4. Leap

Maggie stopped abruptly and Smith, who'd been following close at her heels, staring in every direction but ahead, ran smack into her. She yelped as his large body banged into her bad wing, and then felt herself blushing bright green.  

"Oh, oh no, I'm so sorry." He put his hands up, apparently wanting to help, but she held her hand out to stop him. His face was burning with color too. 

"It's fine." She mumbled, trying to gently stretch the wing and relieve some of the agony. 

"What is it?" He asked looking around to see why she stopped. 

"I want to take my pants off." She said and immediately started to. She looked up when she heard him gasp. He was now backing away from her, eyes wide, hands up defensively. 

"I uh, you're obviously a very nice person, attractive and um..., but really it's just that... and I mean, we just met." He was stuttering and stumbling in absolute horror. 

Maggie snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Captain." 

He stopped backing away and stared at her. She'd managed to kick one leg free of the sweaty khaki prison already- "I'm wearing shorts under them." 

"Oh um. Right." He said and looked pointedly away, as if even the act of her taking her pants off was a highly scandalous one.  

"And here I was thinking it was city folk who were wild and worldly, and me being a wee country gal, and you a big city boy." 

"You're not from the country." He said with certainty. 

"That's correct, grew up in Brookesville, joined the army right out of school. This is in fact the first time I've ever lived anywhere even close to rural." 

"How do you like it so far?" He asked as she swung the pants over her shoulder with the rest of the uniform and kept walking. 

"Well, last night I screamed at the swamp, soooo..." 

"Ahaha, oh right." He chuckled and Maggie smiled at him, admiring the way the darts of sunlight made his hair turn from black to blue and back again. Maybe she'd have to challenge Mira to that rock paper scissors game after all. 

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" He asked, suddenly sounding cautious 

"You're NOT from the city" She said firmly. He had a slight lilt of the North Swamp accent himself. It was subtle but there.   

"I came from the city this morning." He said defensively.  

"No, I mean originally, you have a North Swamp accent." 

He took a long moment to answer apparently distracted again by studying the scenery around them, Maggie assumed he was looking for any clues that the Palace Guard missed. "My parents were both North Swamp fairies, I suppose I picked up a bit of the accent from them." He turned his face towards a starling, that suddenly streaked across the sky above them. "Tell me more about Nell...and about her fiancé". 

Maggie sighed. "Like I said, I didn’t know her well." 

 "And Finch?" He cut in. 

She growled and gave him an angry look. "I knew him a bit better." She made sure there was enough ice in her voice to make it clear that was all they were going to say on the matter. He was watching her closely, his left ear flicked up thoughtfully. He nodded and looked away again. 

She continued, "Most of what I know is just things I've heard from other people. I think I've exchanged about six words with Nell ever. She was pretty, VERY pretty, and kind of, I dunno, flighty? She'd been a maid in the palace for a few years, since getting out of school. I know her family lives somewhere on the southern side of town, that they don't have much money, she lived with them until the engagement." 

"When was that?" He cut in again. 

"Maybe a month ago, we were all pretty surprised." She could feel his eyes on her face again 

"I bet" he said noncommittally.  

She ignored the implication and pointed as they came up over the lip of the hill. "Ok, this is a good place for you to see everything. The village, obviously, is there." She pointed to the cluster of stumps and structures along the shore of the swamp, bridges connected a few of them, but mostly one would have to fly or swim to get to them. "And my stump is here-". It was very similar to all the others but set well down the shore, not even exactly in the village. I bumped into Nell there last night-" She pointed to a place about quarter mile along the worn dirt path between her stump and the village. 

"And she wasn't flying?" He asked. 

"She was not. We just passed each other, she waved, I think I said 'hi.' Or something." 

"She didn't seem worried or scared, nervous, upset, did she look like she was crying or had been?" 

"It was pretty dark, but I don't think so. Hey so, I need to change clothes before we go on. Do you mind if we stop at my stump real quick?" 

He shrugged, 'Fine with me'. 

They walked down the last curve of the path to the shore by Maggie's stump. She was suddenly very nervous. The jump she was going to need to make it to the edge of the stump was large, and nine times out of ten she made it on the first try, but sometimes she undershot and landed in the mucky water below. It was inconvenient, but she'd never had to do it for an audience before. He was waiting patiently for her, hands in pockets once more. She took a deep breath and jumped as hard as she could, it made her wing scream but she'd be damned if she fell. She made the distance easily this time, and then turned startled to see Smith jump after her. He landed lightly beside her, his wings still tucked. She gave him a gentle smile, and he quirked his mouth into a half smile back.  

