Title: roses must have rich soil.
Fandom: The Originals.
Characters: Davina/Kol.
Prompt: Travel.
Rating: PG.
Length: 1,089.
Content warnings: N/A.
Author’s notes: Set post-series. Also written for the prompt "summer." Title is from Louise Driscoll’s "Roses."
Summary: Davina takes pride in her garden, and that’s why she won’t let Kol near it.


They settle down roots in the summer. The Mikaelson Victorian house in San Francisco has always been a favourite of his, and he doesn’t want Nik, Elijah, or even darling Rebekah to have it. This is what he has always wanted for himself. This is home away from New Orleans, forgotten in the dusty museum of Mikaelson artefacts.

The house itself is hardly dusty, given that people receive a wealthy fee to maintain it and make it look lived in. Kol gets rid of them first. He doesn’t want strangers in his home any longer. He doesn’t want them taking care of mundane chores like dusting and gardening when he’s fully capable of doing it now.

Regardless of what Davina says, he is capable of dusting. He dusts better than her and he was never locked away in an attic for a year (only a box for decades).

As they move in, he often finds Davina out in the garden. She was never made for travelling beyond her vegetable patch, her little garden and all the flowers she makes bloom with a simple touch of her hand. He never thinks it’s magic. Her touch itself can bring anything to life without the need of a whisper of a spell.

"Don’t touch that," she says. When he glances at her, he receives her back. She hasn’t moved a muscle. She wears a bright yellow summer dress, a wide-brimmed sunhat and is barefoot in the garden, hands, knees and feet dirty. He feels severely overdressed in his jeans and white shirt.

"I was merely admiring it, love," he says with a smile. That earns her peering over her shoulder with a sharp arch to her brow. He holds his hands out in surrender. "Promise."

"Back away from the garden, Kol. I want you where I can see you."

It’s with laugh he obeys. She can be quite intimidating with a spade in hand and a pair of clippers in the other.

"Cute gloves."

Her face reddens and she looks away hurriedly. "Shut up."

"Make me," he says.

Hands behind his back, he walks over towards her slowly, feet pressing softly into the thick grass. She doesn’t turn around even though he wills her to. Even Davina can be the most stubborn plant, refusing to move when something or someone wants it to.

She’s humming beneath her breath, her usual sign that she’s trying to ignore him. He knows what her face looks like: chin tilted up defiantly, lips pursed, eyes steadily focused on the flower in hand as she clips its stem and gently places it against the cloth. There’s other flowers on her cloth, forming her little makeshift flower basket.

"Come any closer and I will turn you into a tree."

He barks out his laugh to the rhythm of her racing heart. This time, when he hears that music, it isn’t in fear. Davina will never have to fear him again.

She turns, shifting her body on her knees so she can glare at him. "I’m serious." She points the clippers at him menacingly and he holds his hands up, taking a small step back. "I will hurt you. I love my plants more than I love you."

The corner of his lips quirk up. "Is that so?"

"Yep."

"I’m heartbroken," he says.

He lowers himself to the grass, crossing his legs. Wearing jeans outside was not his best idea, but he doubts Davina would take kindly to him stepping outside to bother her while naked. Their next door neighbour’s developed a habit of peering over the fence to ask for a favour when she hears a splash in the pool, signalling that he’s taking a dip with a lot of skin showing.

"What are you doing?" she asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Her brow quirks up beneath her wide-brimmed sunhat.

"Admiring the view."

Her heart thumps in embarrassment as heat blooms across her body and face. "Go admire another view, Kol."

"No," he says. "Look, I’ll compromise. I’ll stop touching your garden as long as I get to sit here and watch you."

"You mean sit there and be a creep."

He lifts his shoulders and laughs. "Potato, tomato, love."

"You do know those are not the same thing?"

He doesn’t care. She huffs and turns, giving him her back. The sun’s bloody hot out, but Kol can be as stubborn as any old tree. He digs his roots into the grass as he plays with the blades and very, very slowly begins to crawl on his knees over to her. He tries to be quiet, but Davina tends to develop superhearing when she’s out in her garden.

Without a word, she hands him the spade. "Dig out the weeds, please," she says. She points to what they are, ugly green things that he’d mistaken as a plant once. A thousand years on this earth and he’s never really taken much notice in how to maintain a healthy looking garden.

"It’d be my pleasure, Davina," he says, accepting the spade. While she may roll her eyes, he can spy her smile.

She’s gentle in her handling of the flower bush as she gently clips the pretty things free of their perch to make a bouquet that’ll grace their bathroom vanity. He’s always liked her bouquets. Sometimes she creates a treat out of one family of flowers and sometimes she mixes and matches.

Feeling a weight on his head, she readjusts the sunhat, pressing down his thick hair and mussing it up. "You clearly didn’t put sunscreen on, Kol," she says, shaking her head. "You’re hopeless."

"How do I look?"

Sitting back, she bites her bottom lip and smiles. "Handsome." His lips curve upward and his face brightens, causing her to point the clippers menacingly at him. "Spare me."

"Spare you what?" he laughs. He moves onto his knees and turns his body to face her. He’ll get back to the weeds in a moment. Another minute will hardly hurt them or her precious garden. "My handsomeness?"

"Stop."

"My adorableness? My hotness?" He drops the spade and begins to close the very small distance between them. Davina laughs and ends up on her back as he hovers over her. Lowering his head, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers. "Spare you what, love?"

Davina reaches up to pinch the brim of the hat, tipping it to the side so that no one can spy what they’re doing. "Spare me your crap and kiss me."

Kol, of course, obliges.