TW: Fluffs, Maybe Mild Angst

Some might argue that he was never mine to have, not mine to love; I would argue the contrary, though not without a fair amount of guilt- it's always been about guilt. Even when I called him mine and he called me his it was always a game of blame, more so with others than between ourselves; my fault something didn't work, his fault for not reading the instructions correctly. But that's not to say that was constant; no, he was the first to apologize most of the time, and when he wouldn't it meant I had really
fucked up.

But things would be alright, always alright; and Xeph would say how I could do better, and Honeydew would tell Xeph to not talk that way. Bless that dwarf; always on our side. Dave helped us when he could, bringing in the quarries we requested; mainly gems we couldn't manage to find on our own; he was a very helpful man, haven't seen him in ages.

There were always people who visited us for no reason other than to judge us; wondering why he was so obnoxious, question my logic behind following someone they deemed a madman. He was never a madman, filled with brash hope and inspiration, but never madness. He was the most intuitive person I ever knew, full of life and wonder despite his facade of grumpy impassiveness; who else would dream up a dirt factory and dedicate themselves 100% to the idea, going so far as to spend countless waking nights in a lab running chemical tests to determine the best quality of dirt.

I remember him sending samples and his own results to Lalna for a second opinion; to this day everyone credits Lal' for making the dirt good, completely discrediting the one who deserved it all. But he never made a big deal about it, would shrug it off and continue to build, to eat lunch, to sit around by the pool relaxing; he'd calm me down when I got worked up about it, my logic being that if he wasn't going to get upset about it then someone had to. He'd kiss me, use one of the dumb pet names I spend 5 minutes laughing at, always a little embarrassed he came up with something so ridiculous, but not caring because when I smiled, he smiled; freckled cheeks rising with the turn of his lips. It was one of my favorite things.

I wish I could say it was always like that, that everything was so easily resolved with a kiss and reassurance; it wasn't, a lot of it wasn't. That's how my "dream of running a farm" spawned. I remember it was a bright day and I found him on the front porch, knees pulled up to his chest, face half-hidden behind his folded arms, covering the freckles I loved so much. I promised him I'd be back, that it wasn't anything he did: only one of those things was true- I fully intended to return one day.

He was a loud man, open and foul-mouthed, and sometimes the teasing was too much, even when I knew it was done with love. I wanted to get away from him, for how long I didn't know; so I made up the farm idea, and I left on a whim with an axe, some dirt, and homemade bread. It wasn't much, but it's what I needed.

As night fell and I finished pitching my makeshift shelter that first night, I barely sat down before crying openly into the night, already regretting my decision but somehow knowing it was still better for me; maybe even for the both of us. By the end of the first week I no longer felt alone, and with my farm construction well underway I was
distracted, and for a month after that. Then 2 months after that.

It was my 5th month away from home when I realized; ...I was away from home, and had been for 5 months, and that for 4 of those 5 I hadn't thought about my spouse at all, and that night, for the first time in all the months that had passed, I cried.

I couldn't safely leave the farm for another 2 months, I had left home in late May and it was getting cold, I couldn't leave the crops planted, animals unkempt, and the fields unprotected: it took me those 2 whole months to treat everything appropriately. It was mid December when I wrapped up in the only coat I had and his scarf, one I hadn't noticed I'd taken until then, and I powered through the long journey back, biting back the desire to camp when the winds began to sting my skin.

I swear I got turned every-which-way in that storm, clutching my satchel and trying to make out the outline of the tower I had been a huge part in building, trying to smell the tell-tale aroma of that Sipsco quality dirt even though my nose was frozen, red, and numb. It was only after the wind stopped and the white-blanketed trees slipped behind my peripheral that I could see again; and what I saw was a sight I was beginning to worry I would never see again.

Walking closer I made out so many changes, the paths were chiseled cleanly, there were two whole new buildings. But what really caught my attention was the short, grey-skinned grump across the yard shoveling the snow away from the font door. It took him a couple minutes before he happened to turn his head at the right angle to see me.

