Chapter Three

“So what would you like to do first?” Bushroot asked Rhoda once they were back inside the greenhouse.  “The night is young.  The sun hasn’t even set yet!”

“Well, it is close to the summer solstice.”  She smiled in a forced attempt to relax.  If she had no choice but to stay there with him, she figured she might as well try and make the best of it.  “Being a plant you must like that, all the long days.”

Bushroot nodded.  “Oh, yes!  The sunlight gives me so much energy.  My research was successful for that, you know,” he told her with pride.  “While I didn’t anticipate the whole mutation aspect of it, I don’t have to eat if I don’t want to, as long as I have natural light.  That’s all I need, well, that and water of course.  And a little fertilizer helps too.”  He gave her a funny look.  “Do you know how weird it is to actually crave something that smells like that?”

“I can only imagine.” 

“But don’t worry, I wouldn’t feed you that!”  They stopped in front of a workbench that had a number of flasks and vials on it, as well as the notebook she had brought him earlier.  “Speaking of which, what would you like for dinner?  You must be getting hungry by now.  We’ll be dining in, but I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Rhoda placed a hand on the bench.  “Before we worry about that, there are some things I think we should talk about.”  She cast a nervous glance around the greenhouse.  “And I think I’d just like to sit for now.”

“Oh, okay.”  Bushroot led her back to the leaf-couch and gestured for her to sit down.  “I bet those shoes are killing you after working all day in them, huh?”

“Not to mention running for my life in them while I was trying to get away from your vines.”

“Sorry about that,” he said with a contrite look.  Then, before she could say anything else, he knelt in front of her and removed her right shoe.  She regarded him anxiously, but he smiled back at her in reassurance.  “It’s okay.  I know it’s a dirt floor in here, but the grass is pretty clean except for the dirt it’s growing in, and there aren’t any nasty bugs.  Spike makes short work of them.”  He glanced over at the fly trap, who was busy helping himself to a drink from the hose by arcing the stream high up in the air and catching it in his mouth as it fell.

Despite her mood, Spike’s antics also amused Rhoda, and she was reminded of how he had played tug with Bushroot with the lab notebook earlier.  He seemed like an altogether different creature than the vicious snapping plant that Bushroot had brought into the research lab back when he had abducted her.  “He’s a handful, isn’t he?  But you’re fond of him,” Rhoda said, looking between them.  “Just like you’ve always been with your plants.  You care for them almost like children.”

Bushroot looked over at Spike and shook his head.  “Maybe more like pets.  Spike’s advanced for a plant, but he’s more like a dog.  He’s not all that smart.”  As if to illustrate the point, Spike started playing with the hose nozzle to make the spray higher, and he tipped himself back so far with his mouth open that he fell back on what would have been his rump had he not been a plant.  “But he’s loyal,” Bushroot said.  “For a long time he was the only friend I had.”

A silence fell between them, and Bushroot looked up at Rhoda.  It was then that she noticed that he was rubbing the sole of her now bare webbed foot as they talked.  It was not exactly unpleasant, although it was rather awkward once her attention was called to it.  She cleared her throat and quickly shifted to remove her other shoe.  “Thank you.”

He did not give her the chance.  “Oh, allow me.  You relax.  It’s the least I can do to make up for the ivy,” he insisted, and took hold of her other foot, caressing it the same way once her shoe was removed.  “If you want, I have a garden pond here in the greenhouse that you could soak them in.  The water would probably feel nice.”

“That’s not necessary.  I’m fine.”  Rhoda closed her eyes, feeling both nervous and guilty.  While it was delightful to have her foot rubbed, it also felt wrong to let him do it, and she pulled back her foot in a sudden move.  “Please… stop doing that.”

Taken aback, Bushroot let go.  “I’m sorry.  Did I hurt you?”

“No.  It’s just... it’s too much, Reginald.  I appreciate you trying to be thoughtful, and it’s sweet, but it’s too…”  She caught the crestfallen look in his eyes and tried to phrase her words as delicately as possible.  “I just don’t want to lead you on.”

“Oh.” 

The emotion in his voice was tangible, and Rhoda felt a twinge of regret.  “I don’t want to get your hopes up for something that may not happen.” 

“I didn’t mean to come on too strong.”  Bushroot forced a sheepish smile as he stood up in front of her.  “It’s funny; I always thought you were so surprised when I came for you last time because I’d been too subtle all along.”

