Earthworms and Butterflies
by Leyla Harrison

Disclaimer: Carter and Kerry are the creation and therefore property of
some big corporation.  They don't belong to me.

Rating: strong PG-13 for a little innuendo and a few bad words.

Timeline: This story takes place when Kerry and Carter are still
roommates -- so, sometime during mid to late season 5.

Spoilers: This story is 100% spoiler free. Isn't that refreshing?

Note:
This is the fifth and final story in a series of what are five separate
challenge stories.  Each one is part of the series, but can stand
alone.  This is Challenge Story #5.

All right, all right.  Calm down.  Let me explain.  Over in the X-Files
fanfic world where I used to write regularly (I've since defected and
come over to the ER side), there are things known as fanfic challenges.
A fic writer lets others know that they are willing to write a challenge
story, and several people provide "elements" that must be included in
the story.  The fic writer can then write about anything they want, with
any plot and any characters, as long as all of the elements appear
somewhere in the story.

So my lovely editor and friend Shannon challenged me to a story.  One
story turned into five (her decision and my acceptance) to keep me from
getting writer's block, and to keep her (and you) entertained.

This is what she asked for. (In other words, it's all her fault. <g>)

A short vignette containing Kerry/Carter UST (unresolved sexual
tension), containing the following elements:

1) Kerry and Carter plant flowers in the garden.
2) An insect of some kind lands on someone's shoulder.
3) Kerry has "lifeguard white" zinc sunblock on her nose.
4) Carter has trouble handling the hose.
5) Something of interest is unearthed while the duo dig.
6) Carter wows Kerry with his knowledge of the botanical names for the
flowers they're planting.

Start time: Friday, October 6, 2000, 12:15am
Finish time: Friday, October 6, 2000, 1:30am

This one is for Shannon.  It's my little gift.  She'll understand why.
Thank you for keeping my mind sane these last few weeks, my dear.

And now, on with the story.

***

"Hey, Carter," I call.  "What are you doing?"

Carter looks up at me from where he's down on his knees, his hands
sheathed in surgical gloves.  "Thought I'd help you out with this
gardening," he tells me, using one hand to shield his eyes from the
glare of the sun.

"Thanks," I tell him.  "I was just going to bring the seedlings
outside."

"Want a hand?" he asks.  "I'm pretty much done here; the soil's ready."

"Sure."

We carry the trays of seedlings from the ledge in the kitchen window
through the back door and into the garden.  It's a small space, but it's
lush and green.  The back porch is covered and I bought a glider last
summer.  This year I've decided that if I'm going to spend time sitting
outside, I want to have some nice flowers to look at.

"The seedlings look great," Carter observes, as we carry the last two
trays outside.  "But I want to know: when did you have time to do this?"

I smile.  "I do have the occasional day off, you know."

"Hmm," he says.

"Hot day," I comment.

Carter nods.  "The sun is just beating down."

"Which reminds me.  Hang on, Carter, I'll be right back."

****

I return a few minutes later.  Carter has already started putting some
of the seedlings into the dirt.  He looks up and leans back on his
haunches, and then laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"What is that?  On your nose?" he asks.

"Zinc oxide," I inform him.

"You look like a lifeguard," he tells me, still chuckling.

"I'm very fair skinned, Carter.  I burn easily," I sniff.  "I doubt I
would make a good lifeguard."

"You save people's lives every day, Kerry," he reminds me.

I don't want to think about work, not when the sun is shining on a
beautiful Sunday afternoon.  Instead, I look at the planting he's
already done.  "Wait -- you need to group the flowers together.  Each
kind next to each other."

He looks at the flowers he's already planted.  "How do you know which is
which?"

Some maneuvering gets me down on the grass next to him and I show him
the little plastic markers in each tray.  "I marked down each type of
flowers.  These are -- "

He grins at me.  "You are a complete and total control freak."

"And proud of it," I tell him.

He peers at the names of the flowers.  "You picked some good flowers."

I nod.  "I wanted a good variety.  A mix of low-growing and taller
growing blooms."

