased by a wink; it was harmless, friendly, just an automatic flirtation from his previous life.

Finding none in the garden, he slipped out of it, shaking scraps from the trailing flowers near the entrance from his head; he didn’t have to limp far, no more than a few steps, before he found some growing wild. He settled down on his stomach in the shade cast by the towering grass and the yellow flowers over the sun-warmed soil and began to pluck stems with his teeth. “I warn you I’m not the best at it,” he told him as he laid them out in front of him. “My friend Beetuft started the whole flower crown craze but, well,” he shifted his broken paw against the dusty ground, glancing up at the other tom with a smile, “I’m a bit useless.”

Doefreckle, already starting work on the dandelion crown - fumbled work, but slow and steady - looked up as Vulturemalice spoke, watching him with a warm smile - there was something about the medicine cat, about the quiet way he spoke that was almost shy, that was just… cute; he liked how quickly he’d lowered a little of his barriers, and he liked his unique brand of pretty - and letting his good paw weave automatically while his broken paw held the stems steady. He wasn’t good at making flower crowns, wasn’t a natural, but there was something innocent and sweet about the messiness. “Oh, I’m not a garden keeper,” he interrupted casually, glancing down at the dandelions when a bur snagged in the fur between his toe pads before quickly returning his attention to the medicine cat. His expression was open and cheerful. Despite the rank he’d created being seemingly perfect for Doe, upon returning to SummerClan he’d instead asked Ratstar to make him a warrior. He could hunt only the lamest mouse, was useless in a fight where his teeth alone weren’t enough, held up most patrols - hated most everything about the warrior lifestyle. But there was that little shard of insecurity, that sneering self-hatred, still lodged in his heart that told him if he was anything but a warrior, he was useless. He was a hypocrite, if hypocrisy could be aimed at no one but oneself: he championed self-acceptance and kindness to one’s own heart while tearing himself apart. Kindness applied to everyone but him. Well, it was something he was working on. Slowly. “I just like flowers.” His cheek dimpled.

I think I’d be able to help if you missed a weave. Doe glanced up at Vulturemalice, offering him a thankful blink; the gentleness of the medicine cat under the prickliness made his chest flood with warmth. Sunpetal whacked me until I got it right the other day. Doefreckle let out a purr. He liked Sunpetal, bratty as she was, and indeed because she was the sort of brat he tried to hide inside himself; it was nice to play the snide sidekick to someone when he was with her instead of preening in the spotlight like he usually did. “Spoiled princesses are like that. And I say that as a spoiled princess.” He flashed a grin at Vulturemalice. A moment later, he looked back down at the dandelions; the black splotches in his fur were soaking up the sun and making him burn pleasantly. “Well, I won’t whack you. Unless you don’t put down that bloody tree you’re dragging about and relax.” His eyes flicked up to the little herb carrier pointedly. A second later, he sat up briefly, unhooked it from around Vulturemalice’s neck with his teeth, and set it down on the ground between them. Doe met the medicine cat’s gaze for a moment, daring him to argue with a smickering little smile and a quirked-browed incline of his head, before settling back down. There was that little entitled sharpness, a touch too cavalier to be gentle, a touch too harmless to be reproached; he took what he wanted.

There was a moment’s silence, filled by Doe’s soft purring as he worked. “So, did you always want to be a medicine cat? I’ve wondered occasionally if it would have been a better path for me, but,” he breathed a laugh, tipping his head with his eyes still on the dandelions, “a, me and StarClan don’t mix, b, I’m a bit too…” He looked up briefly, gazing into the flowers waving in the summer breeze as he searched for the word; there was no polite way to say it. “I couldn’t be single,” he finished, looking at Vulturemalice with a self-deprecating little smile and a darker, impish glint in his eyes. There was also the matter of being entirely traumatised by most medicine and medicine dens as a whole, but that wasn’t as sunny to talk about.