Rhoda stared back at him.  “You weren’t all that subtle.”

Surprised, Bushroot replied, “I wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Really?”  He sat on the leaf-couch beside her.  “You knew I liked you?  I mean, not just liked you, but liked you?  How’d you tell?  What gave me away?”

Rhoda tried to think of the best way to answer.  The truth was that it had been obvious to her and likely to everyone else in their department as well, but she was not sure it was a good idea to say such.  “Well, you paid quite a bit of attention to me, Reginald.”  She gave him a kind smile.  “More so than most.  Just because you weren’t over the top like,” she paused as Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson’s names caught in her throat, “some others, I still noticed.  You never brought anyone else their coffee every day.  Not even some of the prettier students that studied with us.”

“No student could’ve ever compared to a woman like you.”  He gazed at her with a love-struck expression.  “Besides, flirting with a student would’ve been very inappropriate, not that it ever stopped our old lab-mates.”  A frown crossed his bill as he brought up the individuals that Rhoda had avoided mentioning.  “It was bad enough that they drooled all over you every day.”  He added on a horrified note, “I never came off like them, did I?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she assured him.  “I never came away from a conversation with you wishing that I could stuff you into the nearest fume hood.” 

“So, what’s it like there now?” Bushroot asked.  It caught her off guard as it was not something she anticipated that he would ask about.

“It’s, well… it’s quieter,” Rhoda said after a moment.  “Dr. Aveshine is much nicer company than those two were.  But now I’m getting a new office all to myself, actually.  That’s how your notebook turned up, cleaning it out for the move.”

“All to yourself?”

Rhoda nodded.  “Dean Tightbill gave me a promotion.”

“That’s great!  If anyone there deserves it, you do,” Bushroot congratulated her with a warm smile.

“Thank you.” 

“I mean it.  Your research has always been top-notch.  It’s about time someone recognized it, and you, instead of the tail feather-kissers.”

A wistful look crossed her features.  “I used to think the same thing about you.”

Bushroot blinked with surprise.  “You did?”

“I always admired your work and your goals.  You thought outside the box so much more than others.  I often thought that if only you’d been more assertive, you’d run that place.”  Her voice took on a somber tone.  “Little did I know that you’d actually run it over, and with an angry maple at that.”

“If you want to get technical, that was a white oak, and he never really ran over Tightbill,” Bushroot pointed out, which led Rhoda to stiffen in her seat again, and the two of them lapsed into silence.  “Let me guess,” he said after a pause, “that’s one of the things you want to talk about.  What happened before I brought you here last time.”

Rhoda eyed him sternly.  “Before, and after.”  She frowned.  “You committed murder, Reginald.  That’s not just some little thing to get over.” 

Sighing, Bushroot said, “I know that.  I don’t expect you to… well, I don’t expect you to approve of it or condone it.  I know you don’t.  But you have to understand why I did it… don’t you?”

“Understanding why you did it doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

“What’s done is done, wrong or not!” he replied defensively.  “Like I said, I don’t expect you to like it or absolve me.  I know better than to expect anyone to do that.  But please don’t judge me!  St. Canard has enough of those ready to pass sentence on me as it is.”  He groaned.  “Why do you even want to talk about this?  Are you worried that I’ll snap and choke you to death in vines next or something?” 

“I… no.”  The statement surprised her a little even as she said it, for had she not been worried about that very thing just a little while ago?  What reason did she have to believe that she was exempt from his temper?  Because he was hardly in love with Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson like he is with you, a voice inside her answered.  The only way you’d drive him to something like that would be if you broke his heart.  Would you do that?  

Bushroot stared back at her, searching her eyes for a sign of the empathy and understanding he so desperately craved.  “I know what it must look like when you think about the things I’ve done.  You don’t get the prestigious title of ‘super-villain’ by being a typical Junior Woodchuck, after all.  But it’s not as cut and dried as you might think.”

“Then explain it to me.  Explain all the things that have nothing to do with revenge or the situation with the university or me.  Things like robbery and threatening people with plants, and stealing money and valuables and even a whole neighborhood’s Christmas presents!”