"Candytuft?" he asks.  "Sounds, I don't know, like either a snack at a
carnival or a porn star name."

"They look like candy," I correct him.  "Growing about a foot tall.
White, dark pink and light pink."

"Iberis umbellata."

"What?" I ask.

"Iberis umbellata.  It's the botanical name for candytuft."

I have to admit it: I'm impressed.  "Where on earth did you pick that up
from?" I ask.

He shrugs.  "I know a lot of things."

"Most people don't just know botanical names for flowers."

Instead of answering me, he looks at the other seedlings.  "All right,
here -- Sweet Pea.  Lathyrus odoratus."

"But do you know what it looks like?"

He gazes at me.  "I do, actually."

I squirm under his stare.  "Let's get these in the ground."  I reach for
a pair of gloves, pulling them on hastily.  Carter touches my forearm,
and I stop moving.

"Baby Blue Eyes," he says, his voice low, seductive.

I look at him pointedly.  "Maybe you're confusing me with someone else.
I have green eyes, Carter."

He points at another tray of seedlings.  "Baby Blue Eyes.  Nemophila
menziesli."

"Oh," I say.

"You have nice eyes," he says, suddenly.  "And I knew they were green,
by the way."

"Oh," I repeat stupidly.

"Ah," Carter says, letting go of my arm to examine the last tray.  "My
favorite.  Love in a Mist.  Nigella damascena."

Just the way he says those botanical names is giving me goosebumps.
"Why are they your favorite?" I ask.

"They're delicate," he tells me.  "But strong.  They remind me of
someone," he trails off.  I am holding a seedling in the palm of my
hand.

Gentle, I remind myself.  Don't close your fist and crush the flower.

"Do you consider yourself a romantic, Kerry?" Carter asks me.

"Me?" I ask, setting the seedling into the ground and patting dirt
around it.  "No, I don't think so."

"I think you are."

"And why is that?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.  All I can think
about right now is kissing him.  Why can't I think about anything else?

"Look at the flowers you picked: Sweet Pea, Love in a Mist, Candytuft,
and Baby Blue Eyes.  They all sound romantic."

"Candytuft doesn't sound romantic, Carter.  It sounds like, well,
candy," I tell him, rationally.

Carter gazes at a spot over my shoulder.  "Don't move," he tells me,
quietly.  "Just hold still for a second."

"What is is?" I ask, my entire body tense.  "Is it a wasp?"

He shakes his head.  "Just hold on."  He gets to his feet and dashes
into the house, coming back out with a jar.  He reaches towards the back
of my shoulder and brings his hand forward to show me.

"Oh, Carter, it's beautiful," I breathe, examining the large black and
gold monarch butterfly.  "Don't hold it's wings.  Let it go.  You'll
kill it otherwise."

Instead, he puts the butterfly into the jar carefully.  He puts the lid
on.  "I'm going to get a hammer and punch a few airholes."

"No!" I cry, horrified.  "Carter, let it fly away.  You can't just put a
butterfly in a jar like that, and then watch it slowly die from lack of
air and food."

He stares at me.  "Kerry, it's just -- "

"It's a butterfly, and you should set it free."  He doesn't make any
move to open the jar.  "Fine.  If you won't, then I will."  I reach for
the jar and take it from him, unscrewing the lid.  The butterfly flaps
its wings and then flutters out of the jar and out into the backyard.

I set the jar down on the ground.  Carter is looking a little stunned.

"I wanted to -- " he says, unsure.  "I don't know, I wanted to give it
to you."

"Why?" I ask, surprised.  "You don't need to give me anything, Carter."

He sighs, his face serious.  "I just -- damn, I don't know.  It was
impulsive, and stupid.  I'm sorry, Kerry.  I didn't realize it would
upset you."

"I'm not upset, Carter.  And if you want to get me something," I joke,
"I like diamonds."

"I'll keep that in mind," he tells me, still serious.

The smile fades from my face when I realized he's actually contemplating
it.  "Carter -- " I warn.

"Let's just get the rest of the flowers in," he says, turning his head
away.

