A/N: Thanks so much. Chapter Warning: Edward uses the f-word. (dun dun dun.) Shield your eyes; you've been warned.

IX. Another Day, Another Siege: What Has to Be Enough

He did the strangest things sometimes, even stranger to me now. He seemed slippery and just wriggly enough to always slide out of my hands when I thought I had some kind of grasp on him. I had given up trying to understand him when I was younger, but I guess the absence convinced me to try again. I was a little comforted to find at least that had not changed—I still had not idea why he did the things he did.

He made me take breaks to eat. I tried to explain all the reasons why I could not stop, all the while trying to sound totally selfless, or at least as selfless as he. It occurred to me later that skipping a few meals would not equate the sacrifices he had made. He seemed to humor me though. He was appreciative but still stood over my shoulder until I had finished.

As he took away my plate from lunch, I watched him rather closely. "Did you make that?" I asked. That was a stupid question. Who else would have made it?

He shrugged.

"You make a mean turkey sandwich."

"Thanks."

I didn't like him being that quiet. "What's wrong with you?" Only after I spat out the words did I realize just how inelegant I sounded. I blushed and looked back to the arm on my table.

"Nothing," he replied casually. "I figured you wouldn't want me distracting you while you're trying to work."

He had a point. I used to snap at him when he hung around, leaning over my shoulder to see what I was doing. So many times, I had pushed him out of the workroom, somehow convincing myself that my want to have him around was actually a misinterpretation of my frustration. I think I may have been working so quickly to see if he would actually stick around when I was done, like maybe if I did an exemplary job this time, he would be so impressed that he wouldn't jump the first train out. Anyway, it had become habit to shoo him away.

"I don't mind," I said, carefully adjusting the pulley system in the elbow. It made me feel better, telling him what I meant for once.

"Okay." He pulled up a chair to my work bench and promptly began pummeling me with questions about the arm: how it worked, its basic structure, how it attached to him. I couldn't help but wonder if he had been turning over all these questions all along but never had the… whatever he thought he needed to ask me.
-
-
-

We ate the rest of last night's stew for dinner before I retreated back to work. By the time the sun lost its grip on the horizon and slipped down, I was breathing deeply, savoring the smell of a much-needed end to a much-needed task.

This was my least favorite part of the job. Along with the initial surgery, installation still made me question if I could do this for a living. Pinako had said she was used to it, but I don't think she was. There was something so deeply resonate about this kind of pain; it struck a chord in my heart, even after all those years. And the fact that it was Edward only made it more difficult. He took it like a champ, though.

It felt like old times, having him sit so tightly wound, twitching from the pressure of anticipation. Some people liked countdowns, but not Edward. I guess he could take it better it he was not expecting it.

I thought about telling him how grateful I was that he did not scream like the others. I had heard him cry in pain, yes, but it was different. He didn't scream like an animal. He clung to his humanity at those times more than any other, I think, because it was so easy to lose it then, and so many did.

I could hear the straining of the upholstery in his clenched fist, the whirring of pulleys and gears engaging, the growling in his throat.

I did not expect him to speak when he did.

"Fuck," he snarled. "I'm never gonna get used to this." There were beads of tears on his eyelashes.

"That makes two of us," I murmured. Unconsciously, I put a hand on his wrist though I knew he could barely feel it. He wouldn't be able to feel the texture of my skin or any warmth from my hand, but he could feel the pressure. And that would have to be enough.

He was breathing through clenched teeth. I breathed deeply for him, but I don't think he noticed. In my certainty that he was entirely oblivious of me, I was emboldened. Whatever inspired me to touch him any more than a casual, professional pat vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving me leaning forward, lips pressing to his cheek without the conviction that had pushed me to do it in the first place. I felt like I was suddenly in the middle of a large body of water without anything to keep me afloat. Still, I sat there for a moment, waiting for my mind to catch up with my actions.

Holy crap, I thought. I blinked once, my eyelashes brushing his temple.

He was scruffy and warm. I could feel it against my lips. I was out of my territory again: he could most certainly feel me back.

Blushing furiously, I sat back and looked at my hands. He was looking at me. I could sense it. "You can sleep in here if you want to. If you need anything… uh… just yell. I'll hear you."

I got up and left before he could reply.