“Okay, the Christmas thing was petty, I admit.  But do you know what happened to me on Christmas Eve?  I went to the mall to try and find some nice gifts for my plants—you know, the only companions I even had to celebrate with—and some nasty hog woman and her brat saw past my coat and incited a mob to beat the tar out of the ‘plant monster.’  So yeah, maybe I overreacted,” Bushroot said flatly, “but forgive me if I don’t think the winter solstice is the most wonderful time of the year anyway.  Especially right after a Thanksgiving where my parents and sister made it clear that I was the diseased branch of the family tree they’d just as soon see pruned off.”

She gave him a sympathetic look.  “I know how cruel others can be, but…”

“Yes they can,” Bushroot said as a dark and bitter gleam filled his eyes.  “But at least one thing this ‘plant-monster’ can do is fight back.”

“So that’s why you do all these terrible things?  Because you can, and they hurt you first?”

“I rob places because it’s the simplest way to get what I need.  I’m not independently wealthy, and it’s not like anyone’s going to hire me if I ask for a job.  I’m a mutant plant-duck.  The public wants to run me off with pitchforks when I show my face, even when I’m minding my own business.”  He sighed.  “The most honest work I could get is supplying the potheads downtown with a steady cash crop, and we both know how legal that is.  Although I will say that the druggies and criminals are at least willing to respect you for what you can do for them and to them.”

Picturing Bushroot skulking around the worst parts of the city with types she never would have imagined the Reginald Bushroot she once knew associating with brought up another question that Rhoda had to ask, although she was not sure she wanted to hear the answer to it.  “So is that how you got involved with the Fearsome Five?  Through your own… illicit activities?”

“Those of us on the fringe of decent society have a few things in common.  When Negaduck made the offer, I saw no good reason not to take it.”

“Negaduck.”  Rhoda shivered at the mention of the notorious super-villain.  “Public enemy number one.  And you willingly associate with him?”

“He’s actually number two, but regardless, the public hasn’t done me any favors lately, and someone else who has it in for Darkwing Duck is a good ally as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh.  The old ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ adage?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call Negaduck a friend exactly, but he’s got his points.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Rhoda said, clearly not convinced.  “What about the rest of them, though?  Megavolt?  Liquidator?  Quackerjack?  They’re crazy, ruthless—”

“—super-villains,” Bushroot finished for her with a rueful smile.  “Like me.”

“Are they like you?  Really?”  She looked at him as though she did not want to believe it.  “A crazy toy-maker that uses his childish inventions to commit crimes, a maniac with an electrocution fetish, and a water monster?”

Bushroot shrugged.  “Is a plant-monster much different than a water monster?  Because I can tell you for a fact most of the city doesn’t think so.  Want to see chaos?  Let me and Buddy stroll down Main Street undisguised at high noon.  We won’t even have to so much as sprout a shade tree or tap a fire hydrant before everything goes to compost in a hand-bucket.”  He paused for breath while Rhoda continued to listen.  “And Megavolt?  Yeah, he’s crazy, and talks to light bulbs.  But I talk to plants, so who am I to judge?  Quackerjack is as loony as the day is long, but you know, he wasn’t a criminal until he lost his job and his life’s dream either.”  He gave her a pointed look.  “And there are plenty out there that wouldn’t call me sane.  Even my own sister doesn’t.  She told me so to my face, that I just ‘need help.’  So yes, you could say that the others in the Fearsome Five are like me, and I’m like them.”

“So you want to be like them?  You’re okay with that?”

“I don’t want to be anything but what I am, but I don’t want to be hated because of it,” Bushroot told her, his voice raw and emotional.  “You don’t know what it’s like, Rhoda.  To be a freak, to be different, to have everyone hate you just because of what you are.”  He looked away as his bitter thoughts consumed him. 

“Back when I was still a duck I used to think I got the short end of the stick, being a nerd and going bald before I was thirty, and being so much shorter than pretty girls like you.  But at least I had my brains going for me.  People don’t judge research by anything but the data.  Science is much fairer that way than other careers… at least when you don’t have spiteful morons stabbing you in the back every chance they get.”  His blue eyes narrowed into an angry glare.  “But now… now nobody will even talk to me!  They look at me and run away.  They call me a monster.  So if I’m stuck being the monster, I might as well live like one.”

It was Rhoda’s turn to sigh.  “Oh, Reginald… maybe they think you’re a monster because you killed two ducks and tried to kill a third, and then went on a crime spree for a year afterward.  Maybe they’re afraid of you because they’ve seen your face on the news and they know what you’re capable of, not because you’re green and have leaves instead of feathers.”