I expected to be hit, screamed at, locked out in the cold; I would've been fine with that, I deserved it. Tears were on my face as he dropped his shovel and began towards me, slowly at first but eventually breaking into a run; I had never been tackled with such raw emotion before, nor had I felt such raw emotion before. He was cursing at me, and pulling at my hair, but I had a feeling he couldn't truly believe I was there without grounding himself to me; it was alright, I understood the pain I had caused him without any need for verbal exchange. He clung to me for hours, I could barely get inside and remove our snow-soaked coats without his constricting grasp getting in the way; it was my fault anyway so I said nothing of the effect, just did my best to drag him to our room and hold him for as long as he needed.

He fell asleep soon after his sobbing quieted, arms looped around my neck and the rest of him tucked under my arm: god how I'd missed that, staying awake until the moonlight shone through the window and the machines downstairs had shut off for the night so the only thing I had to listen to was his breathing- rhythmic and shallow in his sleep. In the morning he would look so close to yelling at me, but would do nothing more than punch my arm and kiss me on the nose; part of me still thinks he didn't believe I was there, but that doubt kept him close to me for the first 2 weeks I was back before he felt capable enough to go off and work on his own for parts of the day.

I felt so guilty after coming back, seeing all he'd done in my absence, which wasn't a lot, but I had a feeling that was mostly my fault; he was prone to wallowing when upset, but it was good to see he'd finished the sorting building we'd been talking about, and the storage house. He had done a lot to be honest, but simultaneously nothing, for the two buildings were empty except for a few boxes I moved over when I got back.

But me coming back seemingly brought him back to life, which made me happy, I didn't even mind getting bossed around again; I never knew I had been missing it- having a prime directive and not lazing about in the afternoon when all the crops were tended and animals fed. We would stop for lunch like always, climbing up to the top of the tower and sitting with our legs dangling off the edge, he'd tell a joke and I'd laugh, and vice-versa; things were getting back to normal by my first month back, and it wasn't much, but we were happy.

Though the first sign of uncertainty when he started dreaming bigger and I supported him 100% without thinking of the side affects; but after all, both of us had talked about being spacemen before we knew we could. We started preparations 2 years after my return from the farm, going on week-long mining trips when neither one of us saw the sun or felt the grass but instead focused on grey rocks hoping the splash of colored ore would elicit a good place to bury a pickax.

I remember vividly the gusto which he went at this new dream, taking hours to carve out a perfect mold just for the rocket fins, then taking days to help me assemble the first prototype rocket. It crashed and burned horribly, but the fins had functioned perfectly; we laughed about that later that night after a couple drinks.

I was yelled at almost 2 years after we initiated the Sipsco Space Program, I had misplaced some refined iron and broken one of the casting tables on accident, and while he seemed to acknowledge it was an accident, he wouldn't stop mumbling about it, saying what a screw-up I was. He apologized within the day, but I made a rash decision and packed my sun-bleached satchel and switched my spacesuit for my old overalls, still stained by dirt and grass.

He caught me walking out the front door, looked at me crookedly before his brain seemed to catch up: he looked destroyed.

Though he apologized even more at that point, pleading with me not to leave again. I remember holding back tears, weather they were angry or sad, or both, I can't remember; but I told him I'd only be gone for a bit this time, that the fields needed to be sowed- which was a lie, I had gone 4 years without hardly thinking of the farm and had that Nilesy kid watching it in my absence. It was only after I had been back at the farm for a week or so that I realized I had left the weekend of his birthday; Nilesy ran up wondering why I was throwing things. The answer was; because I hated myself, but I lied and promised him I was just having a bad day and felt restrained.

I swear I had intended to be at the farm no more than 2 weeks, but guilt held me back, kept me there for another 2 months while I worked out what to do, trying to deal with the fact that I was literally the worst spouse in existence. I sent for Xephos, who brought Honeydew along, and both of them jumped on the opportunity to console me, and promise that he loved me even though I'd messed up out of fear and anger. Honeydew spent days telling me stories of all the times Xeph had screwed up and been locked out of the Jaffa Factory for the night, and the times he went to spend the day at the river just to get away from Lalna and Xephos. It assured me that needing private time was not damnable but beneficial, and while I still felt like garbage for leaving him for so long again, I had enough confidence to pack my things and hurry home.

