AN: Another part of the TC challenge. I'm on a roll! This one is for Shady, who gave me the idea (although she said it might work as a later chapter, eheh). This is just a hypothetical Hail/Thicket meet-up (by the way, check out Shadesaurus, cause she's amazing).

Sorry for spamming you bros with one-shots lately, I just have to reach Either Or soon, since it will be extremely important for some rp stuff that is gonna go down. It'll all be over soon, ssssh.

Small background info: Born with OCD, was pretty minor, but a traumatic event (an attack by a rogue that almost killed him and cost him an eye) left him with some big touch/cleanliness issues.

35. Space

His chest was tight, his breathing pained, but he couldn't stop running. He dashed up the slope as quickly as he could, ignoring the rocks that slid underneath his paws, ignoring the prickles of pain running through his pads. He couldn't stand being in camp, underneath those watchful, accusing eyes. He couldn't breathe there, could barely move, with so many cats all around him.

He'd done it again, messed up. It had just been a simple bump, just a brushing of the shoulders as Morninglight passed him on his blind side but of course it had set him off. He'd spun around and nearly knocked her over with his own shoulder; even now, it ached. Morninglight had exploded, of course; he could still see her furious green eyes seared into his mind, her harsh words battering his ears. She'd called him a freak, a monster, a violent little beast. He knew she wasn't exactly in her right mind, knew that she was still unhinged from Lightningstripe's death, but it didn't matter. She had a point; what sort of cat attacked his own Clanmates almost without provocation? What sort of cat couldn't control himself from hurting everyone that came near him?

I just need room to breathe, he thought, repeating it over and over again in his mind as he ran. Just room to breathe.

Eventually his paws gave out, and he slumped to the ground, feeling the sharp rocks prickling against his stomach. His pads began to burn, and when he turned over his paw, he saw they had been rubbed raw. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the speckles of blood that he had left behind on his mad dash. The smell of blood rose into his nose, making his stomach churn, and he tried to stop himself from retching.

He couldn't let the blood stay on his paws. It was filthy, disgusting, wrong to him in a way that most other cats did not seem to understand. He had seen warriors come home from a battle covered in the stuff, and could feel nothing but repulsed. It was just another thing that set him apart, another thing that made him look like a freak to his Clanmates.

He heaved himself to his feet again, ignoring the burning sensation of raw flesh against the stones. He had to find something to wash off in, before the smell of blood overwhelmed him entirely. He couldn't go back to the forest – not yet – so there was nowhere for him to head but up.

It didn't take long for the sounds of rushing water to reach his ears, and his single eager eye quickly found the source; an icy creek running down the mountain. He hurried towards it, eager to dip his paws into the river and numb them, to sweep the blood and grime away and feel clean again, if only for a moment.

The water sent an icy shock down his spine, and he flinched, but did not pull away as the water rushed over his white paws. He could feel cleanliness returning, could feel himself begin to relax and breathe normally again as the danger of filthiness and disease passed. He rubbed his paws against the smoother creek stones, ignoring the slight pain that flashed up his almost-numb forelegs, only intent on easing away the dirt.

It wasn't until the ribbons of red wafting from his paws finally disappeared that he allowed himself to pull them out. They tingled immediately in the chilly air, and he shivered as needles began prickling them, but he was satisfied to see clean pinkness on the bottoms of his pads. They would begin bleeding again as soon as he started walking, of course, but he felt calmer now, firmer, well enough to make the journey home. They would put cobwebs and marigold on his paws, binding them up too tightly for him to see, and they would heal. Everything would be fine.

As if on cue, Morninglight's face flashed again in his mind, and he winced. She had probably explained her plight to half the Clan by now; he just thanked StarClan that his mother had not been in camp while the golden queen had chewed him out. Shimmertail and Morninglight had some sort of bad blood between them that he did not understand, and it was not wise to cross the silver deputy, especially when it concerned her son.

She still saw him as a kit, he thought sometimes, a tiny, innocent thing that needed protecting. Perhaps she was right – he so often did feel useless – but at the same time, he wished she wouldn't worry, wished that she didn't have to. His ears flattened as he thought of his father and their last conversation before that horrific battle; his father had always been confident, powerful, noble, and once Hailpaw had thought that he could actually make him proud. But that was silly, he knew that now. How could anyone be proud of him, a cat that shied away from the smallest touch? A cat that attacked his Clanmates without reason or provocation, merely the smallest brush of their pelt against his?