“Come on, Rhoda,” Bushroot countered in a thorny tone.  “You were there when I went to the lab after I ran my experiment on myself.  You saw how they treated me.  No one was going to take me seriously after turning into this, and we both know it.”  A flash of pain flickered through his eyes.  “You even cringed away from me yourself.”

“I was shocked,” she told him.  “But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have accepted you or stood up for you.  In fact, I did stand up for you to Darkwing Duck.”

Bushroot’s bill set into an irritable and stubborn glower.  “Don’t even get me started on him.”

“My point is that you don’t have to be a criminal.”

“Uh, the taxes on this place aren’t going to pay themselves, you know.  And believe it or not, I tried growing my own money tree once, but it didn’t work out so well.”

“But there are other things you could do,” Rhoda said encouragingly.  “You’re a scientist, Reginald, an incredibly innovative one.  If you really wanted to, you could turn over a new leaf.  I know you could.  You can find your niche and do some good for the world, like you always wanted to.”

“I think this is my niche.  There’s nothing I can do to make the world accept me now.  Unless…”  He gave her a hopeful look as his voice trailed off.  “Unless maybe I had a reason to try something new?  Someone who’d stand by me and convince me not to give up trying to fit in to a world that has no use for me… someone who could maybe even love me?”

His words left her feeling uncomfortable, especially with the way he stared at her with such adoration and desire.  “I’d rather see you do it for your own sake than mine,” she said, trying to steer the conversation in a more motivating direction.  “Don’t you want to be happier than this, all alone and bitter all the time?”

“Of course I do.  Being with you would make me very happy.”  Bushroot leaned closer and touched the side of Rhoda’s face with a leafy finger.  “And I’d do just about anything to make you happy and want to be with me.”

“I can’t be with a hurtful and selfish criminal.” 

Although her words stung him, Bushroot took them as a challenge rather than a condemnation.  “Then I’ll prove to you that I’m not.”

“I’d like you to.”  She met his eyes.  “I’d like to believe that you’re not.”

Encouraged by her soft words and the fact that she had not pushed him away when he touched her, Bushroot leaned in close and touched his bill to Rhoda’s in a hesitant kiss.  It was too much for her, though, and she jerked back with a start and turned her head aside, unable to look at him.  A part of her had almost considered not breaking away for an instant, and that frightened her.  However kind or convincing he was being, he was still the same Reginald Bushroot that had abducted her a year ago, and who was holding her against her will right now!  What on earth was she thinking?

“I’m sorry,” Bushroot started to say, but Rhoda cut him off.

“Don’t.”  She felt his gaze heavy on her, and when she looked at him she could see that he was distraught.  “Please,” she added in a softer tone, swallowing back her anxiety.  “Don’t push me.  It’s one thing to put the past behind us, but it’s another to move so fast…”

“…toward the future?”  A hint of hope shone through the disappointment in his voice.

Rhoda sighed; she had her work cut out for her.  “I promised you a chance, Reginald.  That’s all.  If we can rebuild our friendship…”  Her voice trailed off as he watched her with almost palpable anticipation until she added, “We’ll see.”

Bushroot’s expression softened to an accepting smile.  “I understand.”  He paused, and then said, “It’s nice to hear you say I was your friend.”

“Why wouldn’t I say that?” she asked.  “I thought we were friends when we worked together.  I always enjoyed working with you.”  A fond smile curled the edges of her bill at the memory.  “We had so many great discussions and interests in common.  We liked to read the same journals and books, and we watched a lot of the same shows on television.  I knew that if anyone saw a new show on the Discover-It network, it would be you.  Not to mention how nice it was to have someone to vent to when certain individuals got on our nerves…”  Her voice trailed off as she realized too late that she should have left that last bit unsaid.

Bushroot in turn bit back a retort that as far as he knew, hardly anyone had liked Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson except for those whose tail feathers they had kissed.  But since he knew going there would only sour the conversation, he redirected it back to a more pleasant subject: him and her.  “Well, you never called me your friend before.  I mean, you never even called me by my first name until after I was… after I was gone from there.”

