Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.

Thank you all for your alerts, favorites, and reviews! I really appreciate it and I always felt so touched to see something in my inbox for this fanfic. I love you all! Thank you so much!

Also, thanks Sabaa for editing and beta-ing. Yay Sabaa!!!

Thanks to Bellskie for a helpful answer that aided me in deciding an important decision to the fanfic.

The morning sun woke him as the light filtered through a small window and some cracks above him. The screeching of the morning alarms startled him into full awareness.
He stayed motionless against the cold tin wall of his shack and did not stir, though the sounds scratched his ears. The brown-stained newspapers and small scraps of the thinnest of rag blanketed him, but it was still not enough for him to be comfortable. His legs were bent up stiffly against the small crate that served as both a table and chair. All the while, his long spindly arms hugged around his attenuated form. Fatigue pinched at his eyes and begged him to keep the leather-like hide over them closed. The desire to just spend the day sleeping and still interested him greatly like water in the desert, but the thought of home in space motivated him to push himself.

He brought his knees closer to his chest and pushed them out that it hurt when he stretched; his thin ligaments expanding and feeling like it was going to rip. He trilled in pain and tiredly pushed himself up from the thin strip of cardboard that was his matress. He looked around the room as he tried to regain full consciousness. The pink and white bones from last night and the nights before lay scattered on the floor, small rags of clothing were thrown in the corner, a bit of meat that he had found too rotten to eat was hounded and covered by black flies in a lone spot on the floor, thick wires danced along the floors like drizzling swirls of black blood, and the hand-held lamp leaned against a tin box.
The entire place was a mess as he always saw it and left it. It was perhaps better that way; the secret he kept under his home and a few others was well kept under the debris.

Christopher stretched as high as he could; his spine growing longer by the second and his hands running over the ceiling. His wide mouth opened in an exhausted yawn and the air tasted of compost on his sandy tongue. He quickly closed it and rubbed his head as he approached the wooden door. It creaked and whined as he pulled it against the dusty ground. Opening the door brought him new sensations for the morning and the outside. The entire District was bathed in light and he immedately felt warmer stepping out.
The yellow sunlight kissed his chilling hide and the bony ridges of his face, but stung at his familiar-with-the-dark eyes. He squinted and blinked a few times before the ache and blurred vision passed over. A few clicks of air escaped from his mandibles and he closed the door behind him.

As usual -on every Sunday- a few of the prawns were out scavaging through garbage while a few more were just running around senselessly.
"Over here!" came a voice that called his attenitons over to a small mount of trash.

He strode in long steps over to get the feeling of rigor off of his legs and joints. "Uh... Mike! You're already looking." he stated to just get his lazy jaw re-working again.

Mike -Mike Meyers- had been an esteemed chemist, even more prominent than Christpher himself in his field of engineering. His hide plates were a dark ebony with small spot of white on his shoulders and his thighs. Mike was even older than Chistopher, but still seemed more youthful by his optimistic personality and his virile speed. He wore a shredded sort of poncho that was held together by red duct tape while he wore abslutely nothing on the lower half of his body. Christopher had always felt embarrassed without anything covering up for modesty, but Mike offered an argument, saying that there wasn't really anything that could be seen with their pelvic plates hiding their genitals.

He picked up a small cube-like thing that had wires coming in and out of it like the rings of serpents in water. Picking it up and shaking it close to his head, he flicked it away with no care about where it would land.
"I've been here since first ring. The others should be here later on in the day. Didn't get much sleep anyway. Too happy to sleep. Won about 50 Rand last night on the fights. Going to celebrate tonight with beer and cat food." he stated without once looking at Christopher while he was digging through the garbage.

Christopher didn't bother to ask if he could have a can. Helping each other out by keeping the agents of the MNU away was the most they could do for each other. Anything else that could cost them money, cat food, or lives should not even be asked for, but left to deal with one's self.
A small amount of salivating drool came from the thought of imagining what a can of cat food must taste like when one was at his hungriest. He slapped his hand to get the thought away from him and climbed up the hill of metal and other things beyond recognizable measures to start looking.

