Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that.

So anyhow, this is the next chapter to "The Wonders of Human Contact" and I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Also, some review response here, since they were anonymous and I could not reply via PM.

Anon: I'm glad the story is working nicely for you; there will be plenty of future updates, so fear not! I plan to stick with this story to the end and beyond! I'm glad you like it, and thanks a ton for reviewing!

Guest: Wow, I was so flattered when I read this! I don't know if you're reading this now, but if you are, I want to know that I not only blushed, but was happy for the rest of the day. Thanks so much and I hope you continue to think of me as "cool". :P

Okie, please review~!

~Jess~

X x

Seven times. Seven times Wilson had had to fix her in the two days that she had been drifting in and out of rest. She had awoken from sleep, screaming and crying, sobbing and bawling, convulsing and shivering, and it had torn the poor gentleman in two each time. He had struggled to recompose her, build her up again and convince her it would be fine to fall asleep again, that he would be there for her to break down into. That he wouldn't leave.

However, her sleeping state was improving; she was staying asleep for more hours on end before the interruptions kicked in and forced her awake once more. It was dull having to lay there for so long, but Wilson fell asleep a couple of times himself, only realising his true exhaustion once he laid down his tools and put his head to the makeshift pillow. He was glad he had left his bag close to the tent, which held multiple selections of food. He was protective, and attentive throughout the whole time. He had snagged touches at her hair when checking her temperature, brushed the side of her face with his thumbs to wipe tears away, and whispered kind promises into her ear as she slowly drifted off into torture once more. It seemed to be improving drastically, this time, she was barely squirming, but Wilson still kept his arm firmly around her waist regardless.

"Mmf...," moaned a sleep-deprived Whimsy, as she tossed and turned in his grip. It was starting again... the cold sweat, the noises and the crying, it would all come soon. In a vain attempt to feel as if he was doing something to help, he lay his head closer to hers and began to whisper soothingly. No matter how little good it actually did, he persevered and continued his actions in the hopes that it would get her to sleep nicely. She sniffled, then whimpered, but nothing more was said or heard as she settled down into the covers once more; briefly, Wilson considered something he hadn't considered before: hunting Maxwell down and beating him. There was a point in everybody's life in which hatred and anger overtook any kind of morale and common decency. But Wilson wasn't angry with Maxwell.

He was furious.

He wanted to personally drag the old crook into a world of hurt, and beat him with all the good things that he thought he had ripped away from him: memories, happiness, his passions, plus his own twisted, bitter hatred that had been bubbling away in the pit of his stomach since he was ever transported to this God-forsaken place, he would let it all spill out, and it would be a confusing whirlwind of horror; pleasant to do, but nasty to witness. As much as he hated Maxwell... he had always been soft when it came to fighting his battles, not because he didn't know how to fight (well enough to keep him standing, at least), or because he doubted they actually deserved something that he planned, but because he was just too decent. In extreme cases, however, who was to say he couldn't let his perfect image slip in the heat of the moment?

Uttering incoherent nonsense, Whimsy shuffled, and Wilson turned his head. Letting out a small cough, her eyes opened slowly. She took in her surroundings drunkly; the constricting walls of the tent were oddly comforting as they contained her self-proclaimed madness reliably. The blanket was heavy on her, but the weight was welcomed, reminding her it was not just a vision of what she hoped would become real someday. But most importantly, above all, Wilson was still there. She took in the sight of his slightly ruffled hair, his calm demeanour, his soft smile and his arm that was still securely around her waist, holding her just close enough.

"Hey...," she mumbled drowsily, not sure what to make of her current situation. She already knew she looked horrible, all the tossing and turning assured that much.

A slight social awkwardness took over the scientist. What was he supposed to say? Good morning? Evening? Hey seemed too casual for him, at least for a greeting, but hello seemed too formal... and yet here he was again, worrying about how he looked and sounded like in front of the damned girl. Truth be told, it hadn't always been an issue further than his gentleman tendencies would have normally taken him, but something had changed, and it was much more of an intense necessity to have a good image.

"Sleep well?" he finally choked out, deciding that he was simply better off avoiding a proper greeting all together.

"Surprisingly enough... yes. This time." she answered after a moment of thought, as a bright smile suddenly appeared. The smile he had been missing. It wasn't the lack of one that had been bothering him, he found reasons to smile on a daily basis – he had to in order to preserve whatever sanity he was allowed in this place. But it was much better to have somebody else smiling along with him, and it brightened him up considerably; it also made his job of staying upbeat that much easier.

