I’ve had a hard time doing anything since my dog died earlier this month, but here is a writing thing that took me three weeks to write. It’s about a moment between my MC, Alex, and their future wife, Christine, when they were teenagers. They’re probably fifteen/sixteen in this scene and this isn’t the first time they’ve met, but it’s probably the first time they’ve had a one-on-one conversation. I’m not sure if this will end up being anything remotely canon, but it was nice to take a step back and write a story about these two before they get involved in the events of Kingsley, also known as the Queer Croc WIP

Synopsis: Alex is on their way to observe a collection of frogs that have been gathering around a pond near their house when they run into the mysterious and disconnected Christine. Overcoming their own awkwardness and discomfort around people, Alex spends the night talking to Christine and discovers that she is equally as lonely and, maybe, just maybe, they can be good friends.

Alex loved their family, but they had no time for parties, especially not today of all days. Today was the seventh day of observation on the collection of frogs that had gathered around the small pond that was a half mile or so from their house. They had six consecutive days’ worth of notes. They weren’t going to jeopardize their research to watch Mercury and Michael make asses of themselves for the hundredth time while Hermes tried to salvage the evening from their foolish brothers. James, Sam, and Sara egged the troublemaking duo on while Eric tried to remain as non-committal as possible only to end up the butt of Mercury and Michael’s antics. 

No, Alex was far more eager to spend the night listening to their amphibian friends sing to the moon. Alex assumed the frogs had gathered here because it was mating season, which made this time even more precious. Who knew when the frogs would finally finish their business and disperse, leaving them with nothing but notes that no one else could decipher because their handwriting was atrocious?

They stutter-stepped as a branch caught the strap of their leather bag and in that moment of broken concentration, they heard a beautiful, but faint sound. At first they thought it was a new noise created by their froggy friends, but this sound wasn’t like any warble or ribbit they had ever heard before. They rescued their bag from the errant branch and slowly crept forward, softening their steps, and quieting their breathing so they wouldn’t scare whatever was there. They paused when there was nothing but a thin wall of foliage between them and Alex realized it was singing. Soft, gentle, off-tune singing. 

Alex’s family home was the only building for at least ten miles. Their nearest neighbor was Farmer Johnson, and his singing was downright awful. Nothing like this gentle and delicate voice. Gathering their nerves, Alex pushed a branch out of the way and their eyes widened as the waning moon caressed the wild, curly mop of hair that belonged to Christine Rawlins, cousin to the Banks boys. Her long curtain of curly, raven hair blocked her face and if they hadn’t met her a few times before, they would have said she was nothing but hair. Her purple frilly dress with the puffed-up sleeves and a skirt that came to just above her ankles was torn and strained, as if she had spent most of the day running through mud and jumping into every collection of thorny branches she could find. She was sitting on a log and in one hand she twirled a daisy in her long fingers, a few wrapped in bandages, others with chipped and torn nails either from chewing them or from manual labor. The other hand clawed at her sheer shawl, holding it tightly around her body, as if it was the only thing keeping her organs in place. As soon as she let go, she would fall apart. 

Alex’s eyes traced the width of the pond, the frogs quiet and few, as if Christine’s presence scared them. Or maybe the mating season was ending and only the desperate remained. They chewed their bottom lip, torn between giving Christine the peace and quiet she obviously needed and recording what was most likely their last night of observation. 

“Come join me, Alex, it’s all right,” Christine spoke from behind her curtain of hair and Alex jumped.

She slowly turned to face their direction, her almost amethyst purple eyes peering at them through her unruly and tangled curls. Alex hesitated, an annoying wave of fear washing over them, as if they were dealing with something unnatural and dangerous, but that was ridiculous. She was just a girl, a strange and disconcerting girl, but a girl nevertheless. 

Alex stepped through the foliage and adjusted the leather strap on their shoulder before saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. I knew you would be here,” said Christine, shifting on the log and patting the space next to her.

That would have given Alex pause if Hermes hadn’t asked them to “humor her” during their first introduction, although that phrase now seemed needlessly cruel. One “humored” the Mercury factor (and even then there were days when Alex was convinced everyone would be better off if they just sealed Mercury and his chaos-inducing ways in a secret vault deep within the Koren tunnels). One shouldn’t have to “humor” Christine and her slightly off-kilter ways. 