He chose a small area, picking up what was on top and carefully examining it to see what it was and if it had any uses. Whatever he didn't like or saw it had no use, he tossed it hard and as far away as possible from him. Though on the rare instances where something looked amusing enough for him, he would toss it to the base of the trash pile and hoped to remember it for when he was done for the day. Some of the things he picked up were little water-bottles cracked in half with something yellow hanging onto the sides and cans with piercing holes in them. He tossed those away without even a second look.
He found half a keyboard. It was interesting, but it seemed too obsolete for him.

His sore feet and padded toes were not intended for the brutality of the life of walking forever in garbage, but luckily prawn were creatures of quick adaptation with their determination, endurance, and advanced mental capabilities.
Every day -mostly Sunday- seemed impossible to find even a drop of fuel. The MNUs had been too quick to take away everything from them; their clothes, their substances, their works, their weapons, even any parts of their ships that were not attached to their mother ship. He could not recount the many times that he had to rebuild an alien aircraft part with primative human things that he had found in cesspools and dumps.
They had been too unfair, inconsiderate to all and wanting only slaves to do what no one else would dare or want to do.

Christopher dug his 3 fingered hands into the garbage, almost uncaring what part of what cut into the flesh between his hand plates. He jumped from place to place, burrowing through whatever was at his feet on the ground. As he picked the garbage and jumped deeper and deeper into the mounds of garbage, he soon found himself getting closer and closer to the gates that just curved into the town of Johannesburg.
He perked his earthy face up to the fence and noticed that no one but peddlers and gangsters dressed in ghetto were strutting the streets. He resumed his work again, paying no attention to the outside work on the other side of the fence.

He dug deep until in the mounds until all that he reached was a brown gooey surface. He jumped away from the spot, keeping his golden eyes on it like something might explode or burst forth from it. He decided that he would be back to dig through the muddiness of it. He could endure almost anything, but an experience involving mud turned him wary of digging through it eagerly. He still felt like gagging whenever the memory came back to him. As he picked up a round piece of trash that a hole through it as though it had been blasted, he stood up to get a better listen to what its contents could be.
Standing up, he saw something from the corner of his eyes, the bony ridges and spikes obscuring the view.

He turned around slowly to see what it was that suddenly caught his attention so. On the other side of the fence was a woman. She looked normal, more on the plump side than thin. Her arms stood out bare from under the white baggy shirt that she wore and the skirt caressed her waist where it was tightly knotted. The native woman wore thin sandals that could barely be seen under her wide feet and her hair was completely covered by a green kerchief that wrapped so tightly around her head, she looked bald.

She looked at him with frowning eyes, but not a single sound came from her pursed up lips.
'Is that the woman from yesterday?' he pondered as the object just dropped from his hand. Christopher still couldn't recall her face and solely depended on the chance that she would recognize him rather than the other way around. He straightened up his back and hesitantly came closer to the fence. He wondered if now that she had a better look at him up close, would she scream this time?
His feet were so close to the fence and his clawed hands closed over the open link fence.

The woman took a step back, her pink and black hands jumping to her mouth like she had realized she swallowed the wrong thing.

His eyes went wide and he shook his head, "No, no. I'm not going to hurt you. Do you remember me from yesterday?"

Her lips opened slight and quivered like the air over fire. Her lips stretched to a great long length and a loud high-pitched scream emitted from her wide mouth. He wavered back, suddenly shocked from the surprising reaction. In the rustling of the thick clothing she wore, she stormed away with pattering footsteps on the dusty pavement. His antennas drooped in a way and a look of fury rolled from his face.
He had spent almost all day yesterday worrying about the woman and that was how she repaid him; screaming away as soon as she saw him. A feeling of insult burned at his insides and he kept his gaze to the trash at his feet. There would be no need to expect her to come back, none at all. A few clicks that almost carried a hint of raw passion sounded from him and his hands thrusted into the trash like they were spears going into a body.

He decided to fully expel the thought of her safety away from him. At the very least, she seemed to be safe and unharmed. The thought didn't make it glad as he thought it would have.

