The creature in his palm was barely the size of a golf ball and covered with a fine gray down. Every movement of its underdeveloped wings was feeble, but the tiny black eyes staring back at Lucci from under the half lowered flap of eyelid were as steady as his own. Obviously, some morbid feline curiosity deep in his subconscious had prompted Lucci to pick up the wounded chick off the grass, but what possessed him to merely look rather than crush was well beyond his immediate understanding.
Lucci cocked his head to side, left eyebrow twitching once as he and the chick continued to regard each other. Shouldn't it be afraid of him? Perhaps it was too young to know certain danger when it was looking the bird right in the face, or, though Lucci preferred the former explanation, it somehow knew it was safer in his hand than alone on the ground. For there was no nest in sight, after a quick scan of the few surrounding trees along the road; it was no small wonder the chick hadn't already starved or fallen prey to a passing animal, as likely had happened to the rest of the brood.
Thumb and fingers curling around the bird, loosely to keep from injuring it further, Lucci touched its tufted head with the index finger of his free hand, just enough for the cottony softness of the feathers to register in his brain before drawing his hand back. He inhaled and quickly tucked the chick into his shirt pocket, holding his hand over the spot to keep from jostling the creature too much as he strode home.
A shallow bowl and a washcloth created a fair makeshift chick-sized bed. Placed in the bowl, the bird ceased to try moving and closed its eyes, and for a moment Lucci thought it might have died after all this trouble. That bothered him more than it should have, he felt, but a closer look revealed that the bird's breathing to be slow and even, probably asleep. Lucci set the bowl carefully on the sunny ledge of his bedroom window, and sat back on the bed, hoping fresh air and the warmth of the sun was the best thing for it. What on earth, now that he had brought it home, was he going to do with the chick? Pets had never been in his repertoire of life necessities, and he had no inkling of how to care for a sick baby bird. Tossing it back crossed his mind briefly, until the chick's dark eyes opened in a narrow slit, looking directly into his own. They stared at each other under lowered eyelids, Lucci frowning, and the chick seeming to frown back in its own right.
Hattori, Lucci thought, quite unexpectedly naming the chick without intending to do so. One hoarse peep escaped from the newly named Hattori's beak, which sounded uncannily like grudging approval to his unspoken thoughts. Well, there were worse things than being suddenly stuck playing foster mother to a newborn wild animal, though one of those things happened to be certain ill-mannered colleagues finding out about his situation. That ruled out asking for help from ninety percent of the people he was acquainted with. Kaku, being the least likely to laugh and also the most likely to keep his mouth shut, had better know something about baby birds.