Chapter nine, PASS TIME [POV CHANGE]

When the fever of the sun passed the two made their way back to the lodge. There was a silence that enveloped the two of them. Their bodies weighed down their soaked clothes. Her once tied up hair now fell flat against her shoulders, still dripping slightly like the bundle of clothes in her arms. His hair a wet mop against his head, one strand hanging limply on his forehead. His clothes waterlogged and sopping into small puddles as the two trudged up the path.

The chilly evening air was different but welcome. The feeling was unlike the blistering sun from the hours prior, it made goosebumps prickle their skin. The buzz of activity around them was almost comical to the shorter of the two. Animals always had better instincts than humans.

Meeting the softer, tall grass, she followed him for once, letting him pass through the gate first. She seemed smaller than before, her mind in another place. Whitney had no idea what she was feeling as they entered the cabin, leaving the door open as the whisper of the wind spoke softly.

The pale, white reflection of the moon casted itself through the window in four uneven segments. Resting on them both as they sat in the middle of the floor. She was nearly drowning in her quilt while he rested on his shoulders. They both were sitting in silence, watching the fire die down as they ate leftovers.

When Whitney set her bowl down she looked to the taller man, "We should play twenty questions." left her mouth. It was a suggestion that sounded more like an announcement. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Again?" he asked, a smile crossing his features as a huff left her. It was soft, a sound of amusement, "Yeah-" she quieted down for a moment, "Unless you don't want-" he gave her a look that she had gotten used to over the past couple of weeks. She waved, "alright then, you first" "really?" there was a joking undertone to his voice, almost as if he were going to let out a baritone laugh again. And her face flushed lightly, "Yeah, bud, you're up" she smiled, leaning forward in her bundle of blankets.

He took in a breath, gently stroking his chin. "What's your favorite smell?" there was a hum from her, "new books- or" she smiled, "-old books are good too, it's like smelling the passage of time." she was quiet again for a moment, "What's your favorite food?"

"That's a tough question," the corners of his lips quirked up, "I'd have to say chocolate custard though" the snort of laughter left her, an outstretched grin showing those white ivores against the flicker of orange. "What?" his voice was different, an amusing question, "Nothing-" she inhaled sharply, "- I just didn't think you'd know like that stuff!" there was a scoff from him as he brought a pale, skinny hand to his chest in a mock expression of shock. "What? Do you think I'm from a barbaric land!?" she continued to giggle, covering her mouth with one hand.

The sound brought heat to Wilson's cheeks as a pressure wrapped him up, tightening its grip on his chest in a semi-uncomfortable way. This wasn't the first time this has happened to him and there was only one word he could use to describe it. Intoxication.

He shook his head, "what's the maddest thing you've done?" was his next question. She gasped, exclaiming an 'easy' before taking in another deep breath. "When I was eight or so I climbed a really tall tree, it was like- twenty, maybe thirty feet off the ground? And I jumped from the very top. I didn't think so. I just moved." She paused, looking to the fire as she continued, "I managed not to break anything by using a technique I saw on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" she looked back at him, gauging his confused and slightly concerned expression. "It's a movie from the ninetys."

"The ninetys?" his voice was laced with confusion and she looked to him. "Yeah, I believe it came out in like 1990 excactly."

He swallowed, face pailing, "What… what year was it when you left?". His eyebrows were knitted together, "2019? Why?" her eyes looked him over as a sense of anxiety rose in her. "When I left we were in the middle of the great war…" he breathed heavily as a shutter moved through him, "I'm from 1916"

"What…" Whitney's voice faltered in a confused manner as her gaze rested on the man in front of her. "Thats-" there was a loss of words, her tongue tying itself.

2019 minus 1916 that's… a hundred and three years.

He looked mortified, peering at his own hands as he muttered. There was an obvious sense of panic enveloping Wilson as the lady stood, dropping the cloak of a blanket to the ground. "What the fuck, Maxwell" she breathed almost under her breath.

She was not qualified for this, emotional support isn't something she's good at. Anxiety was something she herself is used to but when it came to soothing others she didn't know what to do. She watched him for a moment before sitting beside him.

Wide eyes and a grimace, slowly she placed one hand on his back. The bone of his scapula jutted beneath the fabric of his clothes. She could feel the movement of his muscles beneath it with every breath.

She shushed him, mimicking the movement from days prior that he had done to her. Moving her hand in a circular motion. He was almost like stone, frozen in one spot except for the occasional twitch that would rock through his body. "It's alright Wilson." her voice was soft, and her mind wandered to an old thing her mother used to do to her.

She gently took one of his pale, shaking hands, rubbing her thumb into the thick, calloused skin of his palm. And he looked up to her, a stutter of breath exiting from parted lips.

And she leaned in, embracing him in warmth. One arm now hooked around his torso as the other still worked on rubbing the padding of his paw. He was quiet, "it's alright" she breathed, squeezing his hand lightly. Like it was an affirmation of her word. And he melted, wrapping his long, thinner arms around her torso, squeezing lightly and pulling her into his lap. Nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. The shutter of breath escaping him, tickling her neck.

After what felt like hours he spoke a simple 'no', pausing and moving his head further into the crux of her neck. "It's not" his voice was weak, quieter than she had ever heard it. It was heavy and it set a feeling in her that was almost akin to sadness. And she pulled away from him, "No," her voice was solid, "Wilson, it's going to be okay." she took his hands in hers again, offering a smile as she squeezed. "I promise." Her words were warm, like her hands.

And then they resumed their prior position except he led it this time, curling around her. Cuddling her. She couldn't help the feeling that rose inside of her was she breathed in his scent. Something now familiar that caused her to flush. She had known of it before but not from first hand experience and she thought she wouldn't ever feel it. Love. She knew that's what it was, but to act on this would be something entirely new to her.