“Oh, that was just habit from the workplace culture.  You know how it is.  Everyone’s so formal at the lab.  The only ones who don’t routinely go by their titles are the students who don’t have them.  Well, and Warbrin, but he’s the kind of duck who enjoys ruffling feathers.”

“Warbrin Aveshine?” Bushroot asked, recognizing the name from his time working at the university.

Rhoda nodded.  “Yes.  But what I mean is that just because I called you ‘Dr. Bushroot,’ it didn’t mean I didn’t think of you as a friend.  After all,” she gave him a knowing look, “you always called me ‘Dr. Dendron’ and you obviously thought of me on more intimate terms.”

He gave her a sheepish look.  “I never wanted to come off as presumptuous or disrespectful.”  A wistful look filled Bushroot’s eyes as he thought back on opportunities he now saw in hindsight that he had never had the courage to take when it came to Rhoda.  It made him wonder how things might have been different if he had.  “Rhoda, can I ask you something?”

She nodded. 

“Maybe this is stupid to ask now after everything that’s happened, but…”  He pursed his bill anxiously, hoping that what he was about to ask would not make things worse.  “Back then, if I’d asked… would you have gone out with me?”

Rhoda mirrored Bushroot’s rueful look with one of her own.  “I used to wonder if you’d ever ask me to dinner or to meet you after work.  There were a few occasions where I half expected you to, actually.  Like that the one time you treated me to dinner at the hotel we stayed at in Duckburg for the seminar we attended for work there.”  Her smile broadened for a moment.  “It was sweet how you walked me back to my room afterward, even though we were on separate floors.”

Bushroot’s eyes brightened as he remembered that night, which had been just over two years ago now.  “Oh, it just seemed like the nice thing to do.  We were having such a good time, and I didn’t really want to go back to my room just to be by myself, but I couldn’t think of anything to suggest that wouldn’t come off the wrong way.”  He gave her a meaningful look.  “I wanted to ask you to come back to my room with me, just to watch TV or something, or talk, or go with you to yours, but…” 

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Rhoda confided.

“Really?”  His green face lit up like the morning sun.

“Reginald, I knew you weren’t the type who’d use that as a pretext for some sleazy come-on.  So yes, I probably would’ve visited with you for a while.  We might’ve had a nice time.”

“You probably wouldn’t think that if you knew how much I wanted to kiss you when we said good night.”  Bushroot looked down with a guilty smile on his beak while Rhoda began to feel uncomfortable again.

“We shouldn’t go there.  Thinking about what might’ve happened, but didn’t… it’s not a good idea.  It’ll just hurt more.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking at her with regret shining in his eyes.  “I really screwed up with you, didn’t I?”  He sighed.  “I’m sorry.  Please forgive me, Rhoda.”

The sincerity in his voice struck her, and despite the fact that she was in a position to point out that keeping her there like he was doing now was a screw-up of equal magnitude, she did not feel compelled to throw it in his face right then.  Instead she felt sadness, compassion, and a small bit of hope for Bushroot, hope that if maybe he comprehended the scope of one such mistake, others might follow.

When she did not give an answer, Bushroot looked up at her with a glint of wetness in his eyes.  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

He took her hand in his, and as his leaves caressed the back of her fingers, it occurred to Rhoda that his promise could be used to make him let her go if she pushed the issue.  She chose not to, though, for while she did not want to be his prisoner, she also did not want to lose what progress she had made in getting through to the Reginald Bushroot she once knew and was sure the mutant plant-duck holding her captive could still be.  Instead, she gave him a kind smile.  “Why don’t we get some dinner now, Reginald?”

Bushroot nodded.  He supposed that no answer as to whether or not she would forgive him was better than a flat out “no” or a too-quick lie to placate him.  At least it meant that she was considering it, and that was good enough for the time being.  He let go of her hand and stood up.  “What would you like?”

“Whatever you have that isn’t fertilizer is fine.”

“Okay.”  Bushroot glanced around thoughtfully.  “I have lots of salad and fruit right here.  But if you want something more substantial, I could always send my plants out for pizza.”  He paused.  “Mmm, you know, I haven’t had that in a while myself.”

Rhoda’s stomach rumbled at the mention of pizza, reminding her that she had not eaten since lunchtime.  “Pizza sounds delicious.”  She then gave him a curious look.  “You can eat pizza?”