"Did you want to come in...?" She asked, uncertainly. 

"Dear gods please, I've gotta piss like a race horse." He said squeezing his eyes shut dramatically. 

Maggie choked with laughter and reached for the door. It wouldn't budge. She grunted, pushed harder. 

"Is it locked?" Smith asked behind her. 

"No.. It's... damn thing..." She took a step back and kicked it square in the center, it burst inwards "Sticks with the humidity" she said and walked in, Smith right behind her. 

"Toilet's the second door on the right" she pointed, and then watched as he walked towards it, boy he was a nice shape of a man. Quite tall, broad shoulders, tapered waist. He must work out. Maggie turned heel to head the opposite direction, taking the stairs two at a time to her little bedroom.  

There was a teensy half bath off her bedroom and she dashed in as she too had to "piss like a race horse" as the Captain had put it. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then, for good measure that had absolutely nothing to do with the Captain, or his lovely gray eyes and fantastic blue-black hair, put on just a bit of eye shadow, and some eyeliner, curled her eyelashes, and mascara, ok a little lip gloss too. And some perfume, sure why the hell not. She changed out of her vile sweaty tank-top and jean shorts and put on her default outfit; a black mini skirt and paint splattered t-shirt, and then slipped on her big black boots once more. She shook her hair out from the disheveled bun and dragged a brush through the wavy emerald locks. It was wild stupid hair and she immediately gave up and threw it up in a high pony tail. She glanced one last time in the mirror before heading back down the stairs. Decent. She was no Mira, but she looked at least decent.  

Smith was standing politely in the front room, his hands behind his back as he studied the painting on the easel, her current work in progress. It was the swamp at night, worked in tight detail with oil paints. 

'This is good' he said as he heard her enter the room, leaning in closer to study the minutely painted background of flowers, hills, lightening bugs, silhouettes of trees, and the starry sky beyond. 'I mean really good. Do you sell these?" 

Maggie breathed out, somewhere between a snort and a sad laugh. "Believe it or not, the market for impressionist landscapes is, ah, pretty crowded in the fairy world. Which is to say, hardly ever."  

"I'd buy one." He said, and she peeked up at his face to see if her was being sarcastic, polite, or sincere.  

He glanced back down at her and his face did something strange. His eyes went wide, then narrow, then his mouth opened a little, his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, he looked her up and down once, realized he had, flushed cobalt blue, and then looked back at the painting. 

Maggie wondered if she looked really good now, or (more likely) had just looked dead awful before. She studied the color of the blush running up Smith's beautiful tapered ears and down his well-muscled neck.  

"You ready?" She asked. 

"Uh yes. Actually, you haven't yet told me where we're going." 

"Oh! To the pub." 

"Ah. Um. So, I know this is not exactly falling into your typical work schedule, I'm assuming your department will compensate you with overtime hours...or, however that works here. But I need to ask that we stay on the clock at least, well, I won't lie to you. There's a bastard of a storm coming, I think we have about a 24hour window at this point before all hell breaks loose and I'm really hoping we can-"

Maggie reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Smith. To the pub, to find the ass-drunk pixie that was out there last night. It's the only place that serves that late. I'm in it for the long haul. Not for overtime, or because The Beast tells me to. I want to find the monster that did this to Nell." 

The smile he gave her made her feel slightly dizzy, though that could have been the hangover and the fact that she hadn't eaten all day.  

They headed out the door but she stopped just on the front step, her jaw fell open. Smith had to brace his hand on the door frame to keep from crashing into her yet again. 

"Wha-" he started and then the question died on his lips. Very tentatively, they walked out on the little mossy door yard. Neither spoke, but as if doing an odd choreographed routine,  both tilted their heads up, and did a very slow spin, looking in amazement the scenery around them.  

Nell's blanche was gone, or rather, it had turned yellow. For a good fifty feet in every direction all the flowers had turned shades of saffron, mustard, butter, and canary.  

Smith looked down at Maggie, face confused, eyebrows high, "What. What color were these flowers before the blanche? Before this morning?" 

A well timed and slightly melodramatic cloud took this opportunity to slide in front of the sun, dimming the world around them, and cooling the humid air. A chilly breeze, heavy with the scent of leaf mold, slid up from across the swamp, and washed them both in goosebumps.  

"Not yellow. Or mostly not. The daffodils of course were, but everything else was purples, blues, and pinks. What is this?" Maggie asked, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. 

"I... I have no idea" Smith said quietly. And Maggie could hear the worry clench his voice tight. "Have you ever seen this before? On the front or-" 

"No." She said firmly. "Some kind of fluke?" The sun came back out from behind the cloud but the chill remained, snaking fingers of disquiet around the back of her neck.  