The sun that had merely been hovering above the hills in the morning were right above their heads. Its lingering rays shone so brightly that Christopher always kept his head down, rather than look up for anything. The metals he touched were warm as the light cooked it and the plastics bubbled ever so slightly. A low humming filled his ears like water and every so often he would slap the side of his head when it felt the silence had gotten almost too deafening.
As always, he and his friend searched endlessly that morning without even stopping for a drink or a morsel of food. Well, if they were hungry, the trash had few prospects for nourishment and satisfying the tongue.

As he jumped to another spot -the thin wrinkled papers flying as he tossed them up like confetti- a small part of his ragged clothes ripped. He tore it off, not caring all that much. It didn't matter. The strips of cloth that he wrapped around his legs were getting dirtier and he thought to replace it with something else he could either steal or find in the garbage. He sat back for a second to catch his breath from working in the cruel blistering sun. The garbage rang out with a brassy clang as his weight pushed against it. He looked upon his clothes and started to plan out what he should get for his next set of clothing. The set that he was wearing was already getting smaller and felt more greasy than ever. The dark red rags covered his shoulders and his wrists, leaving his chest bare and open, and the dusty black wrapped around his thighs and covered his modesty. He definitely needed to find clothes when he was less busy -more likely when somebody threw out something sturdier than what he had.

He felt that the 1 minute sit down was long enough to breathe and got back to looking and scavaging.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.

Look.

Toss.

Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.

Look.

Toss.
The cycle went on for a few more hours.

Just then, a whistling sound caught his attention. He knew for sure that it couldn't have been a bird for the non-humans had developed a taste for the winged creatures when they were starving. It sounded almost like the wolf whistles that he recalled the worker me giving to the women who wore high skirts and low shirts. He turned around, yet saw nobody. The whistling sounded off again like a siren along with slow deep clicks. He looked all around; still nothing was out of the ordinary. The whistling started out at a loud sound, but then built up to a high pitched screech like nails across a rail. He squinted his eyes to compromise the sound and followed to where it was coming from. He found where it was.

Someone stood across from him on the other side of the fence.

A young woman appeared there again. She didn't look all that different from the women he had seen in this town and the woman who had screamed at seeing him earlier; her form was typical -not too fat, not too thin- however her hair was a complete black mess with locks and strands going in nearly all directions. He assumed that it would've hidden her child-like heart-shaped face away from the entire world and light if she hadn't pulled the hair back with a rainbow-coloured bandana at the top of her forehead; the large bunched knot of it right above her ear.
He was flabberghasted to see that this woman could stand so long and so still for him to really observe her characteristics.
Her eyes were wide and almond shaped with the whites of them distinctly seperating the dark complexion of her skin and her strange chocolate brown-mixed-emerald eyes. She wore a green dress that looked more like a robe than the usual wear for the commen women; a high sash rested between the swell of her small breasts and hips. Her dress had vertical stripes all along it with orange and golden patterns of safari animals. She didn't wear sandals or heels -instead she wore something that was expected almost of a child; comfy flat shoes.
He noticed her dark arms were practically bare -from adornment as most women wore to downplay some of their poverty and low social-standing- with the billowy sleeves stopping at mid arm and she clutched a large paper bag to her chest.

The woman could've been easily called and seen as plain, but the eccentric style of her dress and queer expression in her eyes made her seem mysterious and almost beautiful.

He cocked his head and asked, "Aren't you scared of me? Aren't you afraid that I'm going to hurt you -kill you? Why don't you run and scream? Isn't that what all you humans think of us?"
She smiled, her full lips curving up into a crescent moon. Her mouth pursed together and out came a high whistle. She whistled little sounds and her tongue clicked against her white teeth.
He actually backed away from the human; wigged out by the strange display of spoken language. He wondered if she was teasing him or mocking him or possibly dumb that way.
"Go away, I don't understand you." he clicked as his eyes traveled back and froth between her odd gaze and the trash.

