This takes place during Piper's recuperation from "Crash". The first part is from her perspective.
xxxxx
We collapsed in a heap on the floor. I leaned against him, and his strong, steady hands held me. He readjusted himself beneath me, and his arms locked around me.
I could feel his breath on my shoulder. "Piper, are you alright?"
I nodded, swallowing. "I-I'll be fine," I panted. I closed my eyes, reminding myself to take smooth, slow breaths. In... and out. He watched, and listened, his head craning over my shoulder and looking at me sideways.
He brushed the long, dark waterfall of hair away from his face, fastening it behind an ear. It threatened to burst out of its holding, but stayed. "Just let me know when you're ready."
I nodded again, fighting the urge to bite my lip. Instead, I grit my teeth, knowing that biting would do me no good. I mean, it helped – the distraction from the pain always helped – but... I just got another pain elsewheres, and something else was wounded. I felt so useless... and I'm sure hurting myself even more wouldn't be a good way to show my gratitude.
My caretaker and guardian pressed me against him gently, so my back would be supported. I could just sit without straining, even as I imagined how much the consistent stress must be taking a toll on his spine. It was one of those things you didn't really think about, until you had to deal with it every day, time and again. A little sacrifice that seemed like common sense, but after a while, it must have been a burden.
But I couldn't bring myself to apologise. Again.
He'd been so angry... He hadn't done or said anything to me, but he'd disappeared for a while – I guess to keep his thoughts together. Clenched fists that stayed close to his side. I wondered where he'd gone, and what he'd done while he was alone, much like I never had before. Because, I knew he wasn't on bridge duty. Not when I was sitting alone in the bridge. Alone in the bridge of a crashed ship. Alone, and helpless. Scared, and frightened of what might happen to him when he was away from me. What would happen to me if he disappeared for good. If he just decided that I was too much hassle, and he left me to the beasts that must prowl this place. What he was doing while he risked my safety, what was so important that he left me alone. Injured, and fragile and helpless.
What about my apology had angered him so, that he'd abandoned me for a short time?
It was a short time, but a time in which I went from startled, and then angry, to terrified. My voice caught in my throat, vanished like he'd taken it with him. It takes abandonment like that to truly appreciate being alone.
To truly appreciate what it was like... to be Stork.
The horror of abandonment. The vulnerability of separation. The disturbing quiet of a dead ship. The bones and wounds of a destroyed vessel decaying all around you. I imagined I could feel her, then. Lying in a weary faint, her body limp and breathless. Moaned her life away, until the last lungful of air slipped out of her lips, the glass of her broken face shattered all over the floor.
Stork had swept some of it out of the way, so there was a walkway from the bridge to other parts of the ship, but he'd placed me in one of the pilot's seats – keeping me in his sanctuary. When he came back, his voice was quiet, and he didn't look at the wound. Smiled at me, as if I wasn't injured. And it scared me. I tried not to mention it, tried not to bring attention to it. Took the sandwiches he held out to me, a weary apology for his absence. Also, a kind of excuse. I took the meal and ate, quietly, observing him and the ship in a new, darker light.
Here we were again. It was dark in the passageways. Even with all the hatches thrown open (I remembered hearing him grunt as he forced them all open manually, one by one) so that the light from outside could spread out, it was still shady, and a little spooky. Like the ship was a ghost of her former glory. As we ventured through her skeletal frame, I became more disturbed by the vessel, and more appreciative of Stork's love for her.
I opened my eyes, and looked to him. His eyes were closed as well. In fact... I think he looked very tired, now that I looked at him. His long face seemed gaunt, particularly as the shadows accentuated his strong cheekbones. I hadn't really noticed before, but he did seem rather ghastly. Having skin the green of disease would have that effect on you, I suppose. But there was an eerie rightness about his appearance, in this setting, in this situation. Like he was exactly the kind of person – or beast – you'd expect to find inhabiting the hull of a dead ship. Like some scavenger, who was only at peace with death and destruction – an odd combination of doom and gloom and... a dark beauty that I'd never taken the time to appreciate. Some called it 'emo', but... with Stork, it just seemed right.
