Chapter Text
Tommy had always loved flowers. The smell, the appearance, the texture, everything about them fascinated him. When he was younger he used to run around tugging on his dads… Phil's hand asking about them. What they were called, what they were used for, how to care for them. He eventually started a garden of his very own with each flower lovingly tended to. Fond memories of dancing with the small black and yellow bees as songs left his lips. However, it wasn’t long before people took notice. Whispers followed him around with odd looks from parents, and little children can be cruel. His family didn’t understand and after so long trying to explain it to them he knew they never would. Soon it became too much, the pushing and harsh words filled with hate, the constant ridicule. It didn’t take long for him to realize that enjoying his flowers in public wasn’t acceptable. So he stopped. Of course people don’t forget easily and he craved to be seen as more than a passion that he no longer allowed himself to indulge in. He became harsh, insults slipped out of his mouth as easy as loving songs used to. He became hard to keep himself safe from the world that was so intent on tearing him down.
Now, laying on a beach gazing up at a sky filled with flickering stars and a rugged tent behind him, he thought back to his garden for the first time in years. The garden that he cared for, the garden that meant more to him than any of his other possessions could, even the disks, and he mourned. Mourned for the first time of the lost memories and joy. The loss of a life he would never know. Tears forcing their way from his eyes and sobs wrenching from his throat. Curled up in the sand he cried to the heavens, to Clara who was the only one there to comfort him when he was alone. He cried in mourning for a childhood left broken in a pile that he could never hope to recover. When no tears were left for him to cry and fatigue attempted to take his mind was when he finally moved. He would make something in this exile for himself, he would try to fix the remnants of happiness that he had.
Standing up Tommy patted the sand from himself and started doing a task that was so familiar yet so foreign. For the first time in years he went around collecting seeds. Finding a small grove for his new garden Tommy started digging. Gently placing seeds into the small holes he dug with his own hands he whispered words of hope to each one before covering them. For the rest of the day and well into the night he continued until every last seed had been planted and with a sore throat but feeling far lighter than he had in years he made his way back to his shabby little tent with a melody on his lips that he hadn’t sung since he was a child.