"Good. And thus, my hypothesis was correct after all. You did sleep better with somebody else here to aid you." he grinned cockily. She let out a "pfft" and turned her head the other way, though she couldn't deny that she didn't feel nearly as bad as before. In fact, a simple hunger grumbled in her stomach, and that was all, she was not tired in the slightest. As if reading her mind, his grin transformed into a smirk as he said: "Now all that's left to do is feed you. And as luck would have it, brilliant Wilson here has just the thing."

After getting out of the tent (Whimsy stumbled over Wilson's heels multiple times), Whimsy realised how much she had missed the outside land, even though the only outside she could experience to date was the likes of the wilderness that taunted them cruelly with it's low tolerance for survivors. And was covered in snow. She stretched none-too-discreetly, feeling liberated as the cold breeze caressed the skin of her arms and blew her hair angrily. She stayed that way for a couple of minutes, simply marvelling at how good she felt, before she started to get cold herself, mirroring the breeze outside. Peacefully, she picked up her coat (Wilson must have eased her out of it, she noted) that was by the entrance of the tent, and slung it over her shoulders, feeling her handiwork brush against her small frame. It felt so good... so very good.

"And look at this." the sculptor heard, turning her head up to look at Wilson, before lowering her gaze to the bundle in his arms: Chester. He was yapping excitedly. "Somebody's missed you." Wilson grinned, before releasing his hold on the tiny dog-like creature, whom proceeded to pounce on the smaller girl. Immediately, she began laughing as he licked her face jubilantly, as she tried to elbow his huge tongue away from her. He didn't relent.

"Easy goes, boy." she smiled, putting him back on the ground. He ran a comical circle around her legs, much like a cat. She got to her knees and petted him more gently and he remained orderly this time around, sitting politely and appreciating the attention. "But Wilson, he didn't see you either. Unless you left." she suddenly thought aloud, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Ah, but I was nearest the entrance of the tent. It wasn't hard for little Chester to stick his head in now and again; however, I wouldn't let him near you as it risked waking you up." he explained as he turned what looked to be a fish over the fire. Her mouth watered at the sight of it. Food... good ol' food. Her tummy began to flip in excitement as she awaited the tongue-tingling sensation of eating once more.

As the fish was offered to her a few minutes later, she settled down, rubbed her hands together and then began to dig in, whilst Wilson sorted through supplies. Looking at his 'stock', he keened positively: he had logs, grass, wooden boards and cut stones, though he was lacking the ever-exciting presence of gold or berries. He had eaten most of the berries and seeds he had whilst he had been looking after Whimsy; he didn't mind, but it was still a pain. In Winter, those types of things didn't grow back often at all. It was actually such a privilege to find a carrot even, in all it's yucky, vegetable-y goodness. He didn't want to squander any more of his belongings, but he still needed bait for traps. Perhaps he would simply have to go without rabbit for a few weeks until the Summer came back and he would be able to gather more; they were very hard to catch without the uses of well-baited trap.

There was an irritating sound in his ear, he suddenly noticed. He flapped his arms around his head discreetly (as possible), convinced it was an insect, or, failing this, his sanity, ever-depleting, slowly going down. He went into his bag and pulled out an already-constructed garland, putting it onto his head calmly, as if losing his mind was an ordinary thing. When he didn't feel the immediate head-clearing effects, he saw it as fit to question what on earth was going on and whether his situation was worse that he had originally thought. Instantly, he regretted turning around; there was a spider some feet away. It couldn't have been the source of the noise – it was too far off – but it was certainly his biggest concern right in that moment. As he slowly raised a hammer from his bag to throw at the offending beast, it suddenly disappeared.

What?

Wilson got to his feet and stood in the very spot the spider had been, before peering around; it wasn't anywhere to be seen. How had it done that? He was certain it was real, his mind never made up hallucinations about spiders. He was deathly terrified of them, but his mind, when fuelled with insanity and lack of sense, saw it as fit to conjure up images of huge, truly horrifying creatures, with long fangs and claws and disfigured limbs, not tiny little spiders and rabbits. As he progressed a little ways into the forest, he heard a familiar sound and immediately began to glower.

"Why the long face, Pal?"

"What do you want?" he snapped instantly, turning to glare at Maxwell. If anything, now was more a terrible time than any, providing what torment he had put Whimsy through with the vicious nightmares; he had been doubtful, but after seeing the way she reacted after waking up, he was certain they were truly terrible. Wilson struggled to stand in place and not leap towards the puppeteer and give him what-for. Though he was in no way a violent man, he was a passionate one, who believed in a strict division between right and wrong. Maxwell was so far past that line, it was unreal. "And a spider? That's your best? You're losing your touch." he added sarcastically, intent on showing him that he was in no mood for games.

