Chapter Text
Day One
“Please, sit, Mister de Worde.”
William looked at the man behind the desk and then across the room, to where Commander Vimes was standing at the window and leaning casually against the frame, his back to the pair as he stared out at the city.
He sat, cautiously. “Why am I here, sir?”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “You have left eighteen messages requesting an interview since the Selachii trial. I have simply decided to grant you your request.”
William blinked, and his hand moved quickly to pull out his notebook and pencil. “Why? What changed your mind?”
Vetinari sighed, and glanced at the clock. “You have…six minutes, Mister de Worde. My patience is limited. Choose your questions carefully.”
“Fine.” William licked his lips as he thought. “Those comments at the trial; were they intentional? Did you mean to imply what you did?”
Vetinari looked at him evenly. “Do you believe I am in the habit of speaking incautiously, Mister de Worde? Those words were as carefully chosen as any others I may utter.”
“So, what people are saying is correct? You have…relations…with men, instead of women?” William glanced over at the commander, but the man was still paying them no apparent mind.
Vetinari allowed a beat to pass, then said, “Relationships, rather than relations. And not instead of; as well as.”
“You have had relationships with men, though, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Many?”
Vetinari frowned slightly. “Two.”
William paused, and tapped his pen on his notebook. “Are you in such a relationship currently?”
Another beat. “Yes.”
William stared at him, and Vetinari looked back calmly. The journalist took a deep breath. “Is your current relationship with Commander Vimes?”
Across the room Vimes turned around, folded his arms and leaned casually back against the window ledge.
“Yep,” he said.
Vetinari inclined his head.
William leapt to his feet and pointed at the pair. “I knew it! You made me print a damned retraction last year. I knew that tip was right.”
Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “Sit down, Mister de Worde. And be glad you have the kind of ruler who merely demanded the article be removed, and not your head.” He paused. “Feel free to print that.”
William looked over at Vimes, who was giving him a nasty little grin. He sat back down and frowned, shaking his head. “Of course. How progressive of you, my lord.” He sighed, then glanced up at the clock and flipped irritably to a new page of his notebook. “Right. How long has this been going on, then? Is this why your marriage to Lady Sybil ended, Commander?”
Vimes scowled. “No. And that’s none of your damned business.”
Vetinari continued. “We will not be answering any questions on the private details of our relationship. You may be assured that things will continue as they always have for the citizens of the city. That remains our primary concern.”
“But this is a huge risk, isn’t it? The two most powerful people in the city, in a relationship? What happens when it ends…?”
Vetinari shrugged. “I will have the Commander thrown into the dungeons. Or he will have me thrown in one of his cells, again. Perhaps we will have each other beheaded. Who knows?” William’s eyes widened. Vetinari watched it happen and looked vaguely amused, then continued. “Or, Mister de Worde, we will put our differences aside as adults and work it out. I am assured these things are possible. Commander Vimes and Lady Sybil maintain a very amicable relationship, as I’m sure you are aware.” He looked up at the clock. “And I’m afraid your time is up, sir.”
William finished scribbling and then tapped his notebook again, looking badly like he wanted to ask more and debating whether to push his luck. Finally Vimes cleared his throat pointedly, and the journalist stood slowly. “Alright. I’ll be running an early afternoon edition, so this will hit the stands by three. Front page, of course. I’m only telling you as a courtesy, because wild trolls couldn’t make me retract this again. My lords.”
“Of course,” Vetinari said. “We are aware of how this works, Mister de Worde. You would not be here if we were at all likely to have a change of heart.”
William registered the ‘we’, and looked at Vimes. “Any final comments from yourself, Commander?”
“Yes. You can tell anyone who has a problem with any of it that I can be found at Pseudopolis Yard most days between nine and ten am, and that I would be happy to discuss it with them. Man to man, as it were.” He grinned brightly.
William glanced back at Vetinari, who gave him a look that seemed to indicate amused tolerance; a ‘what can you do?’ kind of expression. William felt himself blush slightly, and scribbled that quickly on his pad before tucking it away into his pocket.
