"I wish you would take the escorts, Izzie," Dylan sighed in worry as he did every time she did something like this. Standing in the employee parking lot of the MNU building, the woman gave him a cross look and took another drag off her cigarette. This was routine by now but it still annoyed her. Every time she decided to foster a prawnling, her coworker Dylan would feel the need to remind her how dangerous the aliens could be. Even though he worked the same department, the persistent balding man found her to be reckless even in bringing the children into her own home.
It didn't help that the older man had confessed to affection for her. Izzie always thought she was going to hurl when he brought up this litany of worry. Too polite to tell him to bugger off, she ended up doing this every visit.
"Stop worrying, Dylan. I've been doing this for years and haven't had an accident," she reassured through the cigarette smoke. Glancing at her watch and at the high noon sun, she realized how late the crew was running. It was already one thirty in the afternoon and she had told Oliver that they'd be back before one. He hadn't called her cell yet which was good. Even though she had taught him how to call her in case of emergency, he hadn't utilized it yet.
"'Bout due for one, eh? Marcie nearly had her arm ripped off last week at a hearing for touching one of the little buggers," Dylan pressed incessantly, wiping his bald pate with a tissue. The heat was nearly unbearable in the African fall, causing sweat to stain his button up shirts pits and his back. Izzie could feel it trickling under her hair and down her neck. Putting her cigarette in her mouth, she reached up and tied up her shoulder length dark brown hair.
"If I recall correctly, she had grabbed the child's arm and tried to drag him out of the court room. She was out of line," the woman replied dryly, if not sardonically. Dylan raised a pale eyebrow at her and shaded his eyes with a flat palm.
"She nearly lost her arm, Iz. You saying she deserved it?"
Izzie gave him a critical look and put out her smoke. Leaning against her Jeep's door, she spotted the crew van pulling into the lot.
"What would you do if someone grabbed Hannah like that?" she countered offhandedly, bringing up his own flesh and blood to drive the point home. Dylan flinched at that but kept his silence. "The parent is here."
At that, her coworker gave her another exasperated, pleading grimace before trotting back to the office, his fat rolls jiggling under his thin, sweaty shirt. Izzie shuddered at that and walked off towards the parked van. Sweat was one thing she really couldn't handle from humans. It was just disgusting.
"How's it going, Iz?" Lucas hollered as he climbed out of the tall, white van. Despite wearing heavy armor and carrying a rifle, Izzie knew he wouldn't hurt a prawn on purpose. She could be stubborn and had insisted that only he escort for her. That was his one saving grace with her however. She had learned quickly that this particular armed escort was a lecher and a notorious one at that.
"Going good, Lucas. You running the night shift tonight for me?" she asked unnecessarily as she approached. The tall, native African nodded with an annoyed frown, his dark brow creasing in the afternoon sun.
"Yeah, I'll be here to pick him up. He's a quiet one so far," Lucas informed her as he went around to the back to unlock it. Coming to stand next to him, Izzie felt his eyes roam over her as he opened the back doors. "You sure you don't want company. These guys can be dangerous."
"Only to idiots," she replied dryly. The man's vision returned to his job and for that she was glad. It wasn't that she felt unattractive, even at the age of thirty two, it was just that lechers pissed her off. Thus Dylan and Lucas were on that 'I will put up with you but you aren't getting any' list.
Finally, an adult prawn stepped into the harsh sunlight from the hot confines of the van. Looking about intently (probably for his child), he approached Izzie slowly and gingerly. He was different from the usual prawns she had met, just as Oliver was. He shared the deep, slightly dirty green shell as his son but his eyes were of a molten ember color instead of blue. The ridges in his carapace were not as jagged or spiky as most other prawns she had met and that rather surprised her as it had with Oliver. As always, Izzie felt intimidated by his immense size and height but quickly got over it.
"Mr. Johnson? My name is Izzie Mason, Oliver's foster parent," she introduced herself politely and held out a hand. Normally the expression puzzled prawns but Christopher grasped her appendage readily and gave it a firm shake. The deep seated worry in his eyes and the nervous, harried air about him made it clear that his thoughts were on his child and not the formalities. Izzie gave an almost unnoticeable shiver at the padded, thick feeling of his large, fleshy hand. It was so different from humans.
"Where is my son?" the prawn inquired in barely constrained stress. Christopher's voice was a bit deeper than the general alien's and much more cultivated. Izzie felt her curiosity creep up at that. These two were odd and it was intriguing.
