Chapter Text
Martin spots it between some branches when he’s trimming the topiary. There was a light rain last night, and the strands of the spider web glisten with lingering raindrops, catching the faint morning light. He stops for a moment to admire it.
It doesn’t really matter if he’s a bit slow with his tasks. The Lukas grounds are large, he has to admit, and it adds up to a lot of work for just one gardener to keep up with, but it means that he doesn’t have any coworkers or superiors to get annoyed at him for getting distracted for a bit. Not even the Lukases themselves are going to notice-- he’s worked here for years now, and the number of times that he’s seen the inhabitants can be counted on one hand. He doesn’t really interact with the staff that takes care of the inside of the house either, so it’s basically just him.
Which is fine. It’s… peaceful.
He peers between the branches at the spiderweb, gently pushing some away to get a better view. He wonders what kind of spider it is, if he can catch a glimpse of it. There aren’t that many types in England, but--
Oh. He doesn’t spot the spider, but there’s something else trapped in the middle of the web. A large moth, its wings splayed helpless and immobile. As he watches, he sees its legs wriggle ineffectually in the air. It’s a surprisingly pitiful sight, making Martin’s heart unexpectedly wrench a bit for the poor thing.
Well, that’s… it’s natural. The natural cycle of life and death. Spiders are important to the ecosystem. They need to eat bugs, and it’s good that they eat bugs, it’s what they’re for. He’s just… being sentimental. The quiet’s getting to him a bit, that’s all.
“Sorry,” he can’t help but apologize to the thing, as silly as it is, and he moves to let go of the branch he’s holding, to go back to work. But then he finally spots it: the spider of the web itself. It’s a big thing, just a little bit bigger than the moth itself. It steps delicately onto the web, and slowly begins to crawl towards the moth, as if it has all of the time in the world. And it does. The moth is stuck, isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The moth seems to realize what’s happening somehow, some animal instinct kicking in. Its wriggling legs and its attempts to flap its trapped wings grow more frantic and hurried at the spider’s placid approach. Desperate.
It’s natural. The cycle of life and death. Like a cat eating a mouse. Like a lion eating a gazelle. Martin likes spiders. It’s not doing anything wrong. It’s just doing what it’s supposed to do. It’s not like he needs to stand here and watch while it happens. He should leave, get back to work. It’s just a moth.
… The poor thing is clearly so scared. As scared as any bug can get, he supposes.
“Oh, screw it,” he says, and impulsively reaches out and plucks the moth out of the web before the spider can reach it. He tears about half of the web to shreds as he does it, and he does feel bad about that, he does. But it can rebuild its web, can’t it? And it can find something else to eat. Something that Martin hasn’t laid eyes on and formed a stupid little emotional attachment to.
He opens up his hand, and looks down at the moth laid out on his palm. It’s still panickedly twitching and squirming, some lingering strands of web tangled in its wings. It’s a big but plain thing. Brown, mostly.
“Shh,” Martin says, as if that’ll help anything at all. “Calm down. You’re out of the web now. Let me just-- yeah, there we go.”
He reaches out with one careful finger and pulls at a trailing strand of web, and manages to pull most of the rest of it off along with it. The moth flaps its wings, and that gets rid of the rest of it too. It stays seated on his palm for another long moment. Martin lifts his hand up a little bit, as if to give it a boost up into the air.
“Come on,” he says encouragingly. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you have… moth things to do?”
Another moment. Martin worries for a moment that maybe its wings are damaged-- and then it lifts off, its wings fluttering as it leaves Martin’s palm, up into the air.
“There you go,” Martin says, smiling, feeling absurdly accomplished at himself for doing something so little, so insignificant.
Well, he’ll take his accomplishments where he can get them. The moth flies off, and Martin gets back to work.