Poppies and Lavender - SCP Foundation

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The dimly-lit greenhouse was a maze of glistening leaves where the occasional tank of dead-eyed, amphibious eels blocked his path. Dangling hoses and vines threatened to entangle him with every step. He was starting to feel like it was a mistake to come here.

He peered around one of the tanks and saw a fanged monster in a leather apron seize one of the eels and deftly decapitate it with a cleaver. It tossed the rest of the body on to a roasting rack and spoke soothingly to the dying head, placing it on a block of ice.

5a82 had killed people while feeling far less remorse. Not that there had been any time for remorse between missions. Now that there were no more missions, the weight of it came down much like that cleaver. If this beast of a One had wanted to eat him instead he wasn’t sure how motivated he would have been to fight back.

The smell of the charred flesh filled the hot and humid space along with the stink of the Ammonia produced by the edible aquatic fauna. The Ammonia was consumed and turned into nitrate fertilizer by vats of microbes that churned and bubbled not far away from where the One ate its lunch. Perhaps it was used to the smell.

5a82 felt his vestigial muscles heave. He leaned against one of the vats. He had no stomach and thus, no stomach contents. It was like when humans got goose bumps even though they no longer had fur to bristle.

Footage of Ones ripping into their prey against a backdrop of jungle plants had been a major component of the propaganda used to assure him that Twos were the thin blue line of the law. Twos did not feed themselves so savagely. The thought of taking anything by mouth made him choke. Though he had never really seen a One kill with its teeth or eat anything alive like he had in the videos.

“I swear if that’s you again –” The fanged giant ambled over munching its charred eel on a stick.

It froze, looked over 5a82 and started to laugh heartily. “Dang, you’re small for a Two!”

People who acted like this were terrifying. Informal behavior was not something he was ever taught and this One reminded him of someone he spent most of his time trying to forget.

“I’m sorry I –”

“Nah, it’s alright!” The slap to his back nearly knocked him over, but it was not an overly hostile attack. The One was playing around, like characters did sometimes in human films.

“I thought you were trying to sneak extra fish. No, you’re good. No stomach to eat with, no weapon to shoot me with – you should tell em’ to send you to me, if you like plants so much. You know I’ve always wanted a Two!”

The look on the one’s face went from jovial to horrified. It backed away a few steps. 5a82 had managed to get a hold of some more regular clothes so as to better blend in. But it was clear fame had made his gaunt face dangerously recognizable.

“Sorry, sorry, and sorry.” The one nearly groveled. “Can I help you with something?”

“I need a plant” he said, now with more confidence, “an Earthen plant.”

He was told Mediterranean herbs were difficult to keep alive, but he insisted. Easier exotics were often illegal anyway. They could get loose and cause an eco-disaster. The giant One then explained that VIPs were above these kinds of rules and offered something feistier. A deep purple, almost-black thing called tradescantia pallida. It resembled a nest of crows and could spread quickly in the planet’s humid air.

Probably better to ban that one, though he loved the look of it. This however, was not a gift for himself. It had to be the lavender. But speaking of crows …

A dark figure was hovering in the entryway of his building when he returned with the covered herb. Any other time the sight would be reassuring, but he really wanted the plant to be a surprise.

Stealth training that had ended more lives than he could remember got him past an alarming number of guards and cameras as he used another route. His unique shape also gave him hiding options that would be impossible were he a normal size member of his artificial race. It did not occur to him that his skills were second to none, or that they were now being used to sneak flowers to a friend instead of plant a bomb. His trainer had been harsh, insatiable. No amount of bodies had been enough. And so, the master assassin knew himself only as a common grunt.

He had tried martyring himself in hopes of removing past sins. Perhaps it would have worked had he not survived, had people not found out about his contributions to the resistance and made him a very problematic national hero - a person who could no longer come and go as he pleased.

He wasn’t caught until he was well within the boundaries of where he was strongly encouraged to remain when unsupervised.

He collapsed with relief into his bed, genuinely exhausted but also hoping to hide the blankets he had arranged to disguise his absence. The current appointee to his security detail lightly scolded him for being in plainclothes, inspected the plant, remarked on its fragrance but let him keep it. A tense moment, for arguing with the kind of uniforms his bodyguards wore was simply not in his carefully choreographed DNA.

