You guys… are just going to have to wait. *evil author laugh*

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Kiley settled back in the sand and closed her eyes. She felt slightly sick to her stomach, and her head still ached a bit from the force of the blow. The light from the suns beat down on her closed eyelids, and she waited for her stomach to calm somewhat before opening them.

Or at least, that was her plan. A firm toe nudging her unprotected side made her open her eyes again. She squinted up into the light and looked at Knives.

"What?" she asked waspishly.

"You are supposed to be teaching me now."

She closed her eyes again and tried to ignore him.

He nudged her ribs, slightly harder. "I'm waiting."

"That's nice." She kept her eyes closed and cleared her ears a few times in an effort to keep her food where it belonged.

She heard him lean down beside her. "I'm not very patient," was whispered in her ear. His warm breath tickled the hair by her ear, and she grimaced and turned her head away slightly.

"I know that, Knives. It's a little obvious."

One hand reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Then get up." His fingers traced the line of her chin, and she found herself clenching her jaw tightly.

"I don't feel like it."

One finger traced the outline of her lips. "I don't care if you feel like it or not. Just do it."

Her lips tightened. She opened them to speak, but he laid his finger across them, stilling her response. "I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer."

She opened her eyes. His face was close, his eyes bright with something she didn't want to put a name to. They peered intently into hers, looking for something. He must have thought he found it, because he settled back on his heels and looked smug.

"Now get up," he ordered, lifting his finger from her lips.

"No." She closed her eyes again, as squinting into the light had set her head pounding.

His hand reached back and grabbed her jaw. "Yes," he demanded softly.

She wished for a moment that she could open her eyes, because right now she wanted to do nothing more than glare at him. "I'm not saying no to be difficult," she ground out through a jaw he wouldn't allow to move. "I feel like crap; I'm not teaching you today."

His hand left her jaw and pressed against her forehead. His touch was warm and gentle, surprisingly so after the firm grip on her jaw. "You don't feel feverish," he pronounced after a moment.

"Thanks, doc. I feel so much better now," she said sarcastically, then swallowed quickly a few times.

He wasn't amused. "Then what's wrong with you?" His tone was petulant, and he took his hand away.

"Oh, gee, let's think back a few minutes here. Oh yeah, you hit me."

"So?"

"So you damn near gave me a concussion. My head hurts, my stomach is rebelling, and I don't feel like doing much of anything for awhile except sitting here and feeling crappy."

"Oh. Sorry."

She thought over the apology for a split second. "No you're not. If you were remotely sorry you would have said so before now. What you are is upset that I can't do what you want me to do."

She heard him shift on the sand beside her, but he said nothing.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, very softly.

Her eyes closed more tightly. "You hit me hard enough to knock me down. Where does not intending to hurt me enter that picture?"

He started to stroke the hair on her forehead, pushing it off her brow. "I didn't think you could get hurt."

She snorted. "Of course I can. Most of the time I just ignore it. But I don't have to, today. I can sit here, in the sand, with my eyes closed, and revel in the luxury of getting to feel like crap."

"I'm sorry." He scooted closer and settled into the sand, crossing his legs and moving her head into his lap. He continued to play with her hair, fingers combing through it softly.

Surprised, she opened her eyes. He looked down at her, no concern in his eyes, but no disgust, either. She couldn't read him, and it worried her. Slightly. "What are you doing now?"

"I have you at my mercy." He grinned down at her, a little boy's grin.

She groaned. "You have no mercy. I'm screwed."

"Maybe." He grinned wider, no longer looking like a child.

She closed her eyes again. "Pity the poor sick girl?" she tried.

"Nope. But I'll quit pestering you for a few minutes."

"I'll take what I can get." She cleared her ears again and tried to relax. The attempt seemed doomed to failure; having her head in his lap was too weird. She kept waiting for the attack that didn't come, tension keeping her from resting. He kept playing with her hair, rolling the strands between his fingers and smoothing it away from her face. The motions, the repetitive nature of the actions, were very soothing, and finally she was able to convince her instincts that it was all right to sleep.

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Knives looked down at the unguarded visage of the sleeping woman in his lap.

Heh. He never thought this would happen. Him, being comforting. For a human.

Foolishness.

But… he felt a bit guilty. Not too guilty; it was her fault he had hit her. But, a little guilty. He had forgotten that she was breakable, merely human. Of course, that was her fault, too, but he should keep these sorts of things in mind. At least, he should keep them in mind while she was still useful.

He stroked her hair, enjoying the feel of it under his fingers. Soft, silky, but unfortunately too short. There was hardly enough of it to run his fingers through, and not nearly enough to play with. It seemed to relax her, though, and the sooner she felt better, the sooner she would be worth his time again.