He realized he was digging his claws into the ground, and he quickly plunged them into the water again before they could start to ache once more. He just had to get home to his nest, just had to be able to curl up and sleep it off. He always felt better after a good nap. Perhaps things would not feel so dark and cramped and devoid of space to breathe then.

At that moment, he chose to look up. He wasn't sure why – even afterwards, thinking back, he had no idea what had caused his head to rise at precisely the moment that something higher up on the mountain shifted. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was happy coincidence, but just when his single eye drew upwards, a strange shape moved slightly to the left, attempting to hide behind a boulder. He blinked, confused; it took him a moment to place the gray shape – splattered with soft ginger, how odd – as a cat.

It was the green eyes that gave her away, really, twinkling at him just over the top of the boulder. As soon as she realized she'd been spotted, she ducked back down, disappearing completely from sight. He blinked, and wondered if she had actually been there at all, or if he was only imagining it.

"Hello?" he called, voice thin and weak compared to the craggy mountain and rough rock. "Is someone there?"

The shape behind the boulder peered out at him again, eyes glittering with alarm, and before he could even think to protest, turned and dashed away, up and up and up until her coat hid her from sight completely.

He rose to chase after her, but of course the creek was in the way, cutting a blue ribbon between the two of them.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, but the mountain swallowed his words, and his single eye could not make her out at all.

His ears flattened, and he looked back into the water, seeing his twisted reflection in the swirling waters. He looked terrifying, didn't he, with his scarred face and milky eye. Not the sort of cat that anyone would want to approach.

And she doesn't even know how dangerous I am. A mixture of anger and loneliness prickled his pelt, and he tore himself away from his reflection, staggering down the mountainside on numbed paws. He didn't think to look back, didn't consider that she might have dared creep after him, until he heard the faintest strike of stone on stone. He turned, and saw them again, those bright green eyes, although she again tried to duck and hide. She'd crept back down while he had stumbled, as nimble on the cliff-side as a snow leopard, almost to the edge of the creek.

This time he didn't try speaking, not wanting to scare her away again. And what would be the point? Even if they got to talking, even if she decided that a Clan cat might not be so bad after all, eventually she would accidentally touch him – her tail against his flank, her paw brushing over his, maybe even leaning on him as the rock shifted under their paws – and he would snap, and she would run, hate him as they all did. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to be let down again, and so he merely continued walking.

The clattering of stone followed him all the way down. There was a brief lull when she had to run downstream to find an easier place to cross the creek, but it started up again right after. It was slight, barely noticeable, but he had always been paranoid and alert to every sound. And every time, he would stop and look back, and see her glittering eyes half a second before they disappeared. Every time, she was the smallest bit closer, closing the distance between them, and he unwillingly began wondering what it might be light if she closed the space all the way.

The bottom of the mountain came all too soon, however, and it was clear from the way she regarded the forest – with wide, glistening eyes full of curiosity, but also fear – that she would not set paw there. She ducked back when he turned to look, disappearing once more against the gray stone, and although he willed for her to poke her head back up, she did not.

"Hello," he said again, more softly this time. Perhaps it was the gentle tone of his voice, or the note of hope in it. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, pressing inwards rather than trying to force himself outwards, as so many of the braver toms did. Perhaps it was because he both looked and sounded helpless, pathetic, and small, certainly no threat to a well-seasoned mountain cat. Whatever the reason, her head slowly rose again, until her nose barely poked out over the rock she was crouching behind.

"My name's Hailpaw," he meowed. "It's okay if you don't tell me yours, and it's okay if you're scared. You should be. Lots of cats are scared of me. But…do you think we could be friends, maybe? You can keep your distance, I don't mind. It's probably better that way. But I'll be here tomorrow, okay? This exact spot, this exact time. Whether or not you come is up to you, but…I'd like if it you did."

She didn't say anything, – he didn't know it just yet, but she wouldn't say anything for moons and moons, until that sudden confession came – only watched him with those strange mountain eyes. Then, her head bobbed, in a movement that might have been a nod or might have only been another duck so she could hide again. He didn't wait to see if she came back up, choosing instead to turn away and pretend that she had.

He walked back to camp as he always did, with careful precision and the goal of staying as clean as possible, but his mind was buzzing with possibilities, with whispered conversations and secret meetings and a cat that wouldn't know any of his flaws, just the side that was safe to see, a cat that wouldn't have to be scared of him at all. And he found that, for once, there was a space he wanted to close.