7. Laina
CHAPTER SEVEN
LAINA
The thing about working somewhere new is that you notice when you stop noticing you’re new.
I pulled into the lot Thursday morning, ten days after my first official shift, and realized I’d stopped reciting the gate code before I punched it in. It flew right out of me without thought.
My hands knew which cabinets held which supplies.
My body had learned to reach up instead of across when putting things away, adjusted to orc-height counters that would never get shorter.
I kept a new step stool beside the exam table now, and I filled my mug each morning at the community tea pot in the staff break room.
Small adaptations that added up to belonging.
I cut Bertha’s engine and sat in the quiet while warm light spilled from the facility’s windows. Someone was already inside. Probably Brovish. It was always Brovish.
My phone buzzed.
Sofia has been sitting by the door for twenty minutes, Brovish texted. I told her you’d arrive soon. She didn’t believe me.
I smiled at the screen and texted back, I’m outside right now.
Good.
Just that. But it felt like more.
Inside, the warmth hit first. Then Sofia.
She launched off Brovish’s shoulder before I’d gotten my coat off, a bright streak of orange that collided with my chest hard enough to make me step back.
Her claws latched onto my shirt, and she climbed to my shoulder, settling against my neck with a trill that sounded much too cheerful for this time of the morning.
Brovish stood near the counter, his hair tied back today, watching as I removed my jacket and hung it in the front closet.
“Good morning to you too,” I told Sofia, though my attention kept sliding sideways to him.
“She missed you,” he said.
What about him?
And I wasn’t sure why that question had popped into my head.
“I’m here now.” I reached up and stroked Sofia’s spine, and tried not to think about how Brovish must feel knowing she’d leave him the second I walked through the door.
“She’s a sweetie.” She didn’t bother me one bit.
I headed to the kitchen, Brovish following. My chipped mug sat on my desk, clean and dry, in the same place I’d found it when I arrived yesterday. It had been washed again. I still didn’t know who was doing my dishes.
I really needed to remember to do it myself. I didn’t want to be a bother.
After pouring tea in the break room, I made my own truncated version of rounds.
The medical bay had started to feel like mine, reorganized, labeled, and claimed. I’d learned everyone’s rhythms too. Drogar’s 2am creature videos. Traig’s determination to keep all of us organized. The difference between Greth’s happy and irritated grunts.
I fit here.
That shouldn’t be possible after a week and a half, but it was true anyway.
Sofia rode on my shoulder through morning rounds and while I checked on Cooper, who was healing beautifully.
I tracked down a few mossnibbles, who’d escaped their pen and built a new nest out of Krem’s socks and someone’s left boot.
The vellicharm, Duchess Filandra, tolerated my exam with regal patience before returning to her enclosure with a dismissive flick of her tail.
I made notes in my own small journal, the one I’d started keeping for moments that didn’t fit in the medical files.
Cooper stretched his wing today with apparent comfort.
Mossnibbles stole Traig’s stylus.
Duchess Filandra has opinions about breakfast timing.
Small things. The kind that mattered.
I made the mistake of passing the driftwhisp enclosure on my way back inside.
Steven appeared at the netting before I’d fully reached it. He hovered there, studying me before he located a small gap in the mesh and flew through, landing on my head.
“Good morning, Steven,” I said, holding still.
He arranged his tendrils and settled, adorning me like he had most days since I’d started work at the rescue league.
A second driftwhisp appeared at the netting, poking her head through the gap.
“No,” I said.
She tilted her head.
“One driftwhisp barrette at a time.”
The lady driftwhisp slipped through the gap and hovered in front of my nose before settling just behind my right ear.
I stood in the yard with two driftwhisp ornaments in my hair and realized this was my life now.
When I made it back inside, Brovish stood in the hall, making notes in his journal. He looked up, his gaze traveling to the top of my head. He blinked, his lips quivering.
“They found a gap in the netting,” I said.
“I see that.”
“I told them there wasn’t room for more than one, but this little one,” I stroked her spine, “made up her own mind.”
“They don’t listen well.”
“I’ve gathered.” I strode past him. “I’m going to check on Cooper.”
“Good idea.” He fell into step behind me, and I could feel him not-laughing at the back of my head the entire way down the hall.
Cooper was doing well, and we left his area and stepped back into the hall.
“Do you have time to tour the outdoor enclosures?” Brovish asked. “I haven’t seen a few of them recently and want to make sure they’re alright.”
This would be the first time we’d been alone since the night I’d arrived to treat Cooper. The realization hit sideways, but I nodded.