Doefreckle repressed a shiver as Vulturemalice talked about his morbid fascinations. It was rare to meet someone with such preoccupations with the macabre, especially in SummerClan; in fact, Doe couldn’t think of… anyone. His daughter had been the closest, always a bit too thrilled by blood, but he - he repressed this quickly, guiltily - had no idea where she was now, or if she was even still alive. He’d been too much of a coward to ask anyone who might have known when he first came back to life. He didn’t know where it came from, but he’d always been similarly tantalised by dark things. He had never told anyone, but when he was an apprentice in NightClan he’d once wounded a mouse just enough to maim it, but not to kill it. It had been an accident - a fumbled bit of hunting - and he ought to have put it out of its misery straight away. Instead, he’d crouched down low to the ground, chin resting on the pine needles and eyes wide in the dark, the fur of his throat dampened by the leaf litter, and watched it for hours. Watched it struggle, watched it cry. Finally, like snapping out of a spell, he’d sat bolt upright and realised how heartbreakingly cruel what he was doing was. Guilt had pooled in his chest like black water; tears had welled in his eyes and he’d sat there gasping, paws shuffling in the leaves. What was he doing? How could he do such a thing? This wasn’t who he was. He’d killed the mouse and buried it, giving it a little ceremony with flowers laid on the grave and a moment of tearful silence honoured beneath the moon and stars. But the tears hadn’t been for the mouse, not really; they’d been for himself, for his own confusion. For all his talk of loving flowers and honouring life, he had little to no empathy for prey creatures. It was something that might have bothered him, that lack of care, that odd coldness if he hadn’t repressed it long ago. Why confront your feelings when you could smile over them instead? It was something he’d need to address sooner or later, on this quiet journey of healing and self-forgiveness he had started upon, but for now he opted for later.

It wasn’t precisely the same as what Vulturemalice was talking about - the medicine cat’s was an appreciation for life beyond life, for decay; Doefreckle’s leaned more towards a thin brush stroke of sadism - but the morbid confession endeared the other tom to Doe all the same. He felt oddly relieved, like he could peel off one layer of all he pretended not to be. “I must be fascinating to you, then,” he replied lightly, glancing at Vulturemalice with soft eyes. “How does one return to one’s body, the same as it was, after two years? Where’s the decay? Was it all undone the second my consciousness returned? Did I rot in that grave?” As he spoke, his voice drifted into something more genuine; something quieter, something deeper. He gazed unseeingly out at the sunshine, momentarily surrounded by grey, lifeless fog again. He trailed off, and for a long moment was silent. It was comforting, in a way he’d never experienced before. The relief of it felt like cold air swept from his lungs. He’d always had to keep up that front - he was bubbly Doefreckle, that’s what toms liked, or usually liked. He didn’t talk about dark things; he was naïve as sugar. To sit there in silence, with truth settling over them like weightless cobwebs, he felt like he could breathe. Like he was him in a way he had never been before. He found himself smiling, in a small, private way. After a little while, he let out a quiet breath and, with a glance at Vulturemalice, got back to work on the flower crown. He felt light and comfortably cool despite the summer warmth, like fog had risen from the earth to counteract the sunshine.

And then, Vulturemalice was calling him pretty. Doe’s good paw stilled on the dandelions and he smiled to himself, head still bowed; a moment later he looked up, looking at the medicine cat with quiet, gentle amusement like he was wondering if he was aware of what he’d just said. When he saw how mortified Vulturemalice looked, he let out a soft purr. He wouldn’t say it - he took mercy that morning, not wanting to embarrass him any more - but he was flattered. He could get so caught up in his own strife, in the two toms who had preoccupied him for years and the one who had arrived more recently; it was nice to settle back down into this smaller, more ordinary world and know there were still toms within SummerClan who found him attractive. It didn’t even feed his vanity exactly; it was just a knowledge that warmed his heart, like sinking back into a familiar feeling he’d half-forgotten. It was strange, but he’d always subconsciously been of the policy that romance and home didn’t mix and had never courted anyone within SummerClan; it was like the second he walked into camp, all his flirting was shrugged off and he could just be himself and go to sleep. He’d hardly ever even looked at any toms at home, like they were out of bounds. A medicine cat, though - that was more than a little flattering. Old Graythorn would be mortified.