She stood still, her brows furrowed together like she was angry at him. 'Good, let her be angry.' he thought to himself, 'I have nothing to worry about her.' She walked long steps to the fence, her fingertips twisting into it just as he did earlier -whistling and clicking in the same pattern she did before. Albeit, this time he understood one thing from her pattern of speech. "No."

There was a look of determination on her face. She opened her mouth wide and he could see her pink tongue bouncing up and down from the roof of her mouth. He was shocked. She spoke their language. Well, she didn't speak it exactly; it sounded almost like baby words to him, but he could still make sense of it. He understood it as if one of them had their tongue removed and their jaw was disconnected. It was almost funny listening to her imitating their accent and words.
Even with her dark ashy skin, he could almost see that tinges of blue and red were spreading through her cheeks and forehead. He supposed that if she kept up with what she was doing, she would just faint and drop on the streets. As much as he appreciated that effort to try and speak the alien language, it was difficult to understand her because the clicks were atrociously wrong and too slow to easily comprehend.
He dropped the thing in his hand and stopped her, "Quiet. Just stop. Let me help you with this."
He moved so that they were practically chest to chest. He bent lower to her level with his antennas poking through the chain links. Her eyes widened in shock, Christopher shook his head and coerced, "No, no. Just stand still -relax. It's okay."
His antennas danced and tangled around her messy hair. He closed his eyes and concentrated; focused his mind into hers.

The experiment -aside from purely picking up what their kind thought of the English language- was what helped break down the language barriers between the humans and the non-humans. They could understand the humans when some of them trusted them enough to stand close and long enough.
Yet, what of the humans?
It was only one scientist for languages who stepped forward to try and create a code for their language. It wasn't that hard to understand and see the differences between the strokes of their writing, or even hear the slightly lower and higher clicks and buzzing. However, one non-human and that human met together in a lab room where they practically merged minds. It was painless. It was easy. It simply required patience and perhaps a day or so for all the information about both languages to sink into their brains. From then on, with the information from that non-human, he could share all he learned with the others.
While the human -lacking the psychic abilities- created the system that would help humans be able to communiciate, if not understand.
It would've been easier and cheaper for all humans to simply meet up with one of them and learn from each other; but what were the chances that the blasted humans would actually believe that they could handle being alone in a room with about 10 non-humans without paranoia taking over before they could learn anything. Thus, the people had resorted to either merely communicating -for what human could possibly keep up with their quick clicks and sounds?- and using signs or simply staying away and having absolutely nothing to do with them.

The woman was patient enough, but soon a look of discomfort grew on her face. She shook her head, her hair flying in all direction and even looking like it was growing bigger. She set the bag that was in her arms down at the base of the fence and from it -she pulled out a blue coloured can of cat food. Christopher's eyes went big at the sight. It seemed that she could tell as well.
Placing the can back in the bag, she produced from behind her a notebook that was small yet had obscenely large metal spirals traveling through the top of it. She held it out immediately to him like she had already rehearsed what she was planning to say and how.
In scrawled letters that slanted to a side and stuck together in some parts, he was still able to read it as;

I am the one from yesterday.

He looked at the note that was held against the fence down to the top of the head of the little woman who held it.
"That was you?" he asked with quizzling clicks. A feeling came into his chest and attacked all 3 of his hearts; he was soothed at the thought that it was she instead of the woman he saw when he first started working. Yet he wondered if she had came all this way to thank him, why didn't she come early instead of waiting till much after noon?

She nodded and turned to another page that was yellow with stains;

Thank you.

He felt almost guilty.
Not at the fact that he had thought bad thoughts about the said woman whom he had no idea was this charming and polite, but at the fact that during her little display of gratitude, he couldn't keep his eyes or his attention off of the bag of cat food that layed on the ground right in front of his feet -a barrier of metal seperating him from it. He knew for sure that there was at least one can of catfood in there and it was enough to turn his cultivated mind to mush. He should've kept his attention focused on her and her gratitude, yet he found the cat food and even the idea that there were more than 1 in the bag proved to be of greater attraction. He supposed that he could've acted just as barbaric as some of them and made an attempt to try and grab it, but then again.... she had come to thank him, not even acting like the anti-nonhumanists that vastly populated the streets and town. He desperately held himself straight, fighting the urge to roar and grab the cat food.
The woman in front of him produced another object from behind her back; a thin marker. She plucked off the cap and popped into her mouth like it could've been a fine cigar. Her wrist moved wide and violently on the paper that he was sure her speedy writing wouldn't even look like writing. In what appeared to be her scribbling, she wrote in the consistent hand-writing she did.

