He wanted her. He wanted her so badly. He needed her to come out and say it was okay again. He needed her to assure him that everything was going to be okay. If she didn't...if she didn't, he would go completely crazy. He was almost certain of it. He'd go crazy, and who knew what would happen if he went crazy. Well, except everyone knew, 'cause they'd seen Orc when he was drunk.

But anyway.

Orc stood, swaying slightly, in front of Astrid's house. He looked blearily up to the dark window, where just inside Astrid soundly slept. His teeth were clenched, and his gravel-covered fists were shaking. He lurched to the front door and tried his best to give it a gentle tap -

The door flew off its hinges with a loud bang, skidding crazily across the floor in chunks and shards. Orc stared at the splintered wood, eyes unfocused. Slowly, he looked up at the ceiling. The second floor. Where Astrid was. Astrid.

That got him focused again. Orc walked over the door, wood crunching beneath his stony feet, and searched for the stairs. It was hard to see in the dark, though. He finally managed to find a railing, and gripped it gently, carefully. It creaked under the weight of his fingers, but didn't break apart. Good.

Suddenly, a voice. "Whoever you are, I have a baseball bat and I'm not afraid to use it." The voice was low and husky with sleep, but it was distinctly female. Orc stared at the railing beneath his fingers, wide-eyed. He recognized that voice.

"Astrid!" he said stupidly.

There was a pause. Then, shuffling footsteps. And then the voice came again, softer, and more hesitant this time. "Orc?"

It took a few minutes to register that she had said anything. "Yeah. S'me," slurred Orc.

There was another pause, and Orc was wondering if she had somehow gone away when she uttered, "I'm coming down, Orc."

"Okay." The boy monster lurched unsteadily away from the rail, crunching another piece of door while doing so. He looked at the debris in alarm, as if he had just realized what that crunch meant. When did that happen? Did he do that?

Orc tried his best to shove the splintered wood away from him and Astrid, feeling shame and guilt riddle him far too strongly for him to be quite as drunk as he was before. "I need a drink," Orc mumbled to no one in particular.

"Why did you come here?" asked Astrid, deciding to ignoring what he had just said. Orc nearly jumped in surprise. He didn't know she was so fast at walking. Then again, his perception of time got blurry when he was drunk.

Orc blinked, trying to will the cogs and gears of his sluggish mind to start grinding properly again. "What?"

"Why are you here, Orc?" She didn't sound mad. That was good, Orc noticed - just tired and confused, which made sense. Anyone would be confused if a drunk rock monster had stomped into their home and plowed down their door in the middle of the night. He couldn't gauge how close she was to him. If only he could see.

"I - " Orc hiccuped. Without warning, tears sprung to his eyes and raced down the crevices in his gravel-covered face. "I'm drunk, Astrid."

"Oh."

"I...I need another drink."

"Why?"

"Because..." Orc tried to find the words, but his mind had become slippery with the effects of the alcohol, and the words were sliding away from him. He put his hands to his face, moving his fingers to gently graze the last patch of human skin he had left. He felt lost, confused, suddenly. Why had he come here? "I need another drink," he repeated, more helplessly.

"You won't be getting any beer around here," said Astrid severely. "You know how Sam feels about alcohol, Charles."

Charles. She had called him Charles. Orc felt the tears roll faster down his cheeks. He tried to stifle a weighty sob, but it rose in his throat, unbearably painful, and cut through the silence like a knife as it tore into the open air.

"Charles?" Astrid sounded stunned. "Orc? I-...is that - " She cut herself off abruptly. "Come on. We'll talk in the other room." Orc could hear the soft pitter-patter of bare feet on the floor. He followed them, lumbering and loud, until the pitter-patter stopped. The sound of a drawer opening and closing issued from somewhere close to him, and -

Fwoom. A match was struck with a bright, flickering flame, bathing Astrid's face in a soft orange light. She said to him, almost gently, "Go ahead and sit. On the floor, please." Orc grunted his compliance and stumbled over to a portion of the room not occupied by a table or counters, squatting uncomfortably in the dark. The only source of light came from Astrid's match, which she was using to light an old, chipped camping lantern she had apparently found in a nearby cupboard. When it was lit, she walked over to him and set the lantern down.

Orc was drunkenly mesmerized by the flame, and the shadows it threw. It illuminated his rock-covered hands and created shadows of all kinds - on his thick, sturdy gravel legs, on the floor, on the various curves and contours of Astrid's figure, softened by the lacy white nightgown she wore. Orc found himself staring at Astrid instead of the flame, her body was so abruptly thrown into sharp relief. His eyes traveled slowly down, eking out the little shadows and grooves of her shoulders and stomach and long, slim legs. It was funny, Orc thought slowly. He wouldn't have dared to look at her that way if he was sober.

Orc looked away, a sudden heat warming all over his rocky skin.

He had a funny feeling it wasn't from the booze.

Astrid sat next to him, cautiously. She folded her legs beneath her, smoothing down the front of her nightgown in a nervous fashion. Orc didn't notice. His large hands were twiddling with each other, fingers lacing in and out of each other frantically. Astrid waited a little while, hesitant to start a conversation when most likely he wouldn't respond. To her surprise, Orc mumbled not long after she had sat down, "Sorry."

"For what?" Astrid wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Orc swung his huge head to look at her, eyes glazed with drink. His expression, like always, was solemn and slightly sad, mouth turned in a perpetual frown. "'Bout the door." He jerked his head toward the barely-illuminated hallway, where the shards of broken door - and the dark night outside - could only just be seen.

