Call the Midwife Ficlet: What Joy Awaits
May. 14th, 2024 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: What Joy Awaits
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Call the Midwife
Pairing: Trixie Franklin/Cynthia Miller
Tags: Ficlet, Gardens & Gardening, Spring, Gen or Pre-Slash
Rating: G
Word count: 949
Summary: The garden was Cynthia’s favourite part of the Nonnatus House.
Author notes: Second of my 'palate cleanser' spring theme ficlets. This to the prompt of 'butterfly' and takes place before Cynthia took her vows. The title is from 'To A Butterfly' by William Wordsworth.
What Joy Awaits on AO3
The garden was Cynthia’s favourite part of the Nonnatus House. Despite the abundance of flowers, it was primarily a kitchen garden, and thus often busy. But right now, it was early enough that even the call to the morning prayer had not yet been issued, and so no one was yet out weeding or planting, no Sister Monica Joan calculating the optimal planetary alignment for abundant harvest, no Fred fixing the drainpipe that had come loose in the last night’s storm once again. It was just Cynthia, still wrapped in her dressing gown, slippers growing damp, breathing deep the scent of soil and wet grass, the air momentarily clean in the aftermath of the rain.
The sky was pale silver, and in the predawn light the new, fragile leaves of the rose bush looked almost grey. Cynthia touched the swelling buds, almost smelling the fragrance still hidden inside. A few more weeks and the warmth of the summer would coax the flowers open, making everything just a bit more magical with their beauty while the heady scent of them filled the garden and the heads of everyone who dwelled within its walls.
“What are you doing out here so early?”
The voice was familiar enough that Cynthia didn’t even startle, despite the suddenness of it. She turned her head to find Trixie, shivering dramatically a few steps behind her. She was also still in her nightclothes, except of course her dressing gown was a thin slip of a thing, made for looking glamorous in rather than warmth unlike Cynthia’s own terrycloth one.
“Catching a few moments to myself,” Cynthia said.
“Oh.” Trixie’s expression, full of curiosity and her usual mischief, dropped. “Sorry, I can go.” She started to back away.
“No, it’s okay.” Cynthia reached out and pulled Trixie closer by the arm, tucking it into the crook of her own elbow until they were pressed side by side. “You can stay.”
Trixie huffed and made a show of huddling closer for warmth, but even from the corner of her eye Cynthia could see the pleased little purse of her lips, devoid of rouge this early in the morning but pretty and pink all the same.
She managed to say silent for almost two minutes – impressive for Trixie – before she finally asked, “What is it that we’re looking at here?”
Cynthia smiled, helplessly fond. “The buds,” she said, touching one illustratively. “The leaves.” She trailed a finger along the edge of several, the colour starting to look more natural as the sun crested the horizon somewhere beyond the walls and the buildings and the city. “Spring, I guess,” Cynthia said, feeling a little self-conscious. “Summer. New life.”
She half expected Trixie to tease her for being sentimental, but she only hummed.
“Oh, and this little fellow too,” Cynthia added, pointing at one of the branches.
“What…? Oh, eww!” Trixie had leaned closer to take a look and now recoiled in disgust. “It’s a worm!”
Cynthia laughed. “A caterpillar. A butterfly in the making.”
“Really?” Trixie sounded downright doubtful. “How can you tell?”
“See the little spikes, and the colours?” Cynthia pointed out, careful not to actually touch. “Definitely a caterpillar. A tortoiseshell one if my memory serves me. I can’t tell if it’ll be a small or big one though.”
“There are two types? And also, when did you become a butterfly expert?”
“Yes. And never.” Cynthia shook her head. “I’m no expert. It’s just that this one is a very common one, you’ve seen them around, I’m sure; orange wings with big spots like eyes?”
Trixie nodded in recognition at the description.
“My grandfather was into insects of all kinds. He used to point and name everything in the garden whenever we visited. Some of it stuck.”
Carefully, Cynthia reached out and plucked out the leaf the caterpillar had laboriously crawled onto and used it to lift it up.
“What are you doing now?” Trixie no longer sounded disgusted, but she nevertheless took a few steps back to avoid even any accidental contact with the caterpillar.
“I’m taking this little one to get some breakfast,” Cynthia said, walking toward the far corner of the garden, by the compost heap, where nettles were growing large and rife. “There.” She coaxed the caterpillar off the rose leaf and onto one of the nettle ones. “Eat well.”
The caterpillar had already latched onto the edge of the leaf, its little mouth chomping away.
When Cynthia straightened and turned around, she found Trixie standing on the path behind her, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Cynthia Miller,” she said, sounding almost accusatory. “You’re full of surprises.”
“What?” Cynthia laughed. “Trixie, what…?”
“In fact,” Trixie continued as if Cynthia hadn’t interrupted her, “you’re like that little thing on the nettles. A butterfly pretending to be a caterpillar.”
Cynthia opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she could feel her cheeks heating up with a blush and had to fight an urge to hide her face in her hands.
Trixie grinned at her, unrepentant. “You may know a lot about butterflies and midwifery and how to be a great friend, but I can see you still haven’t learned how to take a compliment.”
“Trixie…” Cynthia sighed, pleased and exasperated in equal measure.
Trixie only rolled her eyes and slipped her hand back into the crook of Cynthia’s elbow. “Not to worry though,” she said breezily as she steered the two of them back toward the house. “I’ll teach you. But first, we need some tea to wake up.”
Cynthia opted to say nothing and just let herself be gently pulled along. Tea was easy. She’d deal with the rest later.
