Chapter Text
With the painting in hand, Jim trumped up the rickety stairs, Ms. Mystery following two steps behind. He made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen where he placed the piece of art onto the sparkling clean kitchen table and grabbed a tall glass from the cabinet, filling it up using the gallon bottle of well water that was placed in the refrigerator.
When he had first started staying with Dwight, Jim was apprehensive to drink well water. It was after Dwight had strongly taught him about the importance of wells before water filtration systems and how well water is safe to drink did Jim start to swallow down the water. Jim drunk the cold water quickly; The dust from the basement had irritated his throat, making it grate against itself like sandpaper.
Jim rested his elbows on the smooth stone counter and relaxed his body weight into the point of his arm. He placed the now empty glass down on the counter between his spread elbows and let out a contented sigh. He wondered if Dwight knew anything about the painting, that is if it had any significance. Jim still was not certain it did, but decided to try and ask anyways. He figured there was no harm in being curious.
Jim lightly picked up the painting and trekked into the living room where Dwight had finished his nap and was sitting up, sunk deep into the couch cushions. He glanced over and acknowledged his lover with a small, "Hey."
Jim replied the common greeting back to Dwight and flopped down beside him, extending his arm and holding the painting in front of Dwight about chest level. Dwight furrowed his eyebrows and took his glasses from the where they were resting o the top of his head and slid them on. The frame hooked over his ears and rested on the bridge of his nose. Dwight pushed them farther up his nose and took the paper from Jim's hand and studied it.
"Why is this painting not in a frame?" Dwight asked.
Jim shrugged even though Dwight was not looking at him. "How should I know? It was in the basement."
"Hmm, that so?" Dwight questioned rhetorically.
Jim let out a surprised noise as Mystery jumped into his lap. He did not know that the cat was in the same room with them; He thought she was still at her water bowl in the kitchen. Well, cats are quiet and easily slink about, so it should have been no surprise to Jim, yet it was. It was in cats nature to do as such.
Ms. Mystery ignored him and placed her paw gently on the painting that was resting on Dwight's knees. The couple looked where Mystery was placing her small paw on and found it to be a well far, far in the background, something that Jim did not even notice because it was painted far back and was tiny. Jim scratched Mystery's head with two of his large fingers for a job well done. "Damn, Mystery," Jim said, thoroughly impressed at what the cat had done. even if it was unintentional, it helped Dwight to think and remember.
A lightbulb turned on brightly in Dwight's mind and he snapped his fingers, exclaiming, "I remember this tree!"
"There is a legend of this tree that's been on Schrute Farms since before the land was purchased," he said recalling his memory. "A book was left in a wood box that was half buried under a root of this weeping willow."
Jim raised his eyebrows. Apparently, he had no reason to doubt the point of significance regarding the painting that Mystery had located and brought to his attention. Ms. Mystery was something of her own, Jim figured.
"I think the book is still in the basement," Dwight stated as he stood up, his white tank top riding up his beer belly. "Lets go find it!" He said excitedly.
That was the first time Jim had seen Dwight excited in ages. He seems to always be downtrodden and depressed, and Jim felt the same. Everything seemed to be dull and all together sad and boring. It was not fun to live with depression. It killed you slowly and there was to way to stop it completely. Sure medication can help, and unhealthy habits may help, but most of the time they do more harm than good. But depression is always there on the outskirts of your conscious.
Depression is terrible. It's cold, slowly rotting, and forever rooting in your mind and body. It latches onto you before you even realize that it's there. It weighted both Jim and Dwight down, making them feel like blocks of cement as they went down the basement steps.
After what felt like an hour of searching, though it couldn't have been more than half an hour, Dwight finally found the book he was searching high and low for. He presented it to Jim proudly, who in turn leaned in and kissed his lover on the lips.
Dwight raised his eyebrows, surprised. "What was that for?" He asked.
Jim crossed his arms and smirked. "Do I need a reason to kiss you?" He asked coyly.
Dwight snorted and turned and went up the basement stairs, Jim trailing behind him. They flopped down on the couch together. Dwight nearly sat on Mystery, who meowed, obviously offended. Once Dwight fought through his rusty German skills, he told Jim, in a very flat tone, "The story of the weeping willow is pretty interesting."
"Wow, could you sound more excited?" Jim said sarcastically with an eyeroll.
Dwight stared at him. "Uh, no."
Jim snorted a laugh. "Right."
Dwight huffed and went back to his rundown. "These two women escaped from Germany and came to America to escape the people who had found out they were queer lovers." Jim's eyebrows jumped up at this unexpected sentence. "It took months for them to make it to a place they could live safely, and they cried when they saw the weeping willow that marked the refuge for queers. They stayed here in Pennsylvania for the next forty years and when one of them died, her lover buried her beside the tree that marked their freedom from certain death.
"Soon after, the other woman couldn't take the loneliness and ended up committing suicide using a shotgun, splattering her brains and blood on the tree, standing above the decaying corpse of her lover. It also says that one day, when police showed up on the farm, that a tabby cat popped out of the ground where the bodies of the women were buried and shocked the police enough to distract them from catching the queer people, giving them enough time to escape safely."
Jim stared at Mystery. Mystery stared right back, her eyes reflecting his questions right back to him with an answer that seemed a hell of a lot like 'yes'. Could Mystery really be this queer savior, or whatever she - or they, he guessed - wanted to be called. "Wow," was all Jim could manage.
Dwight nodded and placed the book down on the cluttered tabletop nudged up against the couch. Dwight turned to Mystery and picked up her small paw and shook it, as if saying, 'thank you for what you've done.' Jim couldn't help but smile.