“I doubt very much anyone would be foolish enough to take you up on your offer, Commander.” He thought for a long moment, then gave a small cough. “Off the record, I think this is…a very brave step. I’ve got my concerns, of course, about the specifics. But the principle, I think, will be very…reassuring…for a lot of people who have, um. Let’s say, less traditional kinds of relationships.”
The two men stared at him, then Vetinari said, “Let us hope so. Now, please; don’t let us detain you.”
William grinned. “Right. Thank you both.”
He walked fairly sedately until he was out of sight of the pair, then gradually increased his speed until finally he was running down Broad Way towards the press, headline ringing in his ears the whole way;
VETINARI’S TERRIER: NOT JUST MAN’S BEST FRIEND!!!
Day Two
Boggis wasn’t at the guild meeting. Whiteface was, though, and Vimes suspected the greasepaint was hiding a pallid complexion beneath the grim countenance.
He looked down the table from his position at the far end. The Times had run its story the day before, and none of the men had managed to meet his eye yet.
Rosie Palm, however, had breezed confidently in five minutes ago, and greeted him enthusiastically before sitting beside him and pointedly ignoring the rest of the attendees.
Finally Vetinari swept in. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” He sat down at the head of the table. “Shall we press on? I have an engagement at three.”
There was silence from everyone. The men around the table all looked at each other.
“Very well.” Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “In the interests of getting out of here before Hogswatch; does anybody have any questions regarding the article in the Times, yesterday…?”
Every head at the table swivelled to look at Vimes, who grinned brightly at them. The heads turned back to stare at Vetinari again; all, that is, except for that of Downey, who continued looking at Vimes for a few more seconds with a smug smile plastered on his face.
Vimes narrowed his eyes, but that just made the man’s grin widen a fraction, and then the assassin finally turned away.
Slant gave a cough so dry dust sprayed the air. “Is it true then, my lord?”
Vetinari gave him a sharp smile. “Yes.”
The zombie frowned. “Sir, the legal aspects of a Patrician maintaining an intimate relationship with the Commander of the Watch - ”
“Are non-existent, sir,” Vetinari interrupted. “The last time there was a Commander of the Watch, the city had a king.” He paused. “I needn’t remind you how that ended.”
The heads turned silently back to Vimes, who gave them another grin. The heads swivelled sharply back.
Vetinari continued. “So, there were no laws made to address a situation that could not exist. In any event -” he sat back slightly and waved a hand, “- if there were any such laws, as patrician it would be within my remit to remove them. Along with anything else that needed removing, I suggest.”
Slant tapped a finger on the table for a minute, then evidently decided not to risk finding out what else could be removed. “Ah. Of course, my lord.”
Vetinari looked around the table. “Excellent. Any further questions?”
Finally Mr Burleigh gave a delicate cough. “Is Mister Boggis not joining us…?”
Vetinari gave a bright, brittle smile. “No. Mister Boggis is spending some time thinking carefully about his future within the city. Although that does lead nicely onto our first agenda item.” He looked around at them all. “So. Would anyone else like to own up to plotting a coup against me…?”
Vimes snorted.
The silence around the table was now so dense it would have pulled small asteroids into its orbit, had any drifted by at that particular moment.
“Capital. In which case; shall we move on? I believe we were going to once again going to discuss the traffic on Broad Way, if, indeed, we can stand the excitement.” Vetinari looked up, and met Vimes’ gaze. “Commander, would you care to tell us exactly what you’re planning to do to address this issue?”
The heads swivelled back to him.
Some things never change, Vimes thought.
Thankfully .
“Right. Well, sir…”
Day One Hundred and Eighty Six
“No, what I’m saying is, what would happen if I arrested both of ‘em.” Vimes had to stride to keep up with Vetinari as they walked down the corridor to the Oblong Office.
Vetinari sighed. “Vimes, I’m failing to see what crime has been committed.” They reached the door, and Vimes held it open automatically for the other man. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at him, but slipped in past him and headed for his desk.
“Annoying the bloody Commander of the Watch, for a start.” Vimes followed behind, and then something caught his eye and he stopped. “New chairs…?”
Vetinari sat and glanced over towards the window, where two comfortable looking armchairs were placed around a low table. “Yes. You looked uncomfortable in the old ones.”
“Oh.” Vimes was momentarily lost for words. Vetinari filled the silence.