"You seemed disturbed enough to me." Maxwell smiled coolly. If there was one thing that Wilson could not achieve like him, it was the cool composure that never seemed to slip. Wilson was composed, but only to a human extent; the man in front of him could probably keep a straight face if something like the Holocaust was happening right in front of him. So many people would die, and he would not even twitch, simply stand there with a cool smile, or an indifferent countenance as the horrors went on and on. "Aren't you tiring?"

"Tiring? What do you mean?" the gentleman questioned. He didn't bother to be even the slightest bit eloquent as his tone took on a rough, almost reluctant kind of quality. He really didn't want to talk to him.

"You've been here for so long, Pal, aren't you getting bored?"

The question caught him off guard, and this much was evident as he tried to form words, but couldn't. What kind of question was this? Of course he was bored! He wanted his rickety old house more than anything and had done for weeks now! He wanted his comfy chair and his radio (with the normal channels and not some demon talking to him through it) and his endless science equipment and his books. He didn't mind if he never achieved anything ever again so long as he could just have his life back. And he was certain that Whimsy felt the same; that she would do almost anything in a heartbeat just to see her parents once more, to run the photography business on Saturdays with her father and to attend her opportunistic college and sculpt freely again. But that led him onto a totally different thought:

Would he even know her if this whole mess in Maxwell's world hadn't happened?

"I am bored. You know I want to go home, and have done since weeks ago." Wilson sighed, unable to hide his slight sadness as he felt the wistful want for his ordinary life back safely in his clutches. He could be better... he could make machines that actually worked if he was just given one more chance. But that was one more chance he would probably never get... and "probably" was being extremely optimistic.

"Just so you know, I found the whole ordeal with the girl very amusing," Maxwell spoke up and Wilson hardened his glare. "The girl" was very important to him, and he'd be damned if he going to lose her over somebody thinking their existence was a mere mockery. But he didn't understand... where was this conversation even going? It simply seemed to be a random circle of questions and taunts, and it wasn't reaching any valid conclusion.

"Can you please just get to the point? My daylight is dwindling." he growled, a discreet pang of sarcasm managing to show itself amongst his urge to be through.

"As you like, Pal. My point is, that I'm finding it very tiresome to keep waiting for something to go wrong for the two of you. Or between the two of you. Whichever comes first," he took a pause, watching the gentleman for any solid reactions. He wasn't giving much away, though Maxwell could tell he was hitting a sensitive spot by talking about Whimsy. He continued with a devious smirk. "And so I thought it seemed a good idea to put you two on edge, seen as though it doesn't look as if you'll be separating any time soon. Shame, really."

On edge? "What do you mean?!" Wilson cried, frustrated. All these riddles were making his brain hurt.

"I mean that twenty-hours from now, you're going to be hunted down." Maxwell replied plaintively.

Hunted down? Wilson's mind was a tornado of question as he struggled to understand. Was the man threatening him? Or was he serious? Was he implanting fear into his mind in order to make his sanity drop (not an outrageous thought, he had done it before but on a much smaller scale), or was he actually planning to have him run down? What the hell did he mean?!

His face was question enough as Maxwell began to laugh heartily, thoroughly amused.

"I figured it would only be fair to have you two fighting for your 'keep'. You've been far too comfortable in that pathetic little camp of yours. I'd like to remind you that existing here is not a free ride," he snapped, folding his arms behind his back smoothly as he made an apathetic shrug. "And though your outburst at the girl made me laugh somewhat, it's just not enough for me. I need entertainment. And what is more fun than allowing you to develop some kind of liking for somebody, before then ripping them apart, limb by limb, right in front of you?" he chuckled. Meanwhile, Wilson felt stunned. Was he being that obvious? And how could somebody be so openly sick-headed? More importantly, had Maxwell had intentions of bringing her to him simply to disarm him a little bit? To make him forget just how cruel the experience was seen as though he had somebody to share the experience with? "And between you and I," he continued to speak, appearing behind Wilson as he placed both of his hands on his shoulders, speaking quieter. "That's a big reason as to why she's here. I knew she would make you soften. Weaken you. She has issues of her own, yet you took those on board like the gentleman you are... what a pity that it'll all go to waste when she eventually sacrifices your life to save her own-"

"She wouldn't do that to me," Wilson interrupted fiercely.

"Wouldn't she? Are you sure about that?" the older male pried.