“I’d like that.”
We walked out together, Sofia still on my shoulder and two driftwhisps bobbing on my head. The spring air smelled like wet earth and the scent of pine swirled around us.
The enclosures stretched about a quarter of a mile away from the back of the property, separated by sturdy fencing and connected by gravel paths. Brovish led me to the first one, where a bloomback grazed near the fence line.
“There’s one of them. This is Iris,” he said. “She came to us last fall. Her previous handler couldn’t care for her anymore after they moved to the city.”
Iris lifted her head, flowers along her spine shifting from pale yellow to soft pink.
“She does that when she’s content,” Brovish said. “The colors change with their emotions. They drop when they’re stressed.”
The bloomback returned to grazing, her movements slow and peaceful.
Brovish strode to the next enclosure, and I followed. Thankfully, he found the others he’d been missing. No need to call the game warden yet.
He talked about each creature the way other people talked about family. Their names, their histories, and what they’d needed when they arrived.
“Gerald came in terrified,” he said, gesturing toward the snugglethorn rearing up on its hind legs to grab leaves from a maple. He dropped to the ground, chewing. “He wouldn’t let anyone near him for three days. Now he seeks out affection.”
I stopped listening to the words somewhere around the fourth enclosure and started listening to his voice instead.
His tone gentled when he said their names. And he used a softer cadence when he described how frightened they’d been and how far they’d come since they’d arrived. He talked about creatures like their fear and recovery mattered in ways that didn’t need justification.
On the way back, we stopped where Gerald was eating from another maple and Brovish unlatched the gate.
“Would you like to touch him?” he asked.
“I would.”
Brovish widened the gate. “Feel welcome. He’s gentle.”
I stepped through and he followed, close enough I felt his body heat. The enclosure wasn’t small, but it suddenly felt like it was. There wasn’t quite enough air.
Gerald turned his head our way and made a low, rumbling sound.
“He wants you to sit,” Brovish said.
I blinked. “How can you tell that?”
“It’s obvious.”
To him, maybe. Not yet to me.
I couldn’t wait until I knew every creature here well enough to tell myself.
“Does he want me to sit here or closer to him?”
“With both of us. He’s particular about his affection. It has to be earned through stillness.”
I strode closer to Gerald and lowered myself to the ground, the dirt cool and slightly damp beneath me. Brovish sat beside me.
Gerald watched us with his dark, placid eyes before nibbling on a dropped maple leaf.
“How long does this usually take?” I asked.
“As long as he needs.”
Sofia peeped from my shoulder and launched herself at Gerald, landing on his broad back. The snugglethorn’s wool rippled, but he didn’t try to move her away.
We sat quietly, and Gerald eventually settled on the ground by our knees.
Brovish’s breathing was steady beside me. I became very aware of my own.
“You’re good at waiting,” I said softly. “Being still. Not needing to fill the silence.”
Gerald shifted, leaning in our direction.
“Where I come from, we’re taught that some creatures can only be reached through patience,” Brovish said. “If you push, they run. If you wait, they come.”
I turned my head and found he was looking down at me.
Gerald chose that moment to rise and stride over to lean against Brovish’s side, which pushed Brovish into me. This knocked me backward, though Brovish caught me with a sweep of one arm, lowering me to the soft grass. He leaned over me, his arms braced on either side of my shoulders.
I stared at his tusks. His very kissable mouth in a shade of green slightly darker than his skin.
“He’s made his decision,” Brovish said.
I blinked. “Decision?”
“About us.”
It was all I could do to remember why we’d sat on the ground. Why we were inside Gerald’s enclosure. My mind kept focusing on Brovish braced above me. If he leaned closer, we could…
Gerald’s purr vibrated through all three of us like we were a single unit.
“Oh,” Brovish said, maybe finally realizing he was leaning over me, almost close enough to kiss or…
“Oh, is right.”
“You probably want me to get off you.”
Actually no.
I mean, yes.
I truly wasn’t sure what I wanted. I’d been attracted to him from the start, but he’d kept things professional, so I’d assumed he wasn’t interested.
“Do you have a mate?” I blurted out.
“Mate?”
“A wife? I thought orcs called wives mates.”
“Yes, mates. But…no. Not yet.”
“Ah, I see.”
If I wasn’t so aware of how much I was enjoying him lying half on top of me, I might laugh.
When Gerald head-butted Brovish’s ass, I did laugh.
He joined in, easing off me, nudging Gerald away.