“If we arrested everyone who annoyed you, Vimes, I fear we would quickly run out of people to actually keep the city running.”
Vimes frowned vaguely, then crossed over and sat in one of the chairs; there were even footstools. And a cushion. He shuffled a bit, then put his feet up and looked over at the other man. “You got this for me?”
“Well, you are spending a lot of your time here in one capacity or another. It seemed a sensible investment, since I know how obstinate you become when you’re in a bad mood.”
“Ha! You think this’ll help?”
Vetinari gave him a sharp smile. “I suspect not, however, one must live in hope, Vimes.”
Vimes opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
There was silence. Vetinari sighed. “Drumknott, you may enter.”
Drumknott came in, peering carefully around the door first. “Ah. Sorry, sir. I knew the Commander was here…”
“Yes, yes. What did you want, Drumknott?”
“I have something that requires a signature urgently, sir. And the files you requested.”
Vimes only half listened to the rest of the conversation. There was a copy of the Times folded on the arm of the chair and he picked it up and leafed through it, noting that the crossword had already been completed. He grinned to himself.
Finally Drumknott finished and slipped back out. The patrician pulled a file from the stack and passed it silently over to Vimes, then took another for himself and started leafing through it.
Vimes read the file, jotting a few corrections and suggestions as he went. For a while the only sounds were the soft rustling of paper, the ticking of the clock and the patter of rain against the window.
Eventually, a maid appeared with a tray of tea and placed it down in front of Vimes. He put the file down and poured them each a cup, then quietly put Vetinari’s beside his elbow. The patrician glanced at it, and then looked up at him with vague amusement.
“Thank you, Vimes.”
Vimes gave an embarrassed grunt. He sat back down and opened another file, then closed it again as something occurred to him. “Anyway, you make the damned laws. One word from you and annoying me would be a bloody offence.”
Vetinari didn’t look up from his work. “I fear, Vimes, that creating an offence specifically of ‘annoying the patrician’s paramour’ might only give further credence to the nepotism accusations.”
Vimes winced. “Paramour ? Is that what we’re calling me?”
“Would you prefer lover, perhaps? Consort? Boyfriend?”
The other man looked horrified. “Good gods, no. I’m nearly bloody fifty.”
Vetinari smiled slightly. “ Beau, then? Or swain? Or the preternaturally inoffensive partner… ?”
Vimes stared off into the distance for a minute. “Those are all bloody awful.”
“Indeed.”
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I suppose the advantage of paramour is that no bugger else will know what you’re on about.”
Vetinari carefully turned a page in the file he was reading. “You may be underestimating the public’s skills with the language, I’m afraid, Vimes. After all, you knew what I was talking about.”
Vimes scowled at him. “Alright, Mister 'I-went-to-the-Assassin’s-school -and-specialised-in-bloody-languages'.”
The patrician raised a careful eyebrow. “Are you finished with that report?”
Vimes grunted and re-opened the file.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
Day Three Hundred and Ninety Two
From his position by a pillar, Vimes watched several hundred foreign dignitaries coast about the ballroom like ancient warships.
He was dimly aware of a figure materialising beside him, smelling faintly of cloves.
“Evening, Commander Vimes.”
“Evening, Mister Ahmed.”
The D’reg pulled out a cigar holder and offered the other man one. Vimes accepted, then sniffed it cautiously. “Pantweeds?”
“Yes, Commander Vimes. I always pick up a few cases when I come to the city.” He paused, and stared at the crowd as Vimes lit the cigar and took a puff. “Your good lady wife is not with you tonight…?”
Vimes turned and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play the bloody fool with me, Mister Ahmed. You know damned well we divorced a year ago. And I’d bet a hundred dollars you know why. So if you’ve got something to say about it, then spit it out.”
71-Hour Ahmed smiled. “Sorry, Commander. Of course I am aware. I simply wished to see your reaction, to be frank.”
Vimes grunted. Vetinari came into view across the room, and the two men watched him for a while.
“I have to be honest, I can’t say I saw this one coming, Commander. Though now I see why you disliked the term master .”
Vimes picked up a glass of something that looked like fruit juice from a passing tray, and took a cautious sip, then a mouthful. “Illegal in Klatch, isn’t it?” he asked, ignoring the master comment.