“I can eat a little of most regular food.  Just not too much at once, and I don’t need it to survive.  I still like what’s good every now and then, though!”  He gestured to a couple of potted trees nearby that climbed out of their soil and came over to him.  Bushroot nodded to them a couple of times, which Rhoda realized must be a part of his telepathic communication to them, and then he made some vague hand gestures before dismissing them.  Once they were on their way, he turned to her and smiled.  “They promise twenty minutes or less just like the delivery guys.  I, uh, didn’t specify any toppings though, because they really can’t tell pepperoni from sausage, and anything we don’t eat, Spike will anyway.”

When she realized that he was sending plants out to swipe food for her benefit, she frowned.  “You’re having them steal it?”  She supposed she should not have been surprised, but at the same time she could not help but feel disappointed that he was committing a crime five minutes after he had made it seem like he sincerely wanted to try turning over a new leaf.

Bushroot frowned at the disapproving note in her voice.  “Delivery guys won’t come to this address.  Besides, would it make that much difference to you if I had them pay for it with stolen money?”  He paused and then tried to reassure her.  “They won’t hurt anyone.  I told them to just grab the food and go.”

“Right.”  She let out a drawn out breath.  She supposed there were worse things to take him to task over than pilfering pizza.  At least it wasn’t committing murder or participating in a hostile city takeover with a criminal gang.

“Can I offer you something to drink while we wait?  I’ve got fresh fruit juices of all kinds, and a few cans of Koo Koo Cola.”  He let out a guilty chuckle.  “I still drink that stuff sometimes, even though it’s probably worse for me as a plant than it was for me as a duck.  Or, if you’d like, I could wine and dine you with a little style… well, aside from the pizza; I know that’s not exactly high class gourmet fare,” he said with a wink.  “I’ve got some homemade dandelion wine in the back.  Most gardeners hate dandelions, but I love them.  They have such an unfair reputation.  They’re very useful plants, medicinal with lots of health benefits, and they make an incredible wine to boot.”

Rhoda considered whether or not it was wise to drink anything with alcohol in it while she was stuck alone with Bushroot, but she decided that she knew her limits well enough that she did not need to be concerned about having only a glass or two.  “Dandelion wine, hmm?  That sounds nice.  I’ll try some.”

Bushroot grinned.  “Great!  I’ll go get it and I’ll be right back.”  He took off, leaving her in the main chamber to look around and take in the variety of plant life all around her.  There were an incredible number of rare and exotic species in there, and Rhoda was reminded once again of just what a genius Reginald Bushroot was when it came to botany. 

He came back a moment later with a corked green glass bottle in one hand and two champagne flutes and a corkscrew in the other.  Rhoda had no idea why he had such things in his greenhouse at all, but to say that Reginald Bushroot had become eccentric in the last year would have been an understatement.  Bushroot set the bottle down on one of his work tables and set about removing the cork.  “Oh, I hate these things,” he muttered on the second attempt to get it out.  The third try was the charm, though, and the cork came out with more force than he anticipated.  The snap of it popping free sent him reeling back in a comical manner that left Rhoda smirking in spite of herself.

Once Bushroot regained his footing, he filled one of the flutes and handed it to Rhoda.  “Sorry I don’t have a proper wine glass for you, but I don’t have much in the way of this kind of stuff here.  A mutant plant-duck doesn’t throw a lot of cocktail parties.”

“It’s all right.”  Rhoda picked up her glass and noted the distinct color and fragrance of the wine.  “Did you make this yourself?”

“I learned how to do it years ago,” Bushroot said as he poured his own glass.  “One of my favorite courses in college was about edible and medicinal plants native to this area, and one of the things we read told us how to make it.”

She took a tiny sip.  “It’s different… but good.”

Bushroot beamed at the compliment.  “Thank you!  It’s a little strong, though, just to warn you.”

Taking that as proof that he had no underhanded intentions in giving her the wine, she relaxed and took a second sip.  “Does alcohol affect you now the same way it did as a duck?” she asked, curious.

“Not quite.  It metabolizes a little differently, but too much of it will still make me kind of clumsy and dizzy because of the water imbalance it creates in my system.  It’s really unpleasant, and even slight dehydration is pretty serious as a plant-duck.  Where a regular duck just gets thirsty, I start wilting.”  He took a swallow of the drink.  “But like the food, a little won’t bother me.  It actually takes more to affect me now than it did as a duck because of the way my body processes it.”