****

"Want to dig a few more holes?" I ask an hour later.  "There's just
three seedlings left, and I need a place to put them."

Carter nods.  "How about here?" he points.

"Looks good."

He sinks the metal trowel into the dirt.  "Amazing how many worms there
are."

I smile.  "You're not squeamish about little old worms, are you?" I
ask.  He's about to answer when there's an audible clinking sound.
"What was that?"

"I don't know," he says.  "I hit the trowel against something."  He sets
the tool aside and uses his hands to dig a little more.  I set aside the
seedling I'm holding to watch.  He sinks his hand into the dirt and
pulls something up.

"What is it?" I ask.  Carter brushes the dirt away, and it sparkles in
the sun.

A gold necklace with a tiny pendant dangles from his fingers.  He
examines the pendant carefully.  "Look," he tells me excitedly.  "Look
at this."

I take the necklace from him.  "Carter, it's a butterfly."

He peers over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck.  "Looks like
a diamond butterfly."

"It looks old," I observe.  "Let's get it cleaned up."

****

We go inside and I run the water over the necklace.  It does appear to
be very old; the setting is familiar only because it looks like
something my grandmother used to have.  Carter stands by me at the sink,
watching.

"I wonder who it belonged to," I say, turning the water off and drying
the necklace.

"It could have been here for fifty years or more.  Here, let me see it
for a minute."  I hand the necklace to Carter and he examines it
carefully.  Then he looks up at me.  "Turn around," he tells me.

"What?"

"Turn around," he repeats.  I slowly do as he's asked.  He reaches
around and loops the necklace around my neck, hooking the clasp so that
it's closed.  I can feel his fingertips brushing gently against the fine
hairs  on the back of my neck, and I shiver with excitement.  "Let me
see."

I turn back around to face him, and I touch the pendant, which rests at
the base of my throat.  It's small and delicate.  "How does it look?" I
ask.

Carter looks at the necklace, then up at my face.  "It looks beautiful.
You look beautiful."

There's a lump at the back of my throat.  It's been a long time since
someone has said I was beautiful.  I don't know what to say; "thank you"
seems both too formal and too much of an understatment.

Instead, I murmur, "let's finish the flowers."

****

The last of the seedlings are in the ground.  "They're going to look
great," Carter tells me.

"They need to be watered," I answer, getting up carefully and pulling
off my cotton gardening gloves.

"I'll do it," Carter offers, and sprints over to get the hose.  I take a
long look at the flower seedlings.  They're so small right now; in weeks
they will have shot up and in a month they'll be running wild in a riot
of colors.  Carter returns with the hose.  "I turned it on," he tells
me. "How does this sprayer attachment thing work?  I tried turning it
and it didn't -- "  He turns the hose towards himself, twisting the
nozzle.

"Carter, wait," I hurry to tell him, but it's too late.  A fine mist of
water sprays him right in the face.

"Oh, man," he groans and drops the hose into the grass.

I laugh.  "You are one walking household disaster," I tell him.  I pick
up the hose and turn the nozzle down.  Then I have a thought.  Carter is
wiping water droplets from his eyes.  "Hey, Carter."

"What?" he asks.  I turn the nozzle again, back on this time, the mist a
little stronger now, but not a direct spray.  "Hey!" he shouts, starting
to laugh.  "What are you doing?  Give me that."  He reaches for the hose
and tries to pull it out of my hands, succeeding only in turning it in
my direction.

"Carter!" The fine mist settles over my skin in dewy droplets.  "Come
on, cut it out!"  He only laughs.  I still have the nozzle gripped
between my fingers but he has his hand clamped down over mine, so I
can't move my hand.

Then he does something completely unexpected.  He twists my hand, not
hard, but enough to lighten the spray even more.  Then he slips my hand
free from the nozzle and raises the hose over our heads.

He leans down, catches me with his free hand, and pulls me close to
him.  "Look, Kerry," he tells me, with wonder and happiness in his
voice.  "Love in a Mist."  And then his lips settle over mine.  The kiss
is long and sweet, and the mist falls over us gently.

END / Earthworms and Butterflies