“Are you sure?” Alex asked, “I can join the frogs on the other side of the lake. I understand the need for some peace and quiet, especially around Mercury and Michael.”

Christine’s face softened at the mention of the frogs, and she looked out across the lake.

“Yes, that’s why you’re here. That’s what they told me…”

Her voice dropped and she withdrew deeper into her curtain of hair and brought her knees to her chest, perched on the log. Much like a frog, Alex admitted to themselves.

Alex took a step forward, studying Christine like a hawk for any indication of what she actually needed.

“I can also make my observations from over here,” they offered.

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

“It’s fine,” said Alex, gingerly sitting next to Christine, afraid to do anything to disturb her, “It’d be nice to have some company.”

“Liar,” said Christine, unfurling like a plant awoken by the sun’s first rays, “You enjoy being alone.”

“Only when the only other option is to be set on fire,” said Alex and they swore a smile flashed across Christine’s lips, and they chuckled to let her know it was ok to laugh, “There are only so many times one can go to the hospital for burns before one begins to avoid Mercury at all costs.”

“And what of Michael? James told me, he is similarly dangerous,” said Christine, still hiding behind her hair, but her legs stretching out comfortably and her grip on her shawl loosening enough to allow herself to breathe deeply and slowly.

“Michael usually only hurts himself, so it’s still a crisis, but at least when we take him to the hospital we don’t take up an entire ward. Mercury, however, well he could cause a train derailment just by sneezing.”

A stifled snort and Christine broke a hand to her mouth guiltily.

“It’s ok, he’s well aware of the Mercury Factor.”

“The Mercury Factor?” Christine asked, amusement dancing across her words. 

“Yeah, that’s what we call it. I don’t remember who coined the phrase. Probably Eric or Sam. Mercury tried to resist it for a long time, but it’s gotten to the point where even he can’t deny he’s a menace to society.”

“I’m looking forward to my first Mercury adventure,” said Christine and Alex was about to correct her when she added, “Far more preferable to being secluded in my room all day.”

Her bitterness nearly knocked Alex over and they realized her hands shifted and she was now digging her nails into the wood, breaking pieces of the bark off the log. 

“No forced seclusion in our house,” said Alex and she gave a start, as if she forgot they were there, “And almost no alone time.”

“Unless you befriend an army of frogs,” Christine offered with great hesitation, as if she was afraid of offending him.

“Yes, or as Sam puts it ‘unless you prefer horny frogs over other beings’,” said Alex, glad she couldn’t see them blush. 

“I suppose it’s a relief knowing the frogs won’t try to flirt with you,” said Christine, “They’ll just let you be.”

“It is a perk,” Alex admitted, “but, um, you don’t need to risk life and limb to have an adventure. I know Sam and Sara were planning on going to town tomorrow. Sara needs new art supplies and Hermes told me you like…art.”

Alex wished that sentence hadn’t ended so pathetically, but they couldn’t remember if Hermes or any of the Banks boys specified what exactly Christine liked to do during her free time. Given the cousins had only seen each other a total of five times, including today, Alex doubted they even knew. 

“That sounds nice, but the town,” she withdrew again, “I don’t…I don’t like crowds.”

“Neither does Eric, but we find a way to include him,” said Alex, “Not forcing you or anything, just saying, if you want to come we’ll find a way.”

Her purple eyes grew ridiculously wide as she stared at him like a puppy that had made a mess in the house was expecting to be punished.

“Really?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Alex smiled, “I know Sara would enjoy having another girl to hang out with and Sam is pretty good at keeping her…manageably scary?”

“Scary?”

“Well, Sara is very excitable and very mercurial. Sam and Eric are pretty good at controlling her at her most messy, but there are times when even Eric is terrified of disappointing her and Eric isn’t afraid of telling General Banks to go to Hell.”

“Yes, the voices tell me there is no saving that relationship, but I have to hope Uncle Henry will make things right. I have to believe he cares,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest again and rocking back and forth, “I have to believe I can trust him.”

Alex blinked, struggling to align what they knew of General-born-without-a-heart-Banks with the warm man Christine’s “Uncle Henry” conjured. 

“I don’t know him well,” Alex admitted, “Only what I hear from the others or Dad.”