Wait. I will be inside.

Before he could even answer to it, she had already dropped the marker -capless- and the notebook into the wrinkled brown bag of catfood and ran away from him. He had wanted to tell her that it would've been better if she had simply slipped the cans though the fence for him or threw it over. He knew that it meant big trouble if such a tiny girl would be walking in a place filled with their kind who would even kill for a drop of catfood. It wasn't only with the territorial non-humans, but the gang members who hung around as well. He could recall the many women and whores they held on their arms to display as though they were new watches won.
There was only one entrance and exit total for District 9 and he sped his way there, hoping that he would get to the spot before she could. The little fool; no wonder she had gotten in trouble yesterday. She seemed too naive already and too trusting.
He was sure he heard it, but at the same time he assumed that he was only imagining it. He swore that he could've heard Mike yelling, "Where the hell are you going?!"

Just as usual, many of the non-humans and the gang members were out in the wasteland of their home; rummaging around like cockroaches for their own need, greed, and hunger. He hated the humans who came by even more; it was as though they were too low to even be considered as humans and stayed with the non-humans just so they could feel better about themselves. He couls see the strange looks received from onlookers as he ran through the trash and debris.

He had half expected it, and hoped it wasn't true; the foolish woman had actually and willingly walked deep into forbidden territory carrying cat food. It was no better if she had worn steaks around her neck and walked into a stadium of lions. He wanted to just sit back and laugh at her for being so silly, but the joke was soon over as he watched the wild prawns rise from beneath the garbage -the metal screeching on top of one another as it slid away- like flowers and eyed her like a predator stalking it's prey.
Her look was almost dumbfounded; so foolishly walking slowly and ever so leisurely, as if she had no idea whatsoever where she was. Surely she had to know what would be coming if she walked in so innocently and calmly. The prawns were out of hiding, they crept towards her like spindly spiders; their legs and arms almost looking to similar to one another.

He sprinted to her, hoping to either knock her out of the district to her safety, or at least push her out of the way of the closing circle of ravenous non-humans. A look of shock jumped onto her unknowing face; he rejoiced in the fact that she had finally caught on to what the situation was leading to. Alas, his relief turned to anxiety, for he saw she was running towards him, like a child would to a friend.
Again, he was stressed by how idiotic she almost seemed. All of a sudden, as if the prawns saw it too in her face, they headed for the space between her and him and waited for the right moment to just spring at her. He couldn't let someone get hurt in front of him when she had not meant it. At least, he assumed that she had not meant it.
The distance was eaten away by his long legs and he swooped her up into his arms. He could hear air get pushed out of her and his hard body clang against something. Though he was sure he had picked her up in time, some of the prawns still had better reflexes than he did and grabbed at his hip, tearing away what fabric was wrapped around there. Human hands would've had no affect on him, but the sharp metal tips of military guns and alien claws could still dent his outer plates.

He knew for sure that the hand had inbedded 3 sharp fingers around his leg and a wet substance moved slowly down the measure of his limb. By pure instinct he kicked away what was there and wasn't. Little sounds of shrieks and clicks came from the group below and behind him as he sped away. He could hear their steps pattering on the ground, even feel the earth tremble from the weight of the chase.

He ran around the hovels that filled up the District. The houses were placed together in a way that it could serve as a maze or a trap. It depended on what view you looked at it from. Every turn past a corner, every length down an alley, under some of the roofs that overlapped other; he held the weight in his arms until he was sure that they were away from any humans or non-humans. Each moment he moved away, he could tell that one had given up and went away.
She wasn't heavy -he was thankful for that- but the bag she held and her hair(he joked to himself about that) was heavy; dragging his legs down with every few steps and leaps. His ankles rolled back and forth and his thighs felt hot. The only comfort he got out of the hunt was how cool her flesh felt on his charged skin.