Too tired to bother with the plant further, he hid it from view under a blanket, assuming it would be okay for awhile. And, after forgetting to feed himself yet again, he dosed off.

5a82 was not at his peak the next morning and to his horror – neither was the plant. He rushed it over to the horticultural set-up he had requested for his apartment and set it down next to a series of small germination pods.

The seed packet he had brought with him when he’d had to leave Earth said the seeds were pretreated for fast germination. Two to three weeks it said. He compared earth days to Kepler days. It seemed they still needed more time but he assumed he’d see something by now!

But that was okay. He had managed to acquire an established plant, though he may have killed it already. How was it that a plant could look this bad so fast?

In the hall outside the apartment the dark figure paced. His alien was acting strangely. Had he not strongly suspected the cause, he would have been deeply distressed. But the waiting was making him very uncomfortable nonetheless.

An old acquaintance of his friend seemed to think it had experience in these matters. “Relationships have their ups and downs you know. There’s a chance he may just not want to see you.”

“Impossible,” muttered 049. He had seen fit to retain the numerical designation given him by the Foundation, for it seemed to very much fit the culture of the alien’s world.

7cb7 seemed to grow more protective. The Doctor stopped him with a raised hand. “I feel he is trying to surprise me with a gift of some kind.”

“I’ve heard he’s been fooling with plants. They turned a closet space into a grow lab thinking it might give him something constructive to do.”

049 reached for the door. “I think I know what he’s fooling with.”

“First, make sure he wants you in there!”

5a82 opened the door. He looked at the Doctor then he looked at 7cb7. It did not seem like a good idea to leave the two of them unattended. Too weak to keep up appearances, or make what might be interpreted as demands, he simply pulled the Doctor inside.

To 7cb7 it looked rather comical, as though the little guy was mighty mouse all of a sudden, though it guessed the Doctor was not exactly resisting.

049 lifted his alien on to his lap after closing the door. The angelic creature was only a head and a half shorter than him, but weighed next to nothing. Which reminded him, “Have you been taking nourishment, Mon chou?”

The “alien” glanced over at the refrigerated clean cabinet containing his rations of fluid “Uh …”

“There are ten, if you had been keeping up with it, there would be seven.”

“I got very tired last night.”

“Then ask for assistance.”

049 tucked the slight figure into bed because he seemed about ready to pass out. One of the necessary blankets was left on the floor. The Doctor didn’t like that. He would have to get a new one.

He shuddered and dropped the blanket when what looked like a damp ring of red soil was revealed underneath.

“It’s not dirt it’s ground up sea sponge!” the alien was quick offer. He was sitting bolt upright and looking very concerned about something. 049 waited for him to explain further.

This took awhile, so he offered, “Why would it be here?”

“It’s used in plants who – whose roots don’t like to hang unsupported. Someone – uh must have left a plant in here.”

“And you got rid of it? That seems impolite.” The Doctor’s tone grew playful. He whistled as he swept up the horticultural substrate, disinfected the floor beneath it and started to prepare the IV.

5a82 wished, in that moment, that the bed would simply swallow him. “I – uh asked someone else to take care of it for me.”

The Doctor was looking around or more specifically, sniffing around. He seemed to have a very good sense of smell so he rarely needed to make a show of it. Could be, he was doing this to toy with his friend. Teasing made 5a82 uncomfortable. Though Earth films had indicated it could be a sign of affection, affiliation, and trust.

This all was becoming too much for the alien. “It died alright! I wanted it to be a surprise and then it died, it’s in the closet but don’t look at it.” He was hiding under the covers now, clearly expecting his friend to open the closet.

049 walked up to a door that had a bright purple light spilling out from underneath and thought it best to simply rip off the Band-Aid before things became too painful.

5a82 heard a splash of liquid in the sink attachment to his horticulture set-up. He peered out over the blankets.

“Err on the side of dry.” said the Doctor. More to the plant, it seemed, then to him. A flash of white from the man’s beaked face indicated a glance over the shoulder, a glance of acknowledgement. He seemed to be squeezing excess moisture out of the red, spongy substrate and returning it to the container.

“The seeds should be alright with the settings you have, assuming they remain undisturbed. This plant is an odd choice for those who don’t know where they’ll be in the near future. But I appreciate the intent if not the danger you put yourself in.”

“You followed me?!”