“Yes, right. Your father and your mother know Uncle Henry well,” Christine spoke from behind her curtain of curls, “The-The voices aren’t certain if they did the right thing in the desert, but they’re just scared.”

“The voices are scared?”

Christine nodded firmly.

“How can–,” Alex began, before catching their incredulousness and rephrasing the question, “What could possibly scare the voices?”

Her face softened as she peered at them through her wild raven hair, her purple eyes trembling.

“You don’t believe, but you don’t mock me either.”

“No! Why–why would I mock you?”

“Because I’m crazy,” Christine said, her bitterness vile enough to evaporate the lake before them, “Because I can’t decided if I’ve been cursed by a God you don’t believe in or if I’m truly hearing the voices of beings beyond our understanding, a concept that is simply unacceptable to you.”

“I don’t…disbelieve in God,” Alex attempted, although they couldn’t lie to themselves or Christine. 

God had always been a fuzzy concept and as he grew older and older, faith became more and more of an impossibility.

“Right, you haven’t completely lost your faith, yet,” Christine said, tightening her hold on her legs, “Not yet. You haven’t–haven’t seen–”

“Christine?” asked Alex as her voice grew softer and softer and her presence seemed to fade even though she was clearly sitting next to him.

“But you’ll find me,” she said, beaming at them as silent tears rolled down her cheeks, “You’ll find me. You always-always find me.”

“I certainly found you today,” said Alex and Christine nodded, her grin seemingly stapled in place, “And I’m glad I did.”

“Liar,” she miserably chuckled, “No one is glad to find me.”

“Christine, I don’t lie to my friends.”

Her face fell and Alex feared their words alone had killed her. They instinctively reached out, only to catch themselves, and awkwardly pulled their hands back, before fearing Christine would read it as a final rejection and so their hands hung awkwardly between them, one limp wristed while the other was positioned as if to slam its palm into her chest and spare her the agony of a continued existence. 

“Are we friends?” Christine whispered.

“I’d like to be,” said Alex, slowly bringing one hand down and then the other until they rested in their lap and they clasped each other tightly to prevent another awkward moment.

“Because you pity me,” she said with bitter disappointment.

“Because you’re family. Hermes and the others are my brothers and you’re their cousin,” said Alex, unable to watch the lethal hope that blossomed across her face, “which makes you family.”

“I’ve always wanted a family. My parents…”

She looked down and picked at her nails and her face flinched in a growing rage.

“Parents can harm more than they help, even if they mean well,” said Alex, “That’s why friends, siblings, and cousins are important.”

Christine nodded and Alex glanced up at the sky.

“And speaking of parents, we should head back before they send out a search party.”

“If Mercury hasn’t burnt your house to the ground,” said Christine with a weak laugh.

“Dad’s forgiven him for the first two times he set the kitchen on fire, but I don’t know if he’ll forgive a third attempt,” said Alex, rising from the log and stretching.

“He actually set the kitchen on fire?”

“Twice,” said Alex holding up two fingers, “I’m not joking about the Mercury Factor. If we could weaponize, it’d be the most devastating weapon in the world.”

Christine chuckled before rising as well and Alex held the branches out of her way as they headed home and nearly knocked her over as she stopped abruptly in the forest. She turned and urgently grabbed their hand, holding it to her chest, the moon’s rays illuminating her streaming tears, and she frantically asked, “Alex, you will find me, won’t you? You promise?”

Alex blinked in surprise and even though they had no idea what she was talking about, her urgency and fear overwhelmed them, pushing the word of their mouth: “Always.”

She laughed and grinned and squeezed their hand before closing her eyes and bringing one of her own hands to her forehead, as if catching herself or…returning. Yes, there was no other word for it, even though it made no sense. She was returning to them.

She squeezed their hand once more and said, “I know you don’t understand, but…I believe you. The voices tell me…The voices are so cruel.”

“I’m here now,” said Alex, afraid to touch her in case it sent her back, although they had no idea where “back” was, “and I’ll be here for the entire time you’re in Ferdern. And the others are just a short distance away. Come on, let’s head home, and you’ll see the others are waiting for us.”

He took the lead, Christine grasping onto his hand like it was a rope she had tied to nearby trees to help her escape the woods. He attempted small talk to keep her here present, but she walked like one half asleep, convinced this was the dream.