“I wouldn’t say I attract mates,” he purred, eyes kind and amused. “I haven’t managed to keep one yet. They keep dying or marrying she-cats, it’s exceedingly selfish of them.” It was a joke, albeit a very true one and one that was every bit an open wound. Doe smiled, tilting his head. He studied Vulturemalice for a few, quiet moments. “That was very poetic of you, though. Morbid longings and romantic souls go hand in hand, I suppose.” He let out a quiet purr, gaze still hooked on the other tom with a new sort of interest. His eyes looked a little darker, a little more attentive.

At the medicine cat’s excitement over his death, Doefreckle found himself smiling, tilting his head slightly as he watched him babble on. “I never had nine lives,” he explained quietly at the mention of limbo, eyes gentle; his voice was calm - that knowledge didn’t make him as angry as it used to. “I didn’t tell Graythorn, nor Ravenstar - she was the leader before me and went with me to the Moon Creek,” he added with a glance at Vulturemalice. “I just pretended. I suppose telling a medicine cat I wasn’t approved of by StarClan is probably a poor choice at all. I don’t know why they didn’t want me.” There was a little of that old hurt there now, that wounded childish confusion. He frowned down at his paws. “But they didn’t. I gave myself my leader name and let everyone think I had my lives - that StarClan hadn’t just left me waiting there in that endless dark. That’s why I died. I only had the one life to lose.” After a moment of silence, he raised his head and offered Vulturemalice a small, fragile smile.

Thank you for not thinking of me as a freak. Doe let out a purr, blinking at him fondly. “Thank you for not thinking of me as a zombie,” he laughed softly. His smile growing more gentle, he added after a moment, “you don’t have to justify yourself, Vulturemalice. Even if your interests didn’t have practical use, it’s only the way our Clans live that has convinced us all that we ought to meet the end of the road with our eyes closed. Death and decay are as natural as life and flowers. To turn away from them because they frighten us, or they’re taboo, or they’re wrong is a tragedy in itself. There’s beauty in horror, there always has been. If you told me you just found death pretty, that’s no worse than saying you’re genuinely pushing the boundaries of medicine and experimenting where few have dared to before. I admire you.” He didn’t comment on the poisonous plants, had to make a conscious effort not to flinch or freeze at the mention of them and to keep the smile on his face. Bones and rot, they were natural. Herbs that could numb, that could fog your mind, that could leave you vulnerable and unable to defend yourself… He’d had enough of that with Funk E’tan, before he went by that name at all. Doe rubbed his broken paw without realising it, buried for a moment in old, venomous memories still painful enough to make him want to curl up and cry like a kit.

When Vulturemalice started rambling again, the old fear melted from Doe like sun-warmed syrup. He smiled patiently, eyes glittering with amusement, his good paw tapping against his broken one as he listened. One is giving, while the other is taking. Oh, that was too easy. He bit back a sly innuendo. Instead, he nodded along. When the medicine cat was done, Doe sat up, gently slipped the wilted dandelions from around the other tom’s ear - laying it carefully at Vulturemalice’s paws, in case he was as sentimental about Sunpetal’s creation as he was about Graythorn’s little log - and replaced it with his own crown. “Shame,” he said softly as he did so. “Everyone should get the chance at least once.”

Should he have been tormenting a medicine cat? One ordained by StarClan? One who ought to have been respected and treated with mild deference? One who had made his choice for his own life, his own path, and should have been left alone? No. Would he have actually gone through with anything if Vulturemalice agreed? Unlikely. He did have some morals. He was just teasing - mostly; he didn’t want to make him genuinely uncomfortable. But what he’d said was true - the other tom was young, and pretty in that uncommon way Doe favoured, and it was a shame. Surely it couldn’t hurt the Clan if he experienced a bit of life before devoting himself to them until death. Guilt bubbled up in him, faint but persistent, at the thought of Hywel - but they were just… a fling. Or friends with benefits, minus most of the friend part. Or… something. He pushed the confusing feelings away.