"Maybe." Smith said, and she saw him shiver too. 

"Ok well, I guess let's get going." Maggie physically shook herself, trying and failing to dislodge the eerie feeling. She tread carefully up to the gap between the stump and shore, facing her nemesis- the big jump- once more. On impulse she turned to Smith and gestured with an exaggerated bow, 'Gentlemen first".  

He arched an eyebrow at her, but jumped an instant later, again making the distance easily. Maggie hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. "Don’t screw up, don't screw up, don't screw up" the voice in her head muttered over and over. She leaned back, threw her weight into it, and jumped. 

She screwed up. In the long, panicked seconds between stump and shore she realized with crystalline clarity that she'd underestimated this time, possibly in an effort to keep her mini skirt politely not hiked up to her belly button. 'Well, shit' she thought as she watched the edge of the shore pass by her eyes. She plummeted towards the muddy water twenty feet below. 

Strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and she was jerked upwards, the whir of wings in her ear, and suddenly the smell of Captain Smith, very close to her. He smelled like evening, and sage, fresh cut grass maybe, and sweat.  'Such a shame I have to kill him now', she thought as they shot into the air and then moved gently back towards the mossy ground below. 

The instant their feet hit the shore Smith released her and stepped back. Maggie twisted round and slapped him as hard as she could. He staggered back, his eyes clouded with confusion and pain. 

"You fucking bastard." She said, voice low, deathly quiet. "Don't you ever. EVER do that again." 

He stared, wholly taken aback. "But you were going to" he gestured wordlessly towards the chasm between the stump and where they stood. 

"Get muddy, yes. And wet.  And I could have changed. I don't need someone dashing in to save me, grabbing me without my permission. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP" she said the last part with such emotion it made her face burn and her throat ache. 

He blinked at her, entirely lost for words. 

If she'd just made the goddamn jump, she thought ferociously at herself as she set off at a fast pace towards the village. If she'd just made the goddamn jump, maybe this whole day would have ended differently. She could hear Smith walking behind her, and the silence between them would have made the arctic feel like a sauna. Maggie glanced back quickly, Smith's head was down, staring at the ground, and behind him, the valley of her stump glimmered with angry, unsettling yellow flowers.  

---------------- 

There had been sensitivity training. He'd attended it, he'd mostly paid attention. So why now, at all times, would he have done what he did, to a young woman, a new recruit, to someone he'd just started to like. He cursed himself silently. He looked again at her back, she was walking fast five feet ahead of him, with her shoulders stiff, her one broken wing at that perpetual awkward angle. She was mad at him, and that bothered him far more than he wanted it to. This was stupid. He barely knew this person, he had a job to do. He thought of Finch and tried to re-focus his mind, to find that scalding anger than had driven him to fly until his wings burned just this morning. A movement in front of him as she tripped in her haste, her wings instinctively trying to spread to catch her as she stumbled, the shudder that immediately shook through her, the fake coughing fit she put on to hide the pain. He gritted his teeth, he wasn't angry at Finch anymore, he was angry at something bigger...and himself. 

He jogged ahead to catch up to her. She looked to her left, away from him, tilting her pointed chin towards the edge of the path.  

"Hey um..... Private Brooke, I'm....I'm sorry. I shouldn't ...have." He started, a stuttering inarticulate mess then bit his tongue in frustration. 

She looked up at him, absurdly large emerald green eyes catching the flecks of spring sunlight that tiger striped the path as they walked. "I'm sorry. I... I over-reacted. It's just," she rolled her shoulders and glanced back at her mangled wing. "I thought eventually I'd get used to it. But here we are two years in, and I'm still physically assaulting people who try to help me." 

He'd actually already forgotten she'd slapped him. It was her words that had stung the most.  

"NO. I shouldn't have, uh. Grabbed you like that. I am sorry Private Brooke. It won't happen again." 

She gave him the smallest smile.  

"Maggie. Call me Magpie and I'll make that slap feel like a carress. But, um, you can call me Maggie." 

He stopped and she did too, just outside the gate into the village. He put his hand out and she took it. It was comical how much smaller hers was, not even half the size. "Jym." He said. "I guess, or Jaymes, but please for the love of gods, don't call me Jaymes. I won't slap you, but I'll probably flip over a table." 

"Ok." She said, and then drew her hand back. "So, this fairy village, it's a pretty odd little place, not like the city at all, and if we're going to get anywhere, we need to play by their rules. Here's what I've picked up so far-." 

Jym shifted his weight back, crossed his arms, and listened with increasing amusement, as Maggie told him what she'd learned.