Finally, the only footsteps and tired breathing he could hear were his own. Christopher swallowed a huge intake of air before he set the young maiden in his arms down behind a large wall that he recognized was used as the betting holes during the evening and Saturdays.
While she climbed down from his arms, he recorded that she wasn't as short as he suspected before; she reached just a few inches below his shoulders. She stepped back away from him, her feet gyrating in a circle as though she had lost touch with the sense of balance and was trying to regain it.

Once more, she set the bag down at her feet. The brown paper bag was more torn than it had been before, but it seemed that whatever was in it was still in it. The woman kept her face on him as she bent over the bag and dug her arm inside it for a few seconds. A look of epiphany lit her face as she rose back up. The notebook and capless marker were back in her hands. She flipped the wrinkled and dry pages over each other till it appeared she had found a clear spot.
With the marker, he could hear the dry nib scratching the paper, she went wild with her writing again. Her lips rolled inside her mouth and she looked almost chinless for a second. When she was done writing what she was writing, she turned it over to him.

The ink was dry as he thought and left long streaks with gaps of white between. Some dots were dark with the rich colour of ink but soon faded till it didn't even seem to be part of the word. One phrase filled a page;

Sorry.

He rubbed his sore thighs, "No, it's....."
The word 'alright' almost escaped from his mandibles, but in reality, he didn't think it was alright at all. It was moronic actually to walk into District 9 with neither protection or weapon. Especially how she just about waltzed into the danger zone with a simpering smile. He kept quiet, wondering who would say the next word or what would be said. He didn't want to say such a thing to make her think that it would be... fun.... for her to get caught up in danger again and he didn't want her to feel bad by hearing him say that it was stupid and inexcusable to do in most situations. Plus, she might've taken away the cat-food.

She made whistling sounds and clicking sounds. They sounded faster than before so he got a better understanding.

He still thought it was annoying to hear her speak that way. He thought that by now, the language 'converter' should've started kicking in or grew slowly, but it still seemed as though he had never did it. Most likely, it would kick in and start by tomorrow. But then again, would he have the chance to communicate with her? She had already came and said her thanks. He didn't think there was anything about him that could appeal to her that would have her coming back for more and he certainly couldn't seduce a human for his own pleasure. It was against the law and sick to even do or think such a thing. He pushed that worry to the back of his mind and focused on listening to her little clicks and chirping.
In exasperation as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, he clicked out, "What's wrong with you? Why don't you speak?"

She seemed distrubed by his question and it was like he had just asked the wrong thing. But she smiled through what seemed to be a quivering face. Her smile kept wavering up and down like the waves of rushing water. He felt so unsure of himself knowing that he was the one who suddenly popped her bubble like that. He wondered just how much he hurt her by that question. She turned the notebook over to her front and wrote again in exagerated movements. In an instant, she showed him her message again;

Mute.

He was taken aback and the feeling of guilt flowered in his bowels. He gulped, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought you were maybe...." he bit his tongue again; refraining the word 'dumb' from escaping in tell-tale clicks.
She wrote once more on the notebook, her tongue clicking out a pattern of speech that was similar to his own people and abnormal at the same time when she did so. He looked overhead of her writing and the black scribblings and scrawls had filled the page. It was amazing in the effort of communication that she put into just to say what she wanted. He figured that if the fate should ever befall him, he would of been happier to just be silent for the rest of his existance. Hell, that was basically it now. The MNU agents rarely listened and took in what the non-humans had to say. It was the same as MNU being deaf or they being mute and speechless.
She finished by stamping the paper with the tip of her marker and passed the notebook into his opening 3 fingered-hand. He held it carefully as if it was an eggshell, so afraid that it could perhaps crumble apart into dust from it's brittleness or his fiery skin would actually melt the ink and stain it over the surface of splattered white.

I want to thank you. That was very kind of you to help me yesterday.
The men were going to hurt me and I was afraid nobody would stop them.
Even more, I am thankful that you were able to understand me that day.
Few would have been able to and less than that would've done something.
I brought you a gift.