"Back at my home, cleaning his room, I hope. We're going now to see him," the woman reassured him before turning to lead the way to her Jeep. "Lucas, we'll be seeing you later tonight!"
"Right, boss. Be careful, yeah?" the black man called back from the front of the office. Izzie nodded to him and rolled her eyes.
The ride through Johannesburg to the outskirts was silent to say in the least. Christopher sat, albeit uncomfortably, and mutely looked ahead. Despite how awkward it made the drive, Izzie was glad to see him so anxious to see his child. Last adult she brought to her house had ripped off the passenger seat belt in curiosity and showed very little interest in visiting with his child, James. Of course, that had been James's third time through the foster system.
"Has Oliver been behaving?" Christopher clicked suddenly, startling her. Izzie turned a bit to look at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes. He's been very good actually," she replied before laughing a small chuckle. "Been very excited the last few days as well. He kept talking about you, Mr. Johnson."
"Did he? What did he say?" the older prawn replied in what would have been a nonchalant manner. She caught that but decided not to push it.
"The usual things kids talk about. He said your very smart and you would love this and that," the woman replied as they paused at the same stop light to the country outskirts. "He has a lot of things to show you."
Christopher gave her a confused look and she readily explained.
"I gave him his own room and bought him some toys. He's been cataloguing them for when you arrive."
A trill sound came from the prawn which she recognized as a deep chuckle. Glancing over discreetly, Izzie noticed that he had relaxed to an extent as they drove. Perhaps it was her mannerism or the fact that there was no gun pointed at his forehead but he seemed a bit more receptive to conversation.
"How many children have you fostered, Miss Mason?" the alien asked curiously.
"Oliver is my third. Before him was James and Logan. I've been working in child services for over six years now."
A worried expression passed over the older prawn's features and he clicked in discontent before asking the question that bothered him.
"What happened to the other two?"
Izzie gave him a mildly surprised look before focusing back on the road. He was much more intelligent than the others. Perhaps he was the only one not afraid to show it or was unable to hide it but she had never had such an inquisitive parent.
"They were returned to their parents. Once the charges were cleaned up and the court case was addressed, the kids went back home. Logan comes to visit me sometimes. He's sort of big now," she laughed a bit in memory of his last visit. The prawnling had grown over four feet since she had seen him. Excited at his growth, Logan had picked her up around the waist to show off. Unfortunately, he had lifted her into the ceiling fan and gave her a decent clonk on the side of the head.
Christopher gave a melancholic, soft hum in response before looking out the window at the fields of golden grass. Izzie watched him for a moment as she turned into the driveway.
"Don't worry. Oliver will come home to you soon enough," she reassured bracingly. Putting it into park in front of her house, Izzie looked to Christopher to find him gazing at her with a most unfathomable, pained expression she had ever seen. As quickly as she saw it, it disappeared, replaced by an anxiousness. "Here we are, Mr. Johnson."
The sound of scurrying feet greeted them the moment the front door was open. Moving aside quickly in the entrance, Izzie barely avoided being run over by Oliver as he rushed to his parent.
"Father! Father!" the little prawnling squealed and chirped ecstatically as he was scooped up. Christopher brought his son to his chest and embraced him with both sets of arms, purring deep in his chest. Gently but firmly he ran his clawed hand over Oliver's antennae and pressed them back down his neck in affection. "I missed you!"
Izzie grinned a bit at the happy moment, pleased at the genuine affection between the two. After a moment of the child's contented gurgling and his father's purring, she grew a bit uncomfortable with intruding.
Withdrawing to the living room and giving them privacy, the woman noted that the little bug had picked up everything off the floor. When she had left, he had been finger painting on a nest of newspaper. Not a drop of paint on the floor. She had been tempted to not give them to him after the last time a prawn had them. James had flung paint on the walls and eaten most of the canisters. Luckily, she had, had the sense to buy edible paint.
From the front hall, she could still hear them talking excitedly, well, Oliver talking excitedly. Confident now that Christopher wouldn't destroy her home as James's father had, Izzie went to the dining room to set up for dinner. It was only two but she had gotten used to Oliver's feeding schedule. He ate and went to bed fairly early, which she attributed to his parenting.
Several, drying paintings were set on a row on the long table, their colors glinting and gleaming brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. On the corner in a neat pile was the leftover paper and paint. For a moment, she stood and looked down at the little prawn's creations, amazed yet again by him. He had painted his shack in the district, his father (repeatedly) and random, pretty things like the wildflowers that grew out in the fields. A pang in her heart reached her as she looked at them. For another odd moment, she suffered the strange thought of having her own children.
