Chapter 13
The workshop door swung open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Talia looked up from the carved joint she'd been smoothing—the third one today, and finally starting to look halfway decent—to find Klaus silhouetted in the doorframe. Something white and furry cradled against his chest.
Her first thought was that he'd brought back meat like he'd promised. Her second thought, as the white bundle shifted and let out a pitiful bleat, was considerably more complicated.
"Is that—"
"A reindeer." He stepped inside, and she got a better look at the blood matting the animal's coat. "A juvenile. The wolves had already begun the kill when I intervened."
"You saved it from wolves?"
“Correct." He moved carefully towards the corner where some old blankets were piled. "It sustained multiple lacerations and muscle damage to the left hind leg. I administered emergency medical treatment but it requires continued care and shelter during its recovery."
She set down her carving, her mind racing through implications she wasn't sure she wanted to examine. Klaus—logical, efficient, always-calculating Klaus—had rescued an injured animal instead of hunting meat. He’d used his advanced medical supplies on it and carried it back here.
They were already stretched thin. Another mouth to feed meant less for all of them. But when he settled the animal carefully onto the blankets something in her chest squeezed tight.
"You couldn't kill it."
It wasn't a question. His shoulders tensed anyway.
"The action would have been logical. The meat would have provided a significant nutritional benefit." His hands continued their gentle adjustment of the reindeer's position. "However, I found myself unable to execute that solution."
"Klaus." She crossed to him, studying the careful way he'd arranged the blankets for maximum comfort, the blood on his coat from carrying the animal. "It's okay."
"It was illogical."
"It was compassionate." She touched his shoulder, felt the tension there. "And honestly? I'm glad you couldn't do it."
His head turned toward her, those startling blue eyes searching her face. "You are not distressed by the additional burden?"
"I'm not going to lie—feeding another mouth won't be easy." She looked at the reindeer, now resting with slightly less labored breathing. "But you saved its life. That matters more than logistics."
"Tandroki teaching would disagree."
"Good thing we're not on Tandrok, then."
Something shifted in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? The emotions crossed his face too quickly for her to categorize before it settled back into his usual controlled mask.
"The animal will require a shelter structure. Temperature regulation is critical during recovery. I will construct an appropriate enclosure tomorrow."
"We can use the old chicken coop. It's been empty since Willem's hens died off last spring." She crouched beside the reindeer, noting the precise placement of what looked like gel patches over its wounds. "What did you use on these cuts?"
"Coagulant compound with integrated antibacterial properties. The tissue regeneration formula will accelerate healing, though some scarring is probable." He pointed to the hind leg. "This injury is most concerning. Muscle damage may result in permanent mobility reduction."
The reindeer's large brown eyes blinked up at them, somehow managing to look both pitiful and grateful simultaneously.
"It needs a name," she said.
"Designating livestock with individual identifiers creates an emotional attachment that complicates future resource allocation decisions."
"You already have an emotional attachment to it. You're just afraid to admit it."
He made a noncommittal sound.
"How about Nimbus?" She stroked the white fur, carefully avoiding the injuries. "He's white and fluffy like a cloud, and you found him during hunting. Seems appropriate."
"Nimbus." He tested the word. "Defined as a luminous cloud or halo around a supernatural being. Also a rain-bearing cloud formation. The etymology suggests—"
"Do you like it or not?"
"I find it... acceptable."
Which was Klaus-speak for yes, that's perfect, she was learning.
Nimbus chose that moment to stretch his neck toward Klaus's hand, his nose pressing against the pale skin. He went very still, like he didn't know what to do with animal affection, and she bit back a smile. "I think he's decided you're his person."
"I am not his—the animal is merely responding to immediate stimuli. I eliminated a threat and reduced his pain. Basic mammalian brain chemistry interprets this as positive association."
"Sure. That's definitely what that is." She stood, brushing off her knees. "I'll get some water and see if I can find anything appropriate for him to eat. You stay here and definitely don't pet him or anything."
"I was not intending to—"
But she was already heading to the house, her smile breaking free now that he couldn't see it.