Right when he finished the word 'gift' he dropped the notebook from his gaze and saw that she had already picked up the torn brown bag. She moved it closer to him, a smile growing on her face. The young girl whistled and clicked; he understood one word amongst the little sounds, "Cat-food."
He was already trembling and shaking to see the cans of chopped up fish guts, salted and whatnot, lined up with one another that he could barely see a bit of the base of the paper bag. His insides felt like they were twisted up and his forehead was throbbing. His hearts were racing against each other in what seemed to be an endless marathon. He could hear the bag crinkle and cry, almost urging him to just swallow them up. He wondered just what he did to deserve such a reward.
Was a human's life and gratitude worth so much?

If she hadn't had whistled, he probably would've stood there, glued to the ground, staring at the treat in front of him.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweeeeet....
He looked to see her cat-like eyes almost wider than before. He inquired to her what she was whistling about and she clicked her tongue to a very basic word in his language; 12. He couldn't really believe it. He had thought there were about 4 or 5, but 12! He had never held so many of it all at once in his hands. He didn't even think he had seen as many cans as that at the same time.

"Why did you get so many?"

A whistle and clicks was how she replied, "Too much?"

He shook his head; explaining, "No, no. I... I appreciate it. I just didn't think that you could get so many on one occasion. They're always so expensive -to us, that is- but it must be worth some value to the humans..."

She shook her head, chattering away like a cicada. In her almost incoherent phrases, he could make out one word, ".... job...."

"You worked for these?" he asked while picking up one of the cans. She shook her head again, her eyes looking frantic. He wondered why there was such a panic in her expression. Did he do something to make her scared? Was she mistaking hunger in his eyes for blood-lust? Could there be something he didn't detect but she did? Whatever it might've been, the young woman spun around in circles, her head going up and down as though she was looking for something.
She turned her back to him and he almost felt helpless not knowing what look was on her face for him to understand her by. Her shoulders rose up and slumped with an air of disappointment. He put the can right back into the bag and came closer to her. Her bushy hair almost touching his chest. He could already feel the sharp stringy strands scratching and poking though the cracks of his hide plates. She didn't jerk or flinch to the feeling of a body coming closer, while he did. It was strange to experience such a thing while one was well aware of what was happening. He pondered why was it when she had her face turned away from him, he felt all the more nervous than when he had held her in his arms and ran away. The feeling of uncertainty pinched at his brain.

She finally looked at him and motioned with a quick swing of her wrist to come closer. He complied. She focused her attention to a grimy piece of tin in front of them that had served its use as a wall. She started writing on the tin; the dust and germs being moved away like the earth and the long cries of the dirty tip meeting marred sheen. THe marker was getting drier and drier. The black ink was almost a dingy grey and it was hard to tell which word was which. He felt almost giddy to see how quick she could write, but the words appeared like fish coming from rising waters. He had felt those hands on him, he had even touched them for an instant. But he was filled with such an urge to place just one finger on her thin wrist or fingers to feel the skill of speed that she displayed for him. It was like watching something that had never been watched or was not meant to be. He supposed that it would've felt right if he had looked away and only read it when she was done, but the temptation at looking at such a work in progress was worth it more than that feeling.
The limb and tool moved gracefully, as the words themselves slowly disappeared just as gracefully.

At that point, he could only guess what she was saying.

"Oh, you have a job and you were able to get these?" he asked to verify his assumption from her handwriting ruined by metal and vanishing ink.

She nodded eagerly as though he had guessed where she had hidden away secret treasure.
Christopher looked at the lines and dashes again. "No, I wasn't worried about how much it costs -I mean, I didn't want to impose too much on you."
She smiled and her mouth opened. Even laughing, not a single sound came from her. She turned back to the wall to write, yet as her hand and the marker moved in an elaborate dance, no words came from them. Her mouth stretched down into a look of shock that he could always recognize and she looked up worriedly to him.

She was too quick and too strange in her speaking of whistles and clicks.