Ahmed shrugged. “Technically, although only, of course, if you’re caught. But I attended school here, remember? So I have a somewhat more…liberal view.”
Vimes looked sideways at him. “You went to the Assassin’s. From what Vetinari tells me about his school days, I imagine you certainly do.”
The D’reg grinned. “Lot of it about, there, certainly.”
Vetinari had spotted them, and now he maneuvered his way through the crowd and took up position next to Vimes. “Ah. Good evening, Mister Ahmed.”
“Your lordship. I hope you’re not working Commander Vimes here too hard.”
Vimes scowled and took another mouthful of juice, but Vetinari smiled. “Not nearly as hard as he would like me too, I suspect, sir.”
There was a coughing as Vimes choked on his drink, and tried unsuccessfully not to spray it over his shirt. Ahmed let out a hearty laugh.
“Ah, very good, Lord Vetinari. Very good. If you will excuse me, though, I will go and make the acquaintance of some of the ladies and gentlemen by the buffet, and leave you two to…catch up.”
They watched him wander off, and Vimes put his cigar out in what was left of the juice and gave it to a nearby waiter, who failed to hide his distaste at what he’d been handed. Then he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed ineffectually at his damp shirt. Vetinari watched him for a moment before taking the handkerchief from his hand, and using it to wipe some of the sticky liquid from where it had somehow landed on Vimes’ neck.
Vimes stared at him. A few people in their orbit glanced over, and then fairly swiftly looked away.
Vetinari finished wiping and finally noticed his expression. He handed back the handkerchief. “I was not going to let you parade around all night looking as though you were unable to find your own mouth, Vimes. Not when you now reflect on me .”
Vimes blinked. “Fine. But I thought you said no funny stuff when we were at work.”
The patrician looked vaguely surprised. “It’s after ten pm, Vimes. I think you can consider yourself off duty.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course.”
Was that a glint, in Vetinari’s eye…?
Vimes could see people watching them curiously, and not half as subtly as they probably thought they were. He felt his rebellious streak raise its head.
“Alright. Good.” He reached out a hand and grabbed the front of Vetinari’s robe, and tugged; firmly enough to get the man moving, but not so firmly that Vetinari couldn’t stop him if he wanted.
But he didn’t try to, and so that was how Vimes ended up kissing the tyrant of Ankh Morpork in front of an audience of fairly startled dignitaries.
After a few seconds he was dimly aware of a hush spreading across the closest spectators. He pulled back and felt his cheeks burn, then from somewhere deep within the crowd came a good natured heckle.
He scowled, blushing harder. Vetinari was looking at him with amusement.
He coughed. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologise, Vimes.” The other man raised an eyebrow. “I think, perhaps, it may be time for us to retire for the evening, however…?”
The glint was back, and before he could say another word Vimes had his hand on the small of Vetinari’s back and was guiding him swiftly through the crowd.
Day Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Seventy Five
Vimes would be the first to admit he wasn’t really a wedding person, but he supposed it was always going to be a bit different when it was your son getting married.
As it was, he’d wiped a couple of sneaky tears away during the vows, using a handkerchief Vetinari had handed him, and given himself a stern talking to. By the time the ceremony was over and there was just the party left to survive, he had almost entirely recovered his gruff exterior.
The happy couple were glowing. He’d kissed his new daughter-in-law on the cheek and given Sam a hug; Vetinari - Uncle Havelock, to Young Sam - had shaken hands and offered congratulations, and then the newlywed pair had vanished off into the crowd to mingle.
Sybil had glided up to Vimes and Vetinari, looking incredible in a pale blue gown decorated with thousands of tiny diamantes, her hand resting lightly on the arm of a gentleman wearing a matching cummerbund and looking, to Vimes’ eye, remarkably happy about it.
“Sam, Havelock. You remember Roger, don’t you?”
Vimes did remember Roger; he was the Earl of…somewhere…and he had a sneaking suspicion that Vetinari had played some part in introducing him to Sybil. He put out his hand, and the man shook it.
“Of course. Roger. Thank you for coming.”