“I was concerned for you.” The Doctor washed his hands and carried the plant in its detachable bucket over to where his alien could better examine it. “See how the newest leaves are still green?”

The alien nodded but there was doubt in his eyes.

“Lavender is like this, withering at the slightest change and being slow to heal. It’s not a traveler I’m afraid. But with a lot of patience and the right conditions, it can live for decades, and if you clone it, centuries. The mature pant needs a light much stronger then the settings this lab allows for but the seeds can remain. You see, your friends have provided me with a range of solar radiation fit for an Earth creature. I told them it wasn’t necessary, but they insisted. It’s possible we could grow near anything with those lights.”

The conversation turned to other plants and their care. The alien looked for media on all of the things he might be able to grow and the air grew electric with his excitement. His excitement was a fragile thing though. The Doctor hoped it would last long enough to be meaningful.

5a82 turned off his device and lay back on the bed, hands covering his face. 049 prayed it was just nausea brought on by depleted blood. He checked on the IV. It was ready. He considered when it would be best to administer nutrition then had the sudden thought to check the Alien’s device.

Poppies, damn poppies, the big button-shaped flowers were gaudy but chemically useful – though they had a wretched cultural significance. This was unfortunately included in the article his alien had been reading. Remembrance, war! Damn it to hell how was that helping his patient! He couldn’t forget even if he wanted to, only in a brief moment of distraction was there a glimpse of something akin to joy!

He held on to his friend’s leg below the knee, hoping it would pull him out of his troubled head. Would gardening come to be another thing that triggered him? What was next, his music, his films? Would life offer them nothing?

“They made you, a work of art like no other, a work defenseless against the designs of political speculation. What else can a child do but assume its parents know best?”

The Alien pulled in his knees and rested his head on them. “What if I told you I didn’t always hate my job?”

“You enjoyed it then?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Some days I got frustrated and then – when I finally finished them off …” He made a gun gesture with his hand toward the far wall. “Could have been, I was just glad it was over but there was a sense of …”

The Doctor exhaled the word, “Completion.”

“Maybe I should have at least hated it more.”

“It was your job. They gave it to you. That and nothing else! Would you have done it without them? Unlikely. Most people are not killers. In the end you stopped! It started to dawn and you – you stopped.”

049 was getting into problematic territory, because he hadn’t stopped. He had chosen to fight something. That something drove him mad in retaliation and set him on everyone he was hoping to save. Dealing with the memory often required surgery, brain surgery. It surprised him how he was able to keep up with his treatments without the alien catching on.

“I feel better if I don’t …”

“Don’t what? Get excited about something? Like something? Live? Do you know how many times the better people force themselves to suffer because they think that it’s right? Do you know how often the worse people simply don’t care? I’ve seen the most disgusting beings live long healthy lives of pleasure and discovery. On the rare chance fortune comes to the more deserving they take it with salt if they take it at all! I’ve never seen an Atheist try to get into heaven the way you have!”

The Doctor felt slender fingers brush his cowl, then grasp it, pulling him closer. “You,” said the Alien, “are Heaven.” He pulled the angel into his arms, slowly, for his friend badly needed food. In fact, he began to connect the line.

“If I were a god it would be hard to judge anyone, what with the life I’ve led. It’s not as though you’re the only damned soul in this room.”

The alien shivered as he received the rations necessary to keep him alive and especially – well. Unlike humans he could not thermo-regulate, for his planet mostly lacked the brutal winters that made such things evolve. This drew him in closer to his Doctor – and as some had whispered, lover – seeking the warmth an Earthen body could provide.

5a82 briefly pulled away and looked up; carefully directing his gaze around the beak-like rostral structure that often obscured his friend’s beautiful yellow eyes. “Do you think they will build a memorial?”

“Shhhhh – just feel.” The Doctor pulled his alien’s cold form close and felt the two hearts beat against his one. There was a rhythm that could tell him if his friend was happy. So far he felt it mainly when 5a82 was properly asleep. He hissed, “Just feel something for once, it’s good for you.”

“But whuff purr-fuss – ” The words were muffled because the Doctor had pressed his friend’s face into his chest. He relaxed his grip.

“But what purpose does it serve? H – Happiness, it – should serve a purpose.”

049 recalled the disease-damaged One and what his angel had said to it. “You use it to continue living.”