Author's Note: All right, so I actually got the idea for this in my third period class today, when our teacher took us outside and some of the people were complaining about all the weeds growing out there. I actually thought they were pretty and picked some of them (like a total dork, XD).
And that led me to think: what is a weed, exactly? Sure, it's a wildflower that's unwanted, but some of the stereotypical "weeds" I actually like. (Yay, puffy dandelions. XD) So are they really weeds if you do want them around?
And then, that question gave birth in my mind to this (pathetically short) one-shot, set sometime pretty late in the first series (but before Into the Gauntlet). I was also in the mood for writing some Amian, so here you go. :)
Ian Kabra was growing into something different. He realized this the moment his mother started speaking ill of those Cahills, the way she always did after another failed assault on them, and he felt a sudden, dreadful spurt of discomfort down in the pit of his stomach.
"Those filthy Cahill brats are just like weeds," Isabel Kabra spat, and as usual, she said the surname "Cahill" the way one would say a curse word, or the name of some horrible disease. "They're always popping up where they're not wanted."
Why were images of Amy Cahill so quick to break through to the surface of Ian's mind these days? The girl with the long, reddish-brown hair, whose family branch was as of yet unknown but whose clue-hunting skills were undeniable nonetheless. Running, stammering, laughing, looking back over her shoulder. Even glaring at him, though the expression wasn't really very fear-inspiring. He surely was changing, he thought, because he didn't really feel much shame for these thoughts. Only… mild confusion.
"But what constitutes a weed, really, Mum?" he asked. Talking back to his mother- something else that he never used to do. "They're defined as wild plants that no one wants, but honestly, what's considered wanted varies from one person to another, doesn't it?"
Mental images. Twirling, gasping, grinning. A pair of jade green eyes popping wide open in surprise. A tentative smile. Wild, yes, a bit uncultured, but nonetheless not undesirable.
"Sometimes, what one person sees as a weed, you know," he said without thinking, "Another might consider a rather lovely flower. Don't you think? Maybe?"
His mother only scoffed, giving him a rather dubious frown. "Not in the case of those Cahills. What we need is a good herbicide." And she tossed back her long, dark hair and stormed out of the room.
Ian paused, staring after her. "And sometimes," he added in a nearly indiscernible murmur, as if only just realizing it, "The apple does fall far from the tree."
Author's Note: Maybe that's supposed to be when Ian was starting to realize that he wasn't exactly like Isabel after all (thank goodness). Note that this was written in about 5 minutes just now, and I didn't actually proofread it very well, so there might be some mistakes. And maybe it was more cliche than I'd like it to be. And incredibly, devastatingly, inexcusably short.
But I hope you liked it anyway. And please review! :)