"I'm sure. I'm so sure." was all he said before shrugging out of his vice-like grip. He turned his head to him and growled under his breath. He had never hated anybody so much. Never in his entire lifetime. He was almost certain it wasn't possible, that the chemicals and whatnots inside a person made the human mind have some kind of limitation as to how much they could despise somebody... and yet his pure, bitter hatred for Maxwell seemed as endless as a bottomless pit.

"You'll never get the key, if that's what you're doing this for," Wilson suddenly chided.

"Oh, it's no longer about the key. It is about lack of entertainment. I can always take the key once the pair of you are disposed of, it really doesn't make a difference to me as to when I get it, just as long as I do. And I will."

The scientist gave him his best glare; it was so sharp, knives would have cowered in defeat. "We shall see."

Meanwhile, Maxwell shrugged, not seeming to worry about the gentleman's anger at all.

"Twenty-four hours, Pal." and with that, he disappeared, leaving Wilson alone in the slightly-dimming world. Twenty-four hours... that roughly gave them about... three days, give or take, according to this world's time. He remembered the conclusions he had made: six to eight hours in a day, almost a third shorter. Summer, on good days, sometimes leaned towards ten hours, but that was both pure maximum and a rarity, not to mention irrelevant as it was currently the middle of Winter.

Quicker than he'd ever run before, Wilson made his way back to camp, to find Whimsy sitting rigidly with Chester on her lap. He felt slightly guilty as a look of relief rushed over her face; she must have been worrying about him, however much. His absence had been undescribed after all.

"Where'd you go?" she questioned, more curious than anything else.

"Do you know how to cook?" he felt incredibly rude, shunning her question like that, but he had no choice; if they were going to be chased by what he could only assume would be the most disgustingly horrific creatures they could imagine, they would not have time to camp by night with a fire and cook their produce; they would use a torch at best, but that would definitely not suffice for going-off or raw meat.

She blinked. "Um... some things, yes. Why?"

"We need to cook a lot. I could use more hands than just my own." he appeared bashful, which made her smile widely, though inside, he was panicking. Twenty-four hours was already a God-send, he couldn't possibly hope for any more luck. But even being totally gracious, it still wasn't very long, not nearly long enough to prepare for such a trip.

"But why do we need to cook so much?" she pressed, confused.

"Whimsy, I will explain everything as we cook, but please, make a start with me." he urged, handing her a chest from inside their base which was full of meat and fish. He had been smart and collected for the Winter, and it seemed his ahead-thinking was paying off. Gingerly, she picked up the chunks of food, and began to copy Wilson's actions, sticking sticks through them and holding them over the fire, two or three at any one time. "We are in a rush... but don't take too little time with this. If not cooked properly, it could result in illness." he commented knowledgeably. And then came the explanation. The running away. The monsters that would be chasing. Maxwell and his cruel words. He had tactfully left out the part about her being ripped apart by demonic beasts, thinking it best not to scare her, but it was racing through his mind and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from stressing.

Her reaction was not what he expected. She hung her head and said nothing; he expected an angry outburst, and for once, he wouldn't have minded the curse words and the profanity, maybe he would have even joined in for a split second while he was lost in his own mind of worry and fear. There was no doubt he was scared, but on a positive note, it was driving him to work faster than ever.

Wilson ordered Whimsy to keep cooking whilst he turned to his science machine and made multiple pieces of rope, a shovel and three working traps while he was thinking about produce. He then took the mallet out of his bag, and began to whack his machine hard (though he left the Alchemy Engine as it was for the meantime), feeling a sense of remorse as he watched his first properly-functioning creation being destroyed, and by him as well. As the pieces eventually fell apart, Wilson was almost in tears. It was an overwhelming thing to do, demolish his own efforts after he had been so triumphant upon making it. But he didn't have time for crying, or regretting, as he scooped up the excess material. Surely enough, the gears that had been rigged at the top of the machine were part of the mess that had collapsed by his feet and he scooped them up quickly with a stone-hard face, proceeding to make an ice box with the planks and stone he had left; he knew that it was no good cooking for the meat and other material to simply rot and go to waste. No matter how hungry they became, they could not eat rotten food and risk getting too ill to move. At least an ice box would slow the process, if not prevent it for as long as they needed. On the topic of the ice box... he wasn't even sure how it stayed cold and frigid. Maxwell's world's logic definitely charmed him in certain ways, and this was one of them.

