Chapter 8 #2
Instead, he slowly and carefully pushed himself to a sitting position, testing his body’s response, and turned to face her fully.
She had backed herself into a corner, her arms wrapped around her middle in a gesture that looked almost defensive. Her eyes kept darting to him and then away, like she couldn’t decide whether to watch him or pretend he didn’t exist.
Communication. The need crystallized in his mind with sudden clarity. He had to find a way to talk to her and break through the barrier of language that separated them before she retreated so far he couldn’t reach her at all.
He thought back to the words she’d used. The sounds she’d made when she was feeding him, when she was tending his wounds, and when she was murmuring comfort during his nightmares. His memory was exceptional, one of the gifts that had made him valuable, and he replayed them in perfect detail.
There were patterns in the sounds, recurring elements that suggested meaning. Her language wasn’t so different from the trading tongues he’d learned in his youth, the simplified speech used between species who didn’t share a common origin. He’d learned that. He could learn this.
“Not harm,” he said firmly.
She blinked, her nervous fidgeting stilling. “What?”
“Not harm,” he repeated, and she blinked again.
“You mean you won’t harm me?” The color filled her cheeks again as she dropped her gaze. “I believe you won’t,” she said quietly.
Her trust filled him with satisfaction, but it wasn’t exactly what he meant. He pointed to her. “You. Not harm me. Sleep.”
“Oh. You mean you didn’t mind me sleeping with you?” She finally gave him a slight smile. “Then I guess it’s okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated, savoring the word. He looked around the space, searching for something simple to point at, and landed on the covering on the sleeping platform. He touched it, then looked at her expectantly.
“Blanket,” she said. “That’s a blanket.”
“Blan-ket.” The syllables felt strange on his tongue, but his mind filed them away automatically, connecting the sound to the object.
She took a small step closer, her posture loosening slightly. “You want to learn words?”
He didn’t understand the full question, but her tone was encouraging, and she was no longer pressed against the wall like she expected him to attack. Progress.
He pointed at the sleeping platform.
“Bunk. Or bed, I guess. They’re sort of the same thing.”
“Bed.” Easier than blanket. He pointed at the lights above them.
“Lights.”
“Lights.” He pointed at the wall.
“Wall.”
“Wall.” He pointed at her again, then touched his own eyes and made a questioning sound.
She frowned for a moment, then understood. “Eyes. These are eyes.” She pointed at his. “Your eyes are… very blue.”
Blue. A color word. He filed it away. “Eyes. Blue.”
A small laugh escaped her—the first genuine sound of amusement he’d heard from her—and the effect on him was immediate and devastating. He wanted to hear that sound again. He wanted to do whatever it took to make her produce it.
“You’re fast,” she said, moving closer still. “Picking up words, I mean. That’s… that’s really fast.”
He didn’t understand all of it, but he could parse from context. She was commenting on his speed of acquisition. And she was right—he was learning quickly. More quickly than should have been possible, even accounting for his natural gifts. Another thing to file away for later examination.
Greatly daring, he reached out and brushed his finger lightly next to her eye, pulling it back immediately, even though he wanted to linger on the softness.
“Eyes. Jaz?”
“Oh. My eyes are brown.”
Color had tinted her cheeks again, but she didn’t pull away. For a moment he considered asking for other, even more interesting words, but he didn’t want to frighten her. Instead, he pointed at the device she’d been using to examine him.
“Scanner. Medical scanner.”
“Scanner.” He pointed at the entrance to the small space.
“Door.”
“Door.” He pointed at the swirling clouds of ice beyond the small window.
“Storm. That’s the storm. It’s been going for days.”
Storm. That word resonated somewhere deep, connected to memories that felt like they belonged to someone else. Storms were dangerous. Storms required shelter. Storms could kill. But she had given him shelter and kept him safe while the storm raged outside.
He met her eyes, trying to convey something that words—even if he’d had them—couldn’t quite capture. Gratitude, yes, but more than that. An acknowledgment of what she’d done, what she’d risked, by bringing him here instead of leaving him to die.
“Jaz,” he said, and then reached for a word he thought he’d heard her use, hoping he was remembering correctly. “Thank… you?”
Her eyes widened. She smiled again, but softer this time, as if he’d given her a gift instead of simply speaking two words.
“You’re welcome,” she said quietly. Then she cleared her throat, her professional demeanor reasserting itself. “You’re welcome. That’s what you say when someone thanks you.”
“Welcome.” He filed it away with the rest. “You are… welcome.”
She laughed again, that small surprised sound, and shook her head. “That’s—close. But usually you don’t say that unless someone says ‘thank you’ first. It’s a response, not a… never mind. We’ll work on it.”
Work on it. He understood enough of that to know it was a promise of future interactions.
Of more words, more learning, and more chances to hear her laugh.
He found himself smiling at the thought, an expression that felt rusty and unfamiliar on his face, and watched her eyes widen at the sight of it.
“Food?” he tried, gesturing towards the area where she’d prepared meals before. His healing body was ravenous, demanding fuel for the repairs it was still conducting.
Her expression shifted to something almost embarrassed.
“Right. Yes. Food. You should eat. You need to eat, actually—you’re healing so fast, you must be burning through calories like crazy.
” She moved towards the food preparation area, then paused and looked back at him.
“Can you walk? Should you even be sitting up?”
He understood enough of that to respond.
Slowly, carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and planted his feet on the floor.
His body protested—his muscles stiff, his joints aching, and the wound in his side pulling tight—but held.
He rose, one hand braced against the wall, and straightened to his full height.
The space was too small for him. He’d known that intellectually, but standing made it viscerally clear.
His head nearly brushed the ceiling, and even with his wings tucked tight against his back, he still seemed to fill half the available room.
She stared up at him with an expression caught somewhere between awe and alarm. “You’re really tall.”
Tall. Another word for his growing vocabulary. “Yes. Tall.” He took a careful step towards her, testing his balance. Another. His body cooperated, though not without complaint.
She watched him approach with wide eyes, but she didn’t retreat. She just stood her ground as he crossed the small space to where she stood, his shadow falling over her like an embrace.
He stopped an arm’s length away and looked down at her—so small, so fierce, so impossibly brave—and he felt something shift in his chest. Something that felt like the first crack in ice that had been frozen solid for as long as he could remember.
“Food,” he said again, softer this time. Then he carefully reached out and touched her hand. A gesture of connection rather than demand. “Please?”
The word tasted right. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. Her breath caught. Her hand trembled slightly under his touch, but she didn’t pull away.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice strange and slightly breathless. “Food. Coming right up.”
She turned away, busying herself with the strange containers and devices that somehow produced meals, and he watched her with a focus that bordered on predatory.
He was going to learn her language. All of it. Every word, every nuance, every subtle shade of meaning. And then he was going to find out why his heart beat faster every time she smiled.