Quiet
He meets Caesar in the Gen-Sys Laboratories, where he is just an object to be studied and hurt and locked away again. There is no time to pause and think when he comes to free them, no time to ask questions.
In the lab, Koba sees his savior and he chooses to trust him. Follows him to battle, to freedom.
Once they find peace, trust is harder to come by.
There's time to think now, time to doubt. Koba tries to reach out to the other apes in his own way, sharing food, proving himself valuable to the group. But he knows nothing but the lab, nothing but isolation, the only touch he knows brings pain.
The first time he's caught off guard, a hand on his back when he didn't see Rocket coming, he whirls around fangs bared, ready to claw and bite to protect himself. By nature, bonobos aren't violent, but Koba has long ago bled out all gentleness.
Nobody here will hurt you, Caesar tells him, and Koba knows he's right, but knowing he's safe and feeling safe are two completely different things.
Time passes, and feelings grow between them, but still, Koba remains distant, always wary, a little skittish. Too used to hurt, too unused to kindness to expect better even from the one he has come to love.
It's one day while they are exploring the forest deeper than they have ever gone before that Caesar brings it up. Koba had known he would, he had just hoped he wouldn't. He wouldn't have brought it up for his own sake, Caesar would never push him, but two days ago Koba had nearly mauled a young chimp that had just tackled him in unwise play. The little ape, born in freedom, hadn't understood Koba's reactions despite all dire warnings not to bother him. At least it's only the two of them, resting on the broad, sturdy branches of an ancient tree.
Being scared is not wrong he signs, and at least he is not exactly bringing up the incident a couple of days ago, but they are gone and you are still here.
Koba glares at him, and hisses in faux aggression. They aren't gone!
They aren't important anymore, Caesar insists.
Maybe he's right. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things, so Koba turns his back on Caesar. He's aware that he's revealing more scars in the process, but he just doesn't think he could stand Caesar looking disappointed in him right now.
There's a touch, he knows it's coming, he can see it from the corner of his eyes, but Caesar hesitates before he makes contact with his shoulder. Koba tenses, and Caesar waits.
"Let me help?"
Slowly, he forces himself to relax, and then Caesar's fingers are gently running over scars – healed now, no longer hurting, except in his mind where they will always hurt.
Always, truly always? Caesar's touch soothes that pain, it doesn't just numb it like some of the injections he got did, it just gently soothes it until it no longer screams so loud in his mind, and quiet, happy contentment takes its place.
He turns slowly, reaching for Caesar in turn.
There in the trees, grooming another, something is born that feels full of possibilities.
Once again they are in a tree, and the air is full of possibilities.
That's the only thing that has remained the same. Now, years later, the tree in question is their home, comfortable and safe in the middle of the village they have built. They are both sitting to the sides of Cornelia, who looks tired and exhausted and so very content as she nurses baby Blue Eyes.
The wise old apes who had helped with the delivery have left and chased out everyone else, insisting the family needed time to themselves to rest and talk.
They don't talk, not really, there is no need for it.
Koba and Caesar both focus on Cornelia, soothing her, but while Caesar is eager to hold Blue Eyes, Koba had waved it off when Caesar tries to hand him the newborn. Now, when Cornelia is done nursing him, she once again tries to hand him to Koba.
No. Give him to Caesar, he signs curtly, and edges a little away from them.
No. It's your turn. Cornelia meets his eyes, and the glint there tells him she won't budge.
He squirms and wishes he could turn away.
Blue Eyes is tiny. Tiny and fragile, and Koba, to whom rage comes so much easier than tenderness, doesn't trust himself to hold him.
He's yours, too, Caesar chimes in.
Koba bares his teeth at him, thinks of objecting, but… He doesn't want to object. He likes it that way. He wants them to be together like this, all three of them as a family. He'd wanted this as much as Caesar and Cornelia did.
You won't hurt him. Caesar again, who has always known far too well what Koba tries to keep hidden in his mind.
And he won't be scared of you, Cornelia chimes in. Not like some of the youngsters had been when they first escaped, frightened of Koba's scars and the stories behind them.
Cornelia thrusts the small bundle of fur at him, and tiny, tiny little fingers hold on to his chest. Blue Eyes is sleepy, as content to go to sleep on his chest as on his mother's. Koba barely dares breathe for fear of jostling him.
Koba looks at Caesar, at Cornelia, and finally peers down at the tiny chimpanzee sleeping on his chest. He looks so peaceful. Like Cornelia had promised, he isn't frightened. He trusts him. In this, he is like Caesar and Cornelia.
Caesar and Cornelia, who know how to trust and heal and build, but don't like to think of the many dangers their community faces. But that's what they have Koba for, vowing to himself in this moment that he will protect them – his family. As if he hadn't promised so very often already.
I'll teach him, he signs, looking from one to the other, I'll teach him how to hunt. How to protect himself, and survive. And until then, he will be the one to protect Blue Eyes.
He will be a good hunter – like me!
Cornelia rolls her eyes, and Caesar mock protests, until their hands fall silent again.
Koba goes back to caressing the tiny chimp's back. He isn't afraid to reach for him anymore.
Full of possibilities, indeed.