“That’s incredible,” Rhoda said, leaning back against the work bench.  Bushroot noticed that she seemed to be eager for a place to sit, so he sprouted a tulip from the ground to form a chair for her to sit in at the bench.  He motioned for her to have a seat, and she went ahead and did so.  “And so is that.”

“It takes the green thumb of a plant-duck to get a tulip out this late in the season,” he said proudly, and then grew a seat beside her so they could continue their conversation.  “It’s nice to have a guest like you to entertain here.”

A silence then fell between them, the elephant-ear in the room of her being a guest more by coercion than anything else being something that occurred to them both and that neither of them wanted to mention.  Instead, Rhoda glanced toward the nearest wall and noticed that it was finally getting dark outside, reminding her of how much time had passed and that before long, she would have to face another uncomfortable question—where she would sleep, if she could sleep, given the situation.  “It’s getting dark,” she said after a moment.  “What’s that like for you now?  Does it bother you as a plant, given your relationship to sunlight?”

“You could definitely say it’s made me more of a morning person,” he said, and then continued on a more serious note.  “Darkness doesn’t bother me—well, unless it’s totally dark, since I don’t see any better than a regular duck in it—but I have more energy when it’s light out.”  He sighed.  “I sure don’t like the short days in the winter, either.  It’s bad enough when it’s cold out, but having so much less light… I hate it.  Not to mention that as a Lyceum nycanthropus, I’m much better suited to summer weather like this.”

“I can imagine.”  She swirled the wine in her glass around before taking another drink.  “Do you sleep like a duck, or are you awake all the time?”

Bushroot shook his head.  “No.  I still sleep and dream.  That’s one reason I have Spike and all of my watch-plants.  I need rest and can’t be on my roots all the time.”  He paused.  “But I sleep less than I did as a regular duck.  Mostly in the darkest hours, when my energy is at a low anyway.”

“I see.”  Rhoda took another drink, and they lapsed into silence again until Bushroot’s plants interrupted them by thundering into the greenhouse with their branches loaded down with pizza boxes.  Her eyes went wide behind her glasses as she counted at least five of them.  How much did he think she was going to eat?  “That’s… a lot of pizza.”

“When they promise they’ll deliver, they deliver!”  Bushroot directed his leafy helpers to set it all down on one of the other benches.  “It’s okay, though.  It won’t go to waste.  Whatever doesn’t get eaten before it spoils will just go in the compost bin to break down into future fertilizer.  Recycle, recycle, recycle!”

“It’s good not to waste,” Rhoda agreed, and then gave him a thoughtful look as the seed of a suggestion came to her, one that might nudge him into thinking in the right direction.  “But did you ever think of maybe doing something better with it?”

“Like what?”

She pursed her bill as the aroma of the fresh pizza reminded her again of how hungry she was.  “There are a lot of under-funded homeless shelters and soup kitchens in St. Canard, you know.  Since you won’t eat it all, maybe you could consider leaving it at a place like that.”  She paused, and then added, “Anonymously, of course.”

A somewhat puzzled look crossed Bushroot’s face, as though such a thing had never occurred to him.  “You want me to give my stolen pizza to the homeless?”

“Well...” she paused, for it did sound a bit ludicrous put that way.  “I’m sure it’d be appreciated, and while it doesn’t make your taking it right… it does at least do a little positive along with the negative.”  She looked at the pizza boxes.  “It’s just something to think about.  You’d be making someone happy.”

He considered her suggestion and then smiled.  “You’re right.  I mean, I guess even if no one knew it was me who did it—because they’d probably toss it thinking I poisoned it or something if they did—it’s better than letting it rot.  I don’t really need to compost it all.  I’ll do that.”  Bushroot opened one of the boxes and offered it to Rhoda.  “Looks like onions and sausage on this one.  Is that okay?”  He then peeked in a second one, and then a third.  “Oh, this one’s plain… and that one has pepperoni and mushrooms…”

“Pepperoni and mushroom sounds perfect,” Rhoda said, and finished the last of the wine in her glass.

“Here you go, then!”  He placed a slice on a wide leaf-plate that one of his plants donated to his wining and dining cause, and then picked up the wine when he noticed her empty glass.  “Do you want more?”

“Yes.  Thank you.”