Astrid frowned, frustration building up in her throat, as she squinted, trying to surmise the damage without getting up and upsetting Orc by making it seem like a big deal. But it is a big deal, Astrid thought to herself. It wouldn't be able to be repaired, and leaving an entrance open and unguarded in the FAYZ was idiotic and dangerous. They'd probably have to move houses, her and Sam.

"That...that's okay, Orc," said Astrid, trying to sound sympathetic. "We all make mistakes."

"Yeah," Orc grunted, eyes drifting away from her. His head swung back to look at the lantern. It was a while before they spoke again.

"I...I came here, because...'cause..." Again, Orc struggled to find the words. Suddenly, he felt the strange warmth of Astrid's trembling hand lightly touch his shoulder.

"It's okay, Charles. You don't have to - "

"I came here because," the boy monster blurted in a rush, "I wanted to - to see you."

A pause. "In the middle of the night?"

Another pause.

"...Yeah."

Yet another. "Sorry if I woke you up."

Astrid let out a huge sigh, lifting her hand from Orc's shoulder. "It's okay. You...you don't have to say 'sorry' to me, Orc. Okay?"

Orc swung his head to face her again, giving her an incredulous look. His eyes searched her face laboriously for signs of a joke, a tease - for signs of cruelty. His eyes narrowed. "You're not makin' fun of me, are you?"

Astrid felt a sharp chill of fear zip up her spine - then immediately felt ashamed. She took a deep breath and gazed right back at him. "No. I wouldn't do that, and I think you know that, Charles."

Orc stared at her silently for a moment. "Okay."

Astrid looked away, unnerved by his penetrating, yet unsteady stare. It almost seemed like he was looking through her. It made her feel naked, vulnerable, the way Orc looked at her. She cleared her throat. "Orc - Charles - if you want, you can have the couch tonight. It's dangerous to walk around town at night."

Orc's solemn, penetrating eyes never wavered, but his mouth opened in a rough, misshapen parody of a laugh. "Ain't nothin' more dangerous than me out there."

Astrid didn't bother to reply. She got up and stretched, heaving a sleepy yawn. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Charles."

Orc watched her as she turned to leave him, alone with the lit lantern. He remembered, in a brief, fuzzy way, how the raw pain and need and anguish had assaulted him in front of her house. How real those feelings felt. How overwhelming. How overpowering. He shook his head slightly, staring at Astrid's retreating form.

"Hey, Astrid?" he called.

"Yes?" She turned to him, already halfway up the stairs. With a huge, shocking surge of might, concentration, and clarity, Orc stumbled to his feet and lumbered toward Astrid, faster than he had gone before. He stomped over to her, steps heavy and firm on the crunching wood shards. As he came closer, Orc could see her hands tense on the railing, her body begin to cower, her eyes widen in sudden fear as he loomed colossally over her, cloaking her barely-illuminated, fragile figure in stifling shadow -

Orc stopped right in front of Astrid's stair, breathing hard. His eyes had that strange, intense look in them again, and it scared Astrid to the core of her being, that steely, glassy, and yet horribly personal and keenly intimate stare that he seemed to reserve just for her. His glazed eyes drifted lingeringly over her nightgown-clad body, and Astrid squeezed her eyes shut, fear evident on her face, cringing and praying to God that he would get away, that he wasn't going to -

His large arms encircled her torso, held ever-so-carefully away from her trembling self. His body tilted, leaning very, very cautiously into her. His stony cheek brushed hers with a curious sense of gentleness. Astrid's breath that may or may not have been riling up to be a scream died in her throat and stuck there like a stubborn corpse. She could hear his loud, heavy, slow breathing, and the muffled thudding of his heart, encased in so many layers of rocky skin. She could feel his chest moving slowly, in and out, inches from her own. His head hovered carefully just above her hunched shoulder.

It was then that his intention hit her.

Orc was trying, in his own strange, unfathomable way, to embrace her. To show affection.

But he was terrified - terrified of her fear of him, the terror that had been plastered shamelessly across her face as he rushed at her.

So he didn't dare touch her.

He thought she was scared of him. Scared of him and his clumsy, strange affinity for her.

The notion tore at Astrid's heartstrings, mainly because it was partially true. Yes, she was scared of Orc, in all his gravelly glory. She was scared of his improbable, unwanted affection for her. But she wasn't scared of Charles Merriman, the boy that lay underneath the mass of gravel and pebble and rock - the mumbling thug of an eighth-grader that wanted to desperately to hug the nice, smart older girl he'd been tutored by so long ago.

With this thought buzzing around in Astrid's mind, she barely noticed when Orc's arms lifted up and he stepped down a stair, releasing her. Her upturned face turned slowly down to meet his gaze, as if afraid of what she might see. His expression was still solemn, still sad, and his eyes stared straight into her own.

Then he blinked. Looked down. "Sorry," he muttered, sounding uncomfortable. "Sorry, Astrid. I...I didn't..."

"Remember, you don't have to say 'sorry' to me," she reminded him sternly. Then her expression softened. "Good night, Charles."

Orc looked at her again, serious eyes meeting her own. He nodded with a quick jerk of his head, then turned and lumbered for the couch.

As Astrid headed toward her bed, she thought about Orc's awkward embrace. How she had just stood there, like a slack-jawed idiot.

Astrid set her jaw as she mounted the last stair. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the couch, which sagged noticeably under Orc's massive weight. He was already asleep, his mouth slightly ajar. He looked oddly young when he was sleeping, despite his bulk.

Astrid shook her head with a small noise of amazed bewilderment, and decided something. As she closed her bedroom door behind her, legs almost giving way as she stumbled to her welcoming bed, she thought that maybe - if given the right chance, if there was a right time - she would return the favor.

Someday.