The morning sun cast a soft glow over the garden as you knelt beside Larry, tending to the soil. The air was cool, with the scent of earth and blooming flowers filling your senses. Larry, his bandaged hands careful as he worked, handed you a trowel with a hidden smile behind the layers of cloth that always covered him.

"You know," he began, his voice gentle, "there’s something calming about gardening. It’s like therapy, but with dirt."

You chuckled, taking the trowel from him and starting to dig a small hole for the new plant. "I never thought I’d see you as the gardening type, Larry."

He shrugged, his movements a bit stiff. "It helps me stay grounded—literally and figuratively." He reached for a pot of marigolds, carefully placing them beside you. "Besides, it’s nice to do something normal for a change. No missions, no powers—just us and the plants."