“Sure!”  He refilled her wine and then helped himself to the plain pizza.  “Ooh, I forgot how good this place’s stuff is.  I used to order from them all the time.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was all Rhoda said in response while she devoured her own slice in her hunger.  The salt and grease from the pizza left her feeling rather thirsty, so she downed her second glass of wine quickly as well.  It was only as she was taking her second pizza slice, still hungry, that she noticed she was beginning to feel light-headed.  The alcohol in the wine must’ve hit me hard on an empty stomach.  She hoped that what she had already drunk would not put her in a bad state, and after swallowing the pizza in her mouth, she looked back at Bushroot.  He was smiling at her as though he was in heaven having a pizza date with the girl of his dreams. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he saw the look on her face.

“Oh… yes.”  Rhoda was not about to voice her fears about being taken advantage of, which, she supposed, were a possibility even without the alcohol.  Once she fell asleep, what was to stop him from…

“Are you sure?”  Bushroot leaned closer, concerned.  “Is it not agreeing with you?  Oh, no!  The last thing I wanted to do is get you something that’d make you sick!”

Rhoda forced a smile, although now her head was beginning to spin.  “No.  I’m fine, really.  Just…” She pushed the wine glass and the bit left in it away.  “I don’t think I should have any more of this.  Do you have some water instead?”

Bushroot’s worried look changed to one of understanding.  “Oh, the wine got to you, huh?  I’m sorry.  I’ll get you some water right away!”  He was up on his roots in a flash, and he returned a moment later with a full glass of water while Rhoda struggled with her wooziness.  She took a few more bites of pizza in the hopes that it would help, but instead it just turned her stomach.

“Thank you.”  She sipped at the water and then closed her eyes.  “What’s in that stuff?”

“Nothing bad, I promise.”  He put a leafy hand on her shoulder.  “But, uh, it might’ve gotten a little more potent as it aged.  Just drink the water and maybe try to eat more if you can, and it’ll pass.”

“I haven’t felt like this in years,” she confessed, resting her forehead on her hand as she leaned on the lab bench.  “Do you know when the last time I got… drunk… was?”

“When?”  His blue eyes lit up with curiosity.

She chortled, causing a lock of brown hair to fall over the hand on her face.  “At a New Year’s Eve party a few years ago.  One of my friends convinced me to go out and celebrate with her and some of her other friends downtown.  I underestimated how strong some of the mixed drinks were and… ugh.  It hit me all at once.  I laughed at everything and I’m sure I made a complete fool of myself!  And the morning after…”  She groaned.  “I felt so horrible that I remembered why hangovers are so universally hated.”

Bushroot patted her on the back.  “Some B-complex vitamins help with that.  I learned that in college.”

Rhoda glanced up at him, surprised.  “You never struck me as the drinking and partying type.”

“I wasn’t,” Bushroot admitted, “but I had a roommate who came home drunk a lot.  He used to pop those vitamin pills with a glass of water before passing out.  When I looked into the science of why it worked, it made sense.”  He shrugged.  “Last I heard, he was in med school.  Wouldn’t it figure that he was the one to become a respectable doctor while I became, well, this?”

“Life can throw some crazy turns at us sometimes.”  A wistful smile formed on Rhoda’s beak, and she leaned more heavily on the table.  “But you were well on your way for a while, Reginald.  You had such wonderful ideas.”

“Heh.”  His voice took on a rueful and bitter note.  “Those and the notebooks they’re written in are worth about whatever the going rate of firewood is these days, according to St. Canard University.”

“Don’t let them discourage you anymore,” Rhoda said, her tone insistent through its now distinct slur from inebriation.  “Not everyone thinks that.”  That’s why I’m in this fine mess, after all, she thought. 

Bushroot lifted his leaf-hand, resting on Rhoda’s shoulder, up to stroke her hair.  “Not everyone is as kind as you are.”

She was too out of it to realize what mixed signals she was sending by not rebuffing his touch, and oblivious to that, she closed her eyes.  She felt sleepier with each passing moment.  “You haven’t given everyone a chance yet.  Don’t give up.”  She leaned more heavily on her arm as drowsiness overcame her.  “Please don’t give up.”

The earnestness of her words struck a chord in him.  With his leaves still entwined in her hair, Bushroot leaned close and said just before planting a soft kiss on her head, “I won’t.”

Rhoda never heard him or felt it, though, for she had already drifted off to sleep.