***
Title: What Joy Awaits
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Call the Midwife
Pairing: Trixie Franklin/Cynthia Miller
Tags: Ficlet, Gardens & Gardening, Spring, Gen or Pre-Slash
Rating: G
Word count: 949
Summary: The garden was Cynthia’s favourite part of the Nonnatus House.
Author notes: Second of my 'palate cleanser' spring theme ficlets. This to the prompt of 'butterfly' and takes place before Cynthia took her vows. The title is from 'To A Butterfly' by William Wordsworth.
What Joy Awaits on AO3
The garden was Cynthia’s favourite part of the Nonnatus House. Despite the abundance of flowers, it was primarily a kitchen garden, and thus often busy. But right now, it was early enough that even the call to the morning prayer had not yet been issued, and so no one was yet out weeding or planting, no Sister Monica Joan calculating the optimal planetary alignment for abundant harvest, no Fred fixing the drainpipe that had come loose in the last night’s storm once again. It was just Cynthia, still wrapped in her dressing gown, slippers growing damp, breathing deep the scent of soil and wet grass, the air momentarily clean in the aftermath of the rain.
The sky was pale silver, and in the predawn light the new, fragile leaves of the rose bush looked almost grey. Cynthia touched the swelling buds, almost smelling the fragrance still hidden inside. A few more weeks and the warmth of the summer would coax the flowers open, making everything just a bit more magical with their beauty while the heady scent of them filled the garden and the heads of everyone who dwelled within its walls.
“What are you doing out here so early?”
The voice was familiar enough that Cynthia didn’t even startle, despite the suddenness of it. She turned her head to find Trixie, shivering dramatically a few steps behind her. She was also still in her nightclothes, except of course her dressing gown was a thin slip of a thing, made for looking glamorous in rather than warmth unlike Cynthia’s own terrycloth one.
“Catching a few moments to myself,” Cynthia said.
“Oh.” Trixie’s expression, full of curiosity and her usual mischief, dropped. “Sorry, I can go.” She started to back away.
“No, it’s okay.” Cynthia reached out and pulled Trixie closer by the arm, tucking it into the crook of her own elbow until they were pressed side by side. “You can stay.”
Trixie huffed and made a show of huddling closer for warmth, but even from the corner of her eye Cynthia could see the pleased little purse of her lips, devoid of rouge this early in the morning but pretty and pink all the same.
She managed to say silent for almost two minutes – impressive for Trixie – before she finally asked, “What is it that we’re looking at here?”
Cynthia smiled, helplessly fond. “The buds,” she said, touching one illustratively. “The leaves.” She trailed a finger along the edge of several, the colour starting to look more natural as the sun crested the horizon somewhere beyond the walls and the buildings and the city. “Spring, I guess,” Cynthia said, feeling a little self-conscious. “Summer. New life.”
She half expected Trixie to tease her for being sentimental, but she only hummed.
“Oh, and this little fellow too,” Cynthia added, pointing at one of the branches.
“What…? Oh, eww!” Trixie had leaned closer to take a look and now recoiled in disgust. “It’s a worm!”
Cynthia laughed. “A caterpillar. A butterfly in the making.”
“Really?” Trixie sounded downright doubtful. “How can you tell?”
“See the little spikes, and the colours?” Cynthia pointed out, careful not to actually touch. “Definitely a caterpillar. A tortoiseshell one if my memory serves me. I can’t tell if it’ll be a small or big one though.”
“There are two types? And also, when did you become a butterfly expert?”
“Yes. And never.” Cynthia shook her head. “I’m no expert. It’s just that this one is a very common one, you’ve seen them around, I’m sure; orange wings with big spots like eyes?”
Trixie nodded in recognition at the description.
“My grandfather was into insects of all kinds. He used to point and name everything in the garden whenever we visited. Some of it stuck.”
Carefully, Cynthia reached out and plucked out the leaf the caterpillar had laboriously crawled onto and used it to lift it up.
“What are you doing now?” Trixie no longer sounded disgusted, but she nevertheless took a few steps back to avoid even any accidental contact with the caterpillar.
“I’m taking this little one to get some breakfast,” Cynthia said, walking toward the far corner of the garden, by the compost heap, where nettles were growing large and rife. “There.” She coaxed the caterpillar off the rose leaf and onto one of the nettle ones. “Eat well.”
The caterpillar had already latched onto the edge of the leaf, its little mouth chomping away.
When Cynthia straightened and turned around, she found Trixie standing on the path behind her, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Cynthia Miller,” she said, sounding almost accusatory. “You’re full of surprises.”
“What?” Cynthia laughed. “Trixie, what…?”
“In fact,” Trixie continued as if Cynthia hadn’t interrupted her, “you’re like that little thing on the nettles. A butterfly pretending to be a caterpillar.”
Cynthia opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she could feel her cheeks heating up with a blush and had to fight an urge to hide her face in her hands.
Trixie grinned at her, unrepentant. “You may know a lot about butterflies and midwifery and how to be a great friend, but I can see you still haven’t learned how to take a compliment.”
“Trixie…” Cynthia sighed, pleased and exasperated in equal measure.
Trixie only rolled her eyes and slipped her hand back into the crook of Cynthia’s elbow. “Not to worry though,” she said breezily as she steered the two of them back toward the house. “I’ll teach you. But first, we need some tea to wake up.”
Cynthia opted to say nothing and just let herself be gently pulled along. Tea was easy. She’d deal with the rest later.
***