He couldn't understand her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her face was pulled together in a way that even without a smile, she was something to marvel at. From pursed lips then stretching out, he could only briefly understand what she was trying to say, "..... still...... and.....?"

"What?"

She repeated herself again, the sounds were identical, but he picked up something else from it, "..... you...... under......sing.....?"

He shook his head, the image of her hair flying everywhere came to his mind. "I can't understand you. What is it?"

She sighed so loudly that it annoyed him; her mixed eyes rolling back. Without anything else, she waved to him, looking almost in dismay, and ran through the alleys. She ran straight down away from him and turned into a corner. He went after her, trying to track her down. He wanted to know what was it she was suddenly running away from him. There wans't really anything. He was on full alert for anything that could be coming and to make sure that he always had some idea where she was. Small muffled thumps of her footsteps almost echoed throughout the dismal field of trash and junk.
He yelled after her, starting to pick up speed, "Stop! They're going to come after you again!"

She didn't stop.
She didn't reply with imitating clicks.
She didn't even whistle.

He kept close after her -the gift held tightly in his hands- and started to gain up on her. Their simuteneous steps and the clanging from the jumping cans attracted many questioning stares. They kept running and running. They ran through and past the same spot where she had once again gotten attacked. The non-humans that had saw her and were about to attack her were luckily not there. Though a few of them -some he knew, some he didn't care to know- perked up to see her running and him chasing after her.
One of them jumped to his side and held him around his waist. Said non-human asked with a husky tone and pitched clicks, "What are you doing? Don't you know you could get in trouble with what you're doing? We can't afford having you in jail right now -think about the plan!"
He didn't resist or grapple his way out of his friends arms. Christopher kept his gaze on her; her hair rising up and down and the length of her dress rushing and rolling behind her. She just had to run straight through the arch. Some of the humans stared and even started to approach her, their axes and guns in their hands.

He mentally urged her to run faster. Jump. Roll. Anything to get out faster. Almost like magic, as soon as one of her covered toes just passed beneathe the shadows of the arch, the human men hesitated in their steps like they had no idea what they were just thinking about and went back to work and the non-humans who were watching her so carefully acted like she hadn't been there. He still watched her, wanting to make sure that she was out of the proximity and surely she would be safe from the dangers that could leak out of District 9.
She moved -almost like she was trying to hide and watch him as he was watching her- around the pole holding up the metallic sheet reading; District 9 and past the same chain link fence.

The bushy-haired, brown-and-green-eyed woman waved to him and mouthed something that he didn't understand. Yet an electric feeling jolted him to see those lips move and he could've sworn the message was something of endearment, but he ignored it.
She moved away and he couldn't believe that it was so possibly for someone eccentric as her to camoflauge so easily in the now busy streets of Johannesburg. He couldn't tell where she had gone anymore.

The clicking and buzzing was still in his ear, the non-human who had their arms around him pestered with questions, "What did she steal from you? Did she catch you doing something? Why were you chasing her?" There was a slight pause when Christopher could hear his friend's neck creak. He knew that he was looking at the catfood in the bag. "Did you steal cat-food from her?"

Christopher didn't answer.
He got out of the grip of his friend and started to head to his hut. The possessive instinct finally took over him and he cupped his arms all around the bag; determined not to lose a single can. He walked -rather it looked like he was stalking, that anything that crossed him, he would destroy it in a heartbeat. He could sense of essence of dare and nervousness from around him. He knew that they all knew what was in there; by how he acted towards the package and the wafting smell of manufactured plastic and fish. Let them know what he had. It was all his and he wouldn't let them have a single bite. His feeling of sudden domination was melted away by a little thing. Such an odd affect the woman had on his behavior and thinking. As he walked back to his hut to hide away his new treat, a little voice reminded him of something.

'I didn't even ask her name.' he scolded to himself.

Who is this unnamed woman? Will she be his new found love? WIll she be the path that leads him to a higer understanding? Or could she simply be an obstacle?
Stay tuned to this fanfic to find out the answers to these questions and more!

That was the third chapter. Next chapter will hopefully be better.

As usual, any comments or questions, please leave them in your review.