“Congratulations, Your Grace; Lord Vetinari.” Vetinari inclined his head, and Roger continued. “Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”
Vimes grimaced. “Yes. Mind you, for what it cost it wants to have bloody been.”
Sybil scowled playfully at him. “Now, Sam. Hopefully we’ll only be doing it the once.”
Roger looked confused. “I thought it was traditionally the bride's parents who paid for the wedding?”
Sybil dropped her voice. “Emma’s mother wasn’t in any position to pay for it, poor thing. Of course Sam would have been happy with any old thing, but I think a girl deserves a nice wedding.”
Vimes watched as Roger beamed at her, and then someone called to the earl from across the room. “Ah. Excuse me, everyone.” He patted Sybil’s hand and slipped off through the crowd, while Sybil watched him.
Her eyes were sparkling almost as much as the dress, Vimes mused.
“You two, er. Official, then?”
She looked back at him, blushing slightly. “Well, yes; I suppose. We’re talking about moving in together.”
Vimes blinked. “Into Scoone Avenue?”
“Yes.” She peered at him, and saw his expression. “You haven’t lived there for fifteen years, dear. You live in a palace, remember?”
Vimes frowned and shuffled uncomfortably, and looked at Vetinari, who provided no backup at all. “I mean, I know. But…”
“I think it is an excellent idea, my lady.”
Sybil smiled broadly. “Thank you, Havelock.” There was a brief commotion somewhere by the buffet, and Sybil peered across the crowd. “Oh, drat. Someone’s dropped a salmon. Excuse me, both of you.” She set sail across the floor, the guests parting like the sea before her.
Vimes turned back to face Vetinari, his brow furrowed. “You did have the clerks look into him before you introduced them, didn’t you?”
“Of course, Vimes. The worst that could be said of him is that he is slightly dull, but I understand he is home every night for tea and is very rarely called upon to perform high stakes rooftop chases by moonlight. He keeps bees.”
Vimes considered this. “Alright, but isn’t she bored ?”
“I suspect, like most people, she has found that it is a trade off; a small amount of boredom may seem like a fair deal in exchange for knowing your partner is unlikely to be murdered by criminals, slavers, insane golems or radicalised dwarves.”
Vimes stared after her. “That’s hardly fair. There was only one insane golem.”
“Nevertheless. I anticipate we may be getting an invitation to another wedding, shortly.”
He blinked. “Surely not. Who gets married in their sixties?”
“People who are in love, Vimes, I imagine.”
Vimes turned to look at him. “Did you ever want to get married?”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “Is that a proposal, Commander?”
The other man narrowed his eyes. “You know damned well it was just a question.”
Vetinari shrugged. “No. It never appealed. I presumed you felt the same, since you never brought it up.”
Vimes grimaced, and took a sip of his drink. “Gods, no. I was a terrible husband. I’ve got no desire to be a contractually-bound disappointment ever again.”
“Then I’m curious; why did you ask?”
Vimes shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I mean, if you had wanted to, I suppose I could have…reconsidered.”
Vetinari stared at him for a long moment, until the other man started to blush under the intensity of the gaze. Finally Vetinari reached out and cupped his face with a hand, then stepped in and brushed their lips together. Vimes kissed back, and for a whole minute managed to forget they were in public.
Finally Vetinari pulled away, though remained close enough for Vimes to feel the heat coming from him.
Vimes gave a small cough. “I would, you know. If you wanted to.”
“Thank you, Vimes. I believe the reason we have survived so long together, however, is because I would not ask you to.”
Vimes shrugged. “You never ask me for anything, really. Outside of the job, anyway. You can, you know, though. I’m not going anywhere.”
Vetinari gave a small smile. “In that case, Vimes...would you join me for a dance?”
The other man winced. “Sure. I suppose it's cheaper than a wedding.” He sighed and held out a hand. “Come on, then.”
Vetinari took the proffered hand, and then they went and joined the crowd on the dance floor, and Vetinari got not one, but two dances; because if you couldn't dance at your son's wedding, when could you...?
Day Seven Thousand, Three Hundred and Eighty Four
“Do you recall that you once told me I could ask you for anything, Vimes?” Vetinari asked.