That time, I went home and found him playing with a dog by the pool, a little orange and blue collar around the creature's neck; he wore a happy smile but still looked sad and tired, reminding me of when I came home initially. I wasn't holding out for a warm welcome, in fact I was so sure he would turn, glare at me and continue his business; I had messed up pretty bad. The thought of him turning me away had me in tears before he even saw me, and when he did, his smile did not fade away, only widened, and he dropped a ball for the dog to chase while he ran over, throwing his arms around my neck and hugging me tightly. It wasn't like last time, I didn't feel him sobbing and he didn't seem angry, maybe minutely annoyed when he pointed out I had said I'd only be gone for a bit. I chuckled and apologized, he ran his thumbs under my eyes and pulled me down to kiss my foreheadm promising he didn't blame me, that he had been in the wrong initially. It wasn't much, but it was perfect.

Another 4 years and I made weekend trips to the farm occasionally, sometimes I'd bring him with me to see what I was doing, but most of the time I just needed the alone time- he did as well, not necessarily because we were tired of each other, moreso just for some personal space. The times appart were becomming brief and scheduled, and I was always greeted at the front gate with a cup of tea and a kiss; we were both happy again.

Except one time I cam home after a 7-day visit, which was brought about by our first really nasty argument in ages, and he wasn't at the front gate even though I'd told him when I'd be back and I was very punctual. But it wasn't a huge deal, it was pretty early in the morning, he probably slept in, or he could've just lost track of time; I just remember hoping I'd find him quick so I could hand off the bundle of flowers I'd picked from the farm. I didn't start to worry until I couldn't find him in the main building, nor in any of the buildings; I kept searching until I found something I wish I hadn't; our dog was dead on the floor, and I assure you- it was not from natural causes. Nearby
sat a little video device, my heart was racing and I dropped the flowers as I picked it up and hit play.

Learning he had been taken by some unknown kidnappers "just for the fun of it" made me purge my stomach of my last meal, my heart beat painful in my chest, and I cried. I hit the walls and made my knuckles bleed until I couldn't feel them anymore, I wasn't dealing well with the knowledge and didn't do much of anything other than pace the compound for a couple days, mumbling about how it was my fault and I hated myself and wanted to die. But I couldn't die, I had to save him: and that's what drove me forward. It wasn't much, but it gave me strength.

For an entire year I worked nonstop, mining, building, getting burns and cuts and bruises from heavy machinery I had never handled well. I spent sleepless nights awake and crying while I soldered metal together because for the first time in many years I felt alone. Xephos, Honeydew, and Lalna were huge helps, though not without a fair bit of bargaining; but I had it set, everything built, trades made and a two way trip to Mars and back.

I could hardly breath on the way there, and not because my oxygen gear was hurriedly assembled, but because I didn't know if I was going to find my spouse, or a corpse; the thought had bile rising in my throat and tears on my face again.

Finding him in stone was devastating, and although I called for everyone- scientist to dark magician- to see what could be done, there was no see-able cure even after months of testing he was stuck motionless in granite. I brought him home, but decided the factory wasn't the place I wanted to be, so I brought him to my farm and placed him comfortably among the hay-bails in the loft of the barn, the Sun shining around him and keeping him warm.

I cry almost every day, and not because I've been told for years that he wasn't good enough for me, nor because spending all this time and effort was apparently in vain in the eyes of my peers, and not even because they said I loved him more than he could ever love me.

No; they were all so wrong. He was amazing, and everything I cherish, and I will not stop hoping; I will get him free one day soon, at least I hope.

Because they were wrong, he was always mine to lose, always mine to love. He was never much, but he was mine.

Credit to QueenEchidna on Ao3