He turned back to Whimsy to find her staring emptily at the wooden floorboards. He'd never seen her looking so lost. He slowly surveyed her work, taking in the sight of all the meat she had cooked, and all the fish she had poached, all the morsels she had managed to work to an almost flawless-brown (though he probably would have done even better with those in all fairness) and felt proud. He knew that she could take care of herself anyway, but seeing this solidified this fact a lot for him. He made his way over to her, before taking the produce and putting it into the icebox smoothly. With minor persuasion, the lid shut, full to the brim with food.

"Just when I thought we'd be fine..." he heard, and he regarded the female sadly.

"We will be." he said in return. She instantly turned her face up to meet his eyes, and he returned her gaze all too readily. "Just not here. But, I won't let anything bad happen to you- to us, at all."

She didn't look convinced as her face still held it's worrisome vibe. Sighing lightly, Wilson put down the ice box and walked over to her, taking her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look at her.

"I promise." he urged on. She quickly enveloped the scientist in a hug.

"I know... I don't doubt you. I'm just... scared, that's all."

"I am too," he replied quietly, truthfully enough. But he wasn't scared, per say. He was terrified. He could only imagine what horrors Maxwell had in store for the pair of them, and all in the cruel yet casual name of 'entertainment', and it made his mind ache with endless scenarios. Meanwhile, his chest was fuzzy and warm as she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing out softly. Coyly, and somewhat nervously, he wrapped his arms around her waist, returning her gentle embrace. Whimsy was tired of running, she was tired of having to drag herself to a different place every week or so (and since days were shorter, it was quite often) and then when they finally had some kind of place to call their own, they had to leave it anyway. It wasn't fair. Whimsy tightly gripped the scientist's shoulders to keep herself from screaming. She wanted nothing more than to curse and curse and curse until she simply couldn't breathe any more. In the moment, she considered not breathing at all; it was inviting, though she resisted with enough sanity in mind. Besides, that wasn't an option, Maxwell would find some kind of way to prevent a suicide; she had no doubt he wanted the pair of them to die by his methods, and not through their own liberty... the thought was sickening, but also accurate. "But we'll be fine." he finished, bringing her back to the present.

Hesitantly, she took her head from his shoulder to look at him, only to find him doing the same, peering down at her with soul-searching eyes. Perhaps it was the heat of the moment that had made her grasp him so comfortably, but now, she simply felt flustered. She hadn't realised how undeniably... close she was to him, and it was making her spine tingle and her legs feel slightly weaker. She felt like a terrible cliché, and yet it was almost a beautiful thing.

She cleared her throat, waking herself up.

"We should probably get a move on, since we're gonna be chased in a matter of hours. Get all our supplies together and all...," she croaked, her voice betraying her as she pulled herself away from him, forcing her face to remain stationary with a lack of blush. She was quite red anyway from the cold temperature, and she didn't need any more colour added to that!

"Yes..." he nodded, his voice soft and reserved as he made no move. He watched as she backed away from him, before turning her back and walking back towards the fire which was a little ways off, in the centre of their camp. Their base. Their home. But not for long.

As his rapid heartbeat steadied, he struggled to compose his thoughts. Only one thing stood out to him as he deseperately tried to recollect his bearings and motives.

I think I may have some inkling of feeling for this girl.

X x

Done.

Goodness me, I'm now shattered. I think this chapter is a tad longer than usual. Also, I broke some rules, I know, I know. First off, the gear thing: I KNOW you don't get gears when you dismantle a Science Machine, despite them being there in the animation (or so it looks to me), but I don't have enough time (story-wise) for either of them to grab gears through defeating those things that drop them. They have three days, and that's it, and those three days are short due to Winter. Also, it'd be too much work to make them find some, even if, unrealistically, the fight for them was quick, or they dug some up luckily. Just too much. So yeah, I made an exception, I hope that doesn't throw too many people off, sorry, don't hurt me or kill me, please.

Wilson is also a little conflicted here; so if his temper and mood seems a little jumpy, it's most likely intended. He is angry at Maxwell, frightened due to the thought of beasts tracking him down, confused as to why Maxwell has to take such extreme measures, and battling with some kind of feeling for Whimsy which, you can imagine with him being-Science-minded and all, is quite the struggle to accept, or so I think. Add in his whole social awkwardness (I get that air from him, honestly, since he seems cooped up a lot, based on the Origin Trailer) and the over-complicated judgements his mind makes due to how things work, yep... it's quite the battle indeed.

Please review and tell me what you think~!

Next update may be a tad later; I have a couple of exams to study for, including my weakest subjects (Math and Physics) so yeah, I'll be studying too. I also visit college on the 8th of July and it's my sister's birthday tomorrow, so she'll probably do something at the weekend to celebrate, so I most likely won't be free to write more then either, unlike usual.

~Jess~