The sound of the prawns feet on the wooded floor startled her as Oliver led his father to his temporary room, chattering excitedly. Gazing distantly from where she stood towards the sound, Izzie pondered whether she should join them. No, let them have their time together.
It wouldn't take the three hours till dinner to make it, she figured. What she would do for at least the next hour and a half eluded her. Restlessly, she silently picked up around the house, avoiding the back where the two were. There hadn't been any dishes to do since she taught Oliver on how to wash his and everything was straightened neatly.
Finally, Izzie found herself back in the dining room with the paints. Bored and feeling out of place, the woman sat down at a clear seat and pulled the finger paints towards her. Opening a can of green paint, she poked a finger in and brought it out for inspection. Pretty color.
For an hour or so, she sat at the table and made a messy version of Oliver's flower painting. Little bug had more talent than she had in the arts department. By the end of it, her hands were utterly stained with green, red and yellow paint, fresh and dry. Remembering that it was edible and that James had loved it for some reason, she absently brought it to her mouth and tasted it.
"Blech," she spat in disgust, her tongue hanging out with the paint. That was foul; it was like Play-do and gasoline mixed together. She really shouldn't have trusted the taste of a creature who loved cat food.
"Ew, ew, ew, ew," Izzie repeated with a mouthful of paper towel as she attempted wiping it off her tongue. A whir of a chuckle drew her attention towards the entryway. Mouth still stuffed with green stained paper towel, the woman's expression blanched as she spotted Christopher standing there with Oliver in his arms.
The older prawn's expression was bemused and alarmed to say in the least but Oliver's just looked entertained.
"Miss Mason, why are you eating the paints?" the little alien asked curiously, a chirp of laughter coming through. Izzie hurriedly dabbed out the rest of it and cleared her throat.
"I wasn't. Just curious, is all," she replied in embarrassment as she stood. "Did you show your father your room?"
"Yes. He liked my toys," Oliver replied eagerly. Spotting the dried pictures he had painted, the little one squirmed to get down. Christopher wore a strange expression as he let his son down.
"They look expensive," he commented awkwardly, his face tendrils shifting as he spoke. Izzie waved it off and gave him a half-assed smile.
"Yeah, well, I like toys and he happened to be around to share them with," she replied noncommittally. That earned what would have been a smirk from Christopher, his amber eyes gleaming in the sunlight.
Oliver scrambled up one of the chairs, standing on the seat to reach his paintings. Gathering them up in his claws, he turned and held them out to his father.
"Miss Mason lets me paint all the time. I drew these for you," he clicked with all of a child's excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Christopher took the papers and looked at them in amusement and pride. Once he was finished with one he handed it down to his secondary hands to hold, taking his time to look them over thoroughly. Finally he gathered them back together and reached out to pet Oliver's antennae back in affection.
"They are very good, little one. Well done," he purred gently. Chirping at the attention, the prawnling clambered off the chair and grasped Izzie's hand to her shock. He had never willingly taken her hand before.
"Can we make dinner now?" he asked imploringly, his big brilliant blue eyes pleading with her. Nodding mutely, the woman let her lead him to the kitchen.
"You want to help with potatoes?" she asked bemusedly. Oliver nodded before letting go to collect them from the pantry.
Going to the entryway closet, Izzie grabbed the stepladder for the little bug and spotted Christopher when she turned back. He was still standing in the dining room, one hand touching her messy painting on the table. The room barely seemed big enough for him, considering how tall he was and how broad his upper body was. The mandibles moved slightly as he inspected her painting of the fields as if he was thinking intently.
"Mr. Johnson, would you like to come sit with us while we make supper?" Izzie said a bit loudly as she walked into the dining room towards the kitchen. Christopher jumped at that and snapped his thick fingers from the painting, looking to her in mild wariness. It was a reaction to humans for prawns, she knew and couldn't blame them for it.
The adult nodded silently and followed her into the moderately sized kitchen. She pulled out the stool from the bar for him and indicated that he could settle there. Oliver had hefted out the sack of potatoes and was waiting patiently by the sink for the step ladder. He was a good kid, she realized, and he seemed to be a very attentive parent. She was going to have to fight for this case and get him back home soon.
Oliver continued chattering the entire afternoon as he cleaned and sliced potatoes about the care center he went to during the day with the other prawn children. Christopher asked few questions, content to listen to his son ramble on about having outside time in the fields behind the house.