(♡♡♡ all good, lovely!!)

"You don't think about wanting," Doe murmured quietly, staying close by the medicine cat to carefully fix the position of the flower crown with one gentle paw, pushing it to more of an angle over one ear. Vulturemalice's short, thin fur was slightly prickly against his paw, and it wasn't unpleasant. "You just want."

Still sitting over the younger tom, Doe lowered his eyes, leaning back a little to look at him. There was an offer there. Something gentle. No pressure, no strings attached, no hurry - just a simple offer. He was a little older and a world more experienced - but the experience had been, by and large, a thing of trauma and fear and guilt. So few of the toms he'd known had been kind, namely because he'd courted them for that very reason. He hadn't had anyone when he was beginning to work out who he was who could help him, guide him, be gentle with him, and that insecurity, that blind floundering, that disgust with himself had ruined a massive part of his life, the ripples of it still lapping against him now. If he could be the opposite of that for someone, for Vulturemalice, take all his painful experiences and use all the gaps in between, the gaps where softness and patience should have been, to work out by absence what would have gone there, to create something new, to be a good first experience for him... It was the most healing thing he could think of.

Doe could have pushed it - Vulturemalice was clearly lying, and maybe he wanted him to - but he didn’t. Instead, with a gentle smile, he stepped away from the brown tom, going back to a respectful distance. “Well, if you change your mind,” he replied cheerfully, voice still reassuringly quiet - not flirtatious, just… you don’t need to be ashamed. He wasn’t going to chase a medicine cat - he’d never yet had a romance within his own Clan and he didn’t particularly want one. But if Vulturemalice decided to come to him, he wouldn’t turn him away. And if he asked him to court him, even if they both knew it wasn’t entirely genuine, he would.

“Shall we go pick some herbs?” he continued, tilting his head slightly towards the garden. “I assume that’s why you were here before I totally derailed your morning. I’ll be a useless medicine cat apprentice but I can try. Or just, y’know, hold things for you and look pretty.” He smiled, warm and open.

Doe watched Vulturemalice's quiet little outburst with a thin, crooked smile and a slightly quirked brow. If the medicine cat wanted something, he'd have to be the one to take the first step. "Don't be too excited, dandelion," he purred sarcastically at the brown tom's lack of eagerness, eyes all scrunched up and soft. "The herbs have to have a bit of fear in them to grow properly. If they feel too wanted they'll give up and get lazy. They have to work for it."

Giving him a last warm smile, eyes just a little too bright and a little too teasing, Doe flicked his tail and slipped back in to the garden with his usual limping gait. He stood in front of one of the garden beds, the close-growing flowers towering all around him; parts blotted out the sun, making it filter down through tall stems and bobbing petals and the oak branches arching overhead. He looked at the other tom. "What first? Catmint? Chamomile? Lavender? I'm good, aren't I?" He threw a grin at Vulturemalice, all self-mocking and sunny and insufferably aware of himself.

Doe wasn’t totally harmless - he still felt the self-satisfied triumph, the thrill, that came of corrupting a medicine cat appointed by StarClan. He’d always harboured a vague desire to tempt one away from his oath, ever since he was an apprentice, like an odd little bucket list - just to see if he could do it, to see if forbidden fruit, the most forbidden, was sweeter. He'd always been unrepentant. To finally see it coming to fruition, however innocent his intentions were now, was deeply gratifying.

When Vulturemalice took the step closer, his eyes alive with the new world opened to him and clearly hungry for it, Doe met his gaze with a pompous little smile, closed the distance between them, his muzzle a breath from the slightly taller tom's and his mouth parted slightly - and breezed past him with a lofty flick of his tail. "None of those, then?" he purred airily, looking about at the flowers and herbs. "Tansy? Poppy? Catmint? I'm sure you'd look very sweet all glassy-eyed and weak-legged from that last one," he added over his shoulder, voice innocent as sugar and full of innuendo, still not looking back at the medicine cat.