They were sitting on a sunny veranda, looking out across the palace gardens whilst eating breakfast. The scent of lilacs filled the air; both men had sprigs pinned to their clothes and a few had been placed in a small vase on the table. A few fat, slow bees were crawling over the nearby flowers.
Vimes looked up from his eggs, and frowned. “At Sam’s wedding? Yes, I remember.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why? What are you going to ask for?”
Vetinari sipped his black tea. “I have been considering…retirement.”
The other man blinked. “Really? Retirement? I didn’t think that would be your thing.”
The patrician sighed. “We’re getting old, Vimes. I can feel myself getting slower. It took me twenty minutes to solve the Times crossword, yesterday.” He raised an eyebrow, and Vimes fought down a grin.
“Twenty minutes? Might as well take you out back and shoot you now.”
“Quite. Anyway. It made me think; the Undertaking is complete. The city is running with the bare minimum of my input; Lipwig handles most of it now. No one has tried to kill either of us for years. It might be time to formally hand over the reins, as it were.”
Vimes sat back, his eggs forgotten. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t wrong, Vimes thought; the city was flourishing. Obviously it wasn’t perfect - the Shades was still the Shades, although it was shrinking a little more each year and the murders were occurring further and further apart. Ankh-Morpork was no longer the carbuncle on the arse of the continent; it was now merely a moderately-sized pimple. But the Undertaking had proven a success, after a rocky few years, and now they had ambassadors and engineers from across the Disc coming to look at it and taking ideas back to their own cities. And any engineer who had trained in Ankh-Morpork would have his choice of jobs anywhere in the world; Young Sam and his wife were currently working on some project over in Genua.
“Right. So you hand over to Moist and then…what? What would you do?” The thought of the city without Vetinari at the helm was…well, he couldn’t imagine it.
“I thought, perhaps, some travel. There is talk that the railway will soon stretch to the Counterweight Continent.”
Vimes stared, dimly aware that his mouth was slightly open. He closed it. “Oh.”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “A compelling point, Vimes.”
He scowled. “Well, you’ve kind of sprung it on me. And I know you’ve been up for six bloody hours already, but some of us still sleep past 3am.” He rubbed his face. “So what were you going to ask?”
“I’d have thought it obvious, Vimes. I was hoping you would retire also, and join me.”
Vimes looked at him from across the congealing eggs, and tried to come up with some sort of sensible response.
He couldn’t retire. He’d once told Vetinari the city was in his blood and under his skin, and that was as true now as it was then.
But… but. The other man was right. He wasn’t getting any younger, and Carrot had taken over most of the day to day running of things in the Watch. The lad was definitely due a promotion, and there was only one place he could go, since he seemed as determined to stick around the city as Vimes was.
Could he retire…?
Vetinari was watching him carefully. He floundered for something to say.
“I always thought I’d die on the job, to be honest.”
“A cheerful prospect, indeed. However, I would encourage you to consider one possible alternative; that of dying peacefully in your comfortable bed at an advanced age.”
“With you by my side?” Vimes gave a wan grin.
“Preferably, yes.”
Twenty years, Vimes thought. Twenty years and he can still make my pulse race with two bloody words.
There was a buzzing nearby as a bee alighted briefly on the vase of lilac. Vimes stared at it for a moment, lost in thought, before wafting it gently away with his napkin.
They watched it fly off together, quietly, then Vimes said, “Alright.”
Vetinari looked back at him, an expression of faint surprise on his features. “Was that a yes?”
Vimes was transported back, suddenly, to Vetinari’s office, the night he’d turned up and asked him to try again. “Yes , Havelock.”
Vetinari sat back in his chair, and smiled; one of those rare and genuine smiles that made his eyes crinkle slightly, and that Vimes was fairly sure no one else but him ever got to see.
“That surprised you, didn’t it?” he said.
“Yes. I had anticipated you would take much more persuasion.”
He shrugged, and grinned. “Well, you really sold it to me with the dyin’ in bed thing.”
Vetinari’s hand was resting on the table beside his tea, and now Vimes reached over and covered it with his own. Vetinari carefully interlaced their fingers, and then he brought Vimes’ hand to his mouth and laid a soft kiss on his knuckles.
Then, hand in hand, they sat for a while, and watched the bees.