Izzie kept her silence for the most part as she sliced the sausage, garlic and onions for the scramble. Normally, it was her that filled the conversation with the child and parent but with these two she wasn't exactly necessary. It was bemusing and pleasing to see how close the pair were. It almost made her jealous of their bond.
Several times as they were cooking, Izzie felt Christopher's liquid gold eyes on her in contemplation. It made her mildly uncomfortable and after a while she realized what it was. He looked to her in more than curiosity or hostility as the other prawns had. There was a deeper intelligence in this one than she had ever encountered and it intimidated her to an extent.
Near the end of the preparation, Izzie sent Oliver to go wash his hands. Turning down the temperature on the stove, the woman leaned against the counter and gazed at the adult prawn at the bar.
"I feel like you have questions for me, Mr. Johnson," she stated simply. Christopher started at that in surprise before clicking in the affirmative. A bit nervously, he played with a scented candle that sat within reach, turning it on the counter. After a moment, he looked back to her and breathed an agitated breath through his throat slits.
"You've taken very good care of my son. I do not know how to thank you," he finally replied, his low voice warbling a bit. Izzie waved off that.
"Oliver's been a pleasure to have around for the most part. And I volunteered to take him home so there's no need to thank me," she reassured briskly. Christopher's amber eyes narrowed a bit and he made a sound of concern in his chest.
"Why did you volunteer to? Why have you taken care of my son?" the alien pressed politely. "You work for the child services but you are not required to foster the children."
Izzie had a feeling that he wanted to ask her that. He was much quicker and much more thoughtful than the other prawns she had met. Heaving a sigh through her nose, Izzie folded her arms over her stomach and considered him.
"To be honest, I like the children. They're sweet once you get past our differences and I like making them happy," she replied bluntly. He gave her a stare that said she didn't answer his question fully. "I don't know why I chose to foster Oliver. He came in, scared and frightened like the others but I just felt like I had to."
"Did you feel like that with James and Logan?" Christopher whirred. Izzie wondered at the fact that she was holding a conversation longer than a few sentences with a prawn and found it palatable.
"Sort of. They were a bit more crazy than Oliver though. But they both are much better off than they were before."
Izzie went silent for a moment before continuing.
"I think I have a lot to thank you for, for Oliver, eh? You're son is the best behaved child I've ever seen come through my office. And he's so very intelligent that I couldn't imagine him going to someone else," she paused at the puzzled, almost alarmed expression Christopher gave. "Quite a bit of the foster parents only take the children for the federal funding. Its hard to catch it but they can be neglectful of them."
"Then Oliver is lucky to have caught your attention," Christopher finished thankfully. Izzie smiled slightly and shrugged before turning to the skillet. Flipping the mess of potatoes, eggs and sausage about, the woman thought of something to turn the conversation.
"Your son said you'd like this. Have you ever had eggs or sausage before?" she asked lightly. Christopher settled back in his seat in confusion, his prehensile hands fidgeting slightly.
"No. I have heard of them but such things do not come through the district."
"I know. I've been spoiling him a bit with different things so I might as well do the same for you while you're here."
At that moment, Oliver came bounding back in from eavesdropping in the hallway to drag his father to wash his claws. Izzie laughed a bit at the younger prawns instructions as they echoed from the bathroom. Serving three plates with the scramble, she took them to the dining room along with forks and metal cups. She had learned quickly that glass is not something to give to the powerful creatures.
She had just set down random condiments, shredded cheese and toast when the two returned, clean and ready for the meal.
"Sit next to me, father," Oliver requested immediately after settling into his booster seat across from Izzie. In a couple more years, he wouldn't need it. Uneasy, the adult prawn sat down and looked to his son and the woman warily.
Giving him a bracing smile, Izzie stood to pour milk for them and offer the cheese. When she first fostered Logan, she had discovered that the alien's craving for high protein foods and drinks went way beyond meat and cat food. The little guy wouldn't drink anything beyond the calcium enriched milk and every meal had to have enormous amounts of meat. Thus, her breakfast scramble was more sausage and egg than potato.
Much to Christopher's seeming relief, Oliver helped pick and choose what went with the meal, chattering about how they taste all the while. When it came to eating, they didn't end up using the forks but ate with their fingers. At least they were cleanly about it, she supposed. Smothering a snort, she remembered giving James his first bowl of beef and barley soup. The little guy went in head first and had beef bullion in between his plating for days.