Klaus, the terrifying alien warrior with retractable claws, had been unable to kill an injured animal.
Klaus, logical and efficient, had administered emergency medicine to a creature that by all rights should have become dinner.
Klaus, who kept surprising her in ways that made her chest feel too tight and her thoughts spiral toward dangerous territory.
Don't, she warned herself. Don't start imagining what it means. Don't read anything into his actions. Don't fall for the alien who'll leave the second his ship is fixed.
But her traitorous heart wasn't listening, hadn't been listening since he'd kissed her back in the workshop. Since he'd started fixing shutters and sealing foundations and looking at her like she mattered.
She filled a bucket with water and grabbed the last of the dried grass Willem had stored for the long-dead chickens. Nimbus might eat it. Or he might need something else entirely. Her knowledge of reindeer dietary requirements was limited to "they eat vegetation" and "lots of it."
One more problem for the pile.
But when she returned to the workshop and found Klaus gently stroking Nimbus's ears while explaining the molecular structure of his medical compounds, that pile of problems felt considerably less heavy.
"Having a good conversation?"
His hand stilled. "I was merely verbalizing the treatment protocol. Studies indicate that vocal patterns can reduce stress in wounded animals."
"Uh-huh." She set down the water and grass. "And the ear-scratching?"
"Tactile stimulation promotes positive neurochemical response."
"You're adorable when you make excuses."
His eyes narrowed. "I am not adorable. I am a trained warrior with confirmed kill statistics across—"
"Adorable and deadly. The combination is very confusing." She crouched beside him again, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "For the record, I like that you saved him. It says good things about your character."
"A Tandroki assessment would conclude it demonstrated inadequate discipline and inappropriate emotional engagement."
"Then the Tandroki assessment can fuck right off."
He blinked. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips, rare enough that it made her breath catch. And beautiful enough that she wanted to trace the shape with her fingers.
Dangerous thoughts. Stop having dangerous thoughts.
"Your vernacular has expanded considerably," he observed.
"Hanging around you is apparently good for my vocabulary." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Though I notice you're still speaking in complete sentences like you're writing a technical manual."
"Precision in communication reduces misunderstanding."
"It also makes you sound like you're narrating a scientific text."
Nimbus dipped his nose into the water bucket, drinking with careful sips. The grass he ignored entirely, which probably meant they'd need to figure out alternative food sources.
Tomorrow's problem.
"I should check on Theo." She stood, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, how easy it would be to lean into his space. "He's been at Martha's all day and I promised to get him before dinner."
"I will remain with Nimbus, and ensure his condition remains stable."
"You're going to bond with that reindeer so hard."
"I am merely providing adequate medical supervision."
"Sure you are." She headed for the door, then paused. "Klaus?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For being the kind of person who saves injured animals instead of the kind who doesn't."
She didn't wait for his response, but she felt his gaze follow her all the way out.
Theo's reaction to Nimbus exceeded even Talia's expectations.
She'd barely finished explaining about the injured reindeer before he was sprinting toward the workshop in an explosion of childlike excitement she hadn't seen in months.
"Really? A real reindeer? Like from the stories?"
"Just like the stories." She followed at a more sedate pace, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Though he's hurt, so you need to be gentle."
But Theo had already burst through the workshop door, his delighted gasp audible even from outside.
By the time she entered, he was kneeling beside Nimbus with Klaus positioned nearby—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to give Theo space.
"He's so soft!" Theo gently stroked the white fur. "And look, he has little antler bumps! Will they grow big?"
"Affirmative." Klaus's attention shifted between Theo and the reindeer, clearly monitoring for stress indicators. "Male reindeer develop full antlers by maturity. However, Nimbus's growth may be impacted by his injuries."
"Nimbus." Theo tested the name with obvious approval. "That's perfect. Hi Nimbus. I'm Theo."
The reindeer's ear twitched. He didn't seem distressed by the attention, which was something.
"Can I help take care of him? Please?" Theo looked up at Klaus with pleading eyes. "I'll be really careful. I promise."