A knock on the door broke her concentration. Natasatch pulled her red eyes away from the tablet, looking at the entrance. In a quick motion, she laid the device on her cot, and slithered to the center of the room, a Gremlin drone following each movement. Straightening out the hoodie an engineer told her to wear, she made sure to stand as straight and non-threatening as she could manage before she answered.

"You can enter now!" She called, her speech much clearer than merely a week before.

The heavy bulkhead beeped, then slid open, and the Viper was greeted with the sight of a familiar human crossing the threshold. Malcolm gave a smile when their eyes met, as he pulled a loaded trolley covered in mismatched boxes and supplies, and Natasatch let herself relax.

Amusingly, he needed to duck to avoid the Gremlin as it accidentally swooped too close to his head. Shooting the drone a frown, he turned his head back to his alien friend. "Hey Nat. Everything okay?"

"Yes, I am well. Are you well, Malcolm?"

"I'm doing great. Here, look what I brought."

She tilted her head at the trolley, and the odd assortment of junk it held. "Storing supplies?"

Natasatch wasn't in a position to bargain, but she didn't enjoy the idea of sharing space with utilities. However, Malcolm shook his head, to her relief. "No, I'm just making this place a bit more homey."

It took her a moment to analyze the last word. "You are… moving in?"

"N-nothing like that!" He adjusted his goggles, sounding timid for reasons beyond her. "This is meant for you, Nat. If you ask me, it's just so depressing down here. More like a prison cell than your room."

She turned her head away from her human friend to survey the room. She had been told that she was being given a separate domicile from the humans, for both her and everyone else's safeties, but it turns out only the trashed rooms in the bowels of the ship were suitable locations. The engineers partially cleared a room once they verified the main door was the only exit, and provided her at least a few comforts like a cot and a box of rations. The debris lining the far side wasn't too bad, as she'd taken to relieving herself among the rubble, but the only thing that truly irked her was that Gremlin drone hovering about the room.

However, for all lackluster accommodations, Natasatch knew XCOM were better hosts than her previous ones. ADVENT lodgings took utilitarianism, mutilated and modified it, and unleashed it on their unsuspecting subjects, like it did with most things. She recalled her own nook, one of many that lined the walls of the alien barracks, akin to the capsule hotels she'd seen in many slums. Even those cramped metal spaces were better than the pods that ADVENT troopers were deactivated in, dozens of them standing upright. Comparing the two, Natasatch preferred XCOM's lack of comforts to the abundant discomfort of before.

The serpentine women exhaled, realizing that she held her breath while thinking of her old life. She looked back at Malcolm, the human awaiting a response. "I am content. Is this really necessary?"

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "I'd say so. You aren't even using the bed we gave you, and are sleeping on the metal floor."

Natasatch imitated his gesture, finding the movement surprisingly natural. "Too small."

She cleared the sparse items on the top of the cot and slid herself on to demonstrate. No matter which position, she either had her upper or lower half flopping to the floor anyway, in arrangements simply uncomfortable to look at, and nearly impossible to get a restful sleep in.

Her point made, she slipped off the bed. "See?"

"Yeah, I see. And that's terrible."

"It is acceptable."

He gave his alien friend a look she hadn't seen from him before, his eyes narrowing with the rest of his face softening. Without quite knowing why, she felt her head tilting away, her posture dropping as well, though she never could break eye contact.

"Please don't fight me on this. I want to help." He said, softly.

Natasatch tensed. Even if he was rather low-ranked in the XCOM hierarchy, and she was technically also a part of it, she didn't want to risk defying any of them. She finally broke eye contact, the smaller humanoid having won this staredown. "Okay."

Malcolm was once again smiling, and once again she felt relief wash over her body. As he went to work, the hesitant viper returned to her datapad, choosing to play a surprisingly captivating human game involving arranging falling blocks. Malcolm tapped her on the shoulder just as she'd finished a round, and Natasatch's eyes widened at the changes he'd wrought in such a short time.

The first thing she noticed was the lights. A standing lantern and lamp joined a few strung lights and flooded the formerly dingy room, to the point of potential irritation, but she was pleased how easily that could be adjusted. Her cot wasn't alone as a surface anymore, as it was joined by an end table and some plastic filing cabinets. The best improvement had to be the proper bedding she now could use; Malcolm had laid down a few thick blankets and some accompanying pillows, for a resting spot that was both large enough to comfortably accommodate her. It was mismatched as furniture of a salvager's collection tended to be, but that never was a concern for her.

Much better, Natasatch conceded, any bitterness already evaporated.

"So, what do you think?"

"Very nice, yes." She tilted her head quizzically. "Where did you get this all?"

Malcolm leaned back, puffing his chest slightly. "You're looking at a salvaging expert, Nat. There's almost nothing I can't scavenge or barter for, and the Haven we're hovering over has both in abundance."

Inwardly, Natasatch found it amusing, the small human posturing like a bulky Muton would, but she knew better than to show her mirth. Still, she couldn't help but indulge herself in continuing the show.

"Hmm, you're an expert? When we first met, you couldn't even avoid a small civil patrol. How long have you been scavenging?"

If Malcolm noticed the light ribbing, he didn't show it. "All my life. I've been picking apart wrecks or building something for someone for as long as I could remember. I had to, really-" Natasatch noticed his smile was gone by now, "-as just another war orphan. No family, no home, just whatever I could find or work for."

Malcolm trailed off, his hands habitually reaching up fidget with his glasses as he sat down on the bedspread. The silence unsettled the Viper, a collision of human emotions and experiences she'd yet to understand, but she found herself crawling onto the blankets as well, curling up comfortably a few feet away. The quiet atmosphere persisted, Natasatch occasionally peering back to Malcolm, who seemed to be in a world of his own.

Idling, her eyes drifted over the collection of furnishings her friend had leased her. She noticed something she didn't before: a weathered wooden box, which she had mistaken for a table, with a combination lock. Using her tail, Natasatch shifted it closer and pawed it, surprised to see the box open. It was empty, but it had the fortunate effect of ending whatever trance that her human friend fell into, as he sat up and turned to her.

"Oh, that's for you. A lockbox. The combination is Two-Zero-Five. You can keep anything you own in it."

Interesting. The Viper wondered what she could place inside, but then she realized she didn't have anything to place inside. Everything she had with her now, from the electronic tablet to the clothes to even this new furniture, was given to her with the unspoken status of being a loan she was free to use as long as she behaved. ADVENT took it further, confiscating almost every item taken from the field, everything else communal or restricted. Eventually, Natasatch stopped bothering, having given up on property like any other idle fantasy.

Her hood shivered slightly in frustration. "But, I do not own anything."

Malcolm smiled, warmth spreading from it like heat from a hearth. He reached into his backpack and took out a framed photo: it was Natasatch at her welcoming party, holding up a cake with a confused expression. He extended his arm, and the picture passed from his hands to hers. As her red eyes scanned her miniature visage, a recollection of the sensations of that evening came back, the positive feelings rising above the unpleasant.

Amazing what Malcolm's little object could do to her. No, what her object could do, whenever she wished.

She inhaled sharply, her brain struggling to process thoughts that her biochip had long since suppressed. Eventually, Natasatch managed to say. "Thank you very much, Malcolm. It is perfect."

She felt like she still didn't have the right words, and vowed to study English more.