Knives loved waking up in the mornings. Kiley slept later than he did, and it was the only time he could just sit and stare at her. There was a vulnerability about her while she slept, a softness that was erased when she woke.

Her lips were barely parted, breath passing slowly through as she inhaled and exhaled. Soft and pink, they were losing the chapping from the wind they had sported for the past few months. Her lashes lay against her cheek, the darkness in stark contrast to the tan of her skin. He slightly envied her the dark lashes; his were pale and faded, blonde hairs barely noticeable from a distance. The line of her brow helped define the shape of her face; what seemed stubborn while she was awake was merely the mark of determination while she slept. The skin that had stretched so tightly over her cheekbones was beginning to soften after a few days of massive caloric consumption.

He was surprised over how much food she managed to put away. She almost managed to put his brother to shame, and that was a task, indeed. She never did seem to slow, to grow full. But he had to admit that she did look more healthy now, that there was a glow about her that showed in how she moved, how she reacted. Her temper seemed to have calmed a bit, and while he would have liked to take credit for that, he had a feeling that it was more due to increased blood sugar levels than anything he might have done. He wondered absently how much her rationing had affected her mood, while they were traveling around. Surely she seemed more even tempered these past few days.

He smiled. If all it took to keep her happy was food, he would be happy to supply. She still hadn't asked how the kitchen worked, and he liked the look on her face as he brought out plate after plate of food to volunteer how to teach her.

Careful to not wake her, he shifted his weight and dragged his arm along his body until he could prop his head up on his left hand. He lifted his right and slowly moved it over the curves of her body, hovering a fraction of an inch above the skin. He basked in the heat that radiated off her, imagined the smoothness of the skin under his fingers. He ached to touch her, but this moment was fleeting enough already; he refrained, putting his hand back by his side.

It felt so good to love her. If that was what this was. He enjoyed seeing her happy, making her happy. When she was pleased, he was pleased. He tried to not dwell on the oddity of that statement, the concept that the pleasure of a human could positively affect his mood. But… she was not a normal human. There was something in her that called out to him in a way that no other human had. Maybe it was her firm desire to be treated like an equal, her stubborn insistence that she was as good as he was despite having her face rubbed in the fact that he was superior.

Most humans fawned, trying to ease his rage by becoming a sycophant. Others merely knuckled under, rage burning in their eyes when they thought he could not see. He loathed the first, and was amused by the second, but neither type gave him any reason to respect them. He enjoyed that the first group so easily accepted that he was a superior being, but he hated how they threw over any attempt at control over their lives after meeting him, Legato being a case in point. The man had been useful, there was no denying that, but he was a disgusting worm who enjoyed masquerading as a man. The second group was a bit more entertaining, if only because watching their good sense battle with their control could be so much fun. He could push and push and push at them, and they had to take it, not matter how much rage they felt. They would be more enjoyable if they ever tried to challenge his superiority, but aside from the suppressed rage, they did his bidding as quickly as they sycophants. It was a wee bit boring.

But Kiley… she had merely looked at him with those golden brown eyes of hers. Just looked at him, as if what she saw was not worthy of a reaction on her part. Accepting. That was what she was. She just looked at him and accepted that he might be better than she was. Not that she believed it, or fought against it, but that she accepted the possibility. Then she did her best to prove him wrong. Not necessarily through words, nor through actions, but by proving that by being the best that she could be, that she could challenge him. Much as he would like to blame her advantage on those tricks of hers, he knew now that the real reason lay deeper, lay in the way she viewed the world… and the way she viewed him. The way she accepted him, and what he could do, but refused to let that define how she responded to him.

It was amazing. Wonderful. Unexpected. And entirely too rare. He sighed. Too bad she was afraid of his other form. She was almost perfect, otherwise. He sighed, mouth quirked in a wry smile. Maybe she would learn. Maybe she could.

He looked again at her face, at the lines of pain that were etched around her eyes and mouth, lines that grew deeper as she slept, not eased. She was so strong, to bear so much pain and still forge on with her life. He was not sure that he could go through what she had and stay sane. Just the parts that she had shared with him were enough to give him nightmares; he wondered what pain she kept hidden within that heart of hers.

Maybe some day she would trust him enough to share. Maybe someday he would trust himself enough to be able to bear it.