I took a deep breath, calming myself. I imagine I saw his mouth twitch ever so slightly into a smile. Or a smirk. Or the shadow of one.
I think I saw his eyes twitching under his eyelids. I saw his head lull forward just a smidge. I could feel his grip lose hold, and the pressure behind me start to slowly retreat.
"Stork?"
Instantly, he straightened, his back firm against mine once more, the hands again at my arms. His ears bounced once, and that head was tilted toward me, a large yellow eye looking directly into mine.
"Mmm?" The question wasn't spoken, but a soft murmuring the I felt more through his chest than from his throat. The dark markings that lined his eyes lowered again, but he looked to me, patiently.
Tiredly.
"Stork, you look really tired," I finally said, managing a soft smile.
He made a small sound. I think it was a kind of laugh, but it came out as a bit of a sniff, or a snort. He regarded me with a smile – a reassuring one, but his eyelids still drooped.
"When you're ready, we can go on," he murmured out of the side of his mouth.
His head slipped out of my line of sight, then, but as he inhaled a deep breath, I could feel it in my hair. He let it out, and the hands at my arms did slightly stroking little things. Little reassurances that he did.
I wasn't sure when he'd started... but it was the first time I'd noticed.
Or noticed that the pressure on my back was met with his, but at my hips, I could feel his legs, drawn tight against me. That with his arms around me, I was quite literally wrapped in him – locked in his embrace. From his breath, I could feel his head just above mine – like some kind of velociraptor watching over his prey. Or babe.
In a way, it seemed like both. Unsettling... but also terribly comforting. Who was going to fight a velociraptor for prey or child? I know I wouldn't. Stork had a way of surprising you, and for the few times I'd seen him in battle, I'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't someone to be trifled with. There weren't many things that set him off, but if you managed it, you'd better be prepared for the severe consequences. I thought of the leviathan... How he'd taken the helm with such a relish while under the spell, and afterwards wandered the ship, not quite believing the stories we told him. He was... pretty bad for a while. I wasn't sure which part scared him the most – losing the Condor, or losing his mind about it.
But I knew the fact that he couldn't remember any of it disturbed him quite a bit.
But in this situation... he wasn't very disturbed. It was more of an... acceptance. I wondered if, maybe, this is how things were meant to be. That he belonged here, in the Condor, broken or not. I remembered our first 'adventure' as the Storm Hawks. How he told me, rather simply, that 'this pilot goes down with his ship'. His loyalties to the crew were questionable, but his loyalty to this ship was undeniable.
I let out a sigh. "Alright. I think I'm ready."
"Alrighty..." His voice was soft, breathy. I don't know if it was the silence, or the fact that we were always so close together, but he didn't raise his voice much these days. Not that he ever spoke terribly loud – except when he was yelling at someone, or screaming. But generally, he was soft-spoken. Now, when it was just the two of us, it was more so. And those soft smiles were becoming more the norm than the sideways glances. Whatever space had been between us for professional reasons – or whatever you would want to call it – seemed to have vanished somewhere amidst him treating my injuries. Granted, there was so much privacy you could get when you had a bad leg – bathroom time, in particular, came to mind – but Stork had taken to it with a tenderness that... I honestly wouldn't have expected from him.
But, he did like to surprise you.
He had his arms under mine, so I could use them as handles, bars against which to push myself up. I held on, and he slowly rose, tipping my weight back onto my feet – the right holding, though shaking, and the left with a great deal of pain. The wrappings that surrounded my thigh were a source of much discomfort, to put it kindly. I'd... stopped looking at the wound when he changed my dressings. It disgusted me, and I really didn't want to have the images haunt my memory more than they already did. A mass of red blood was more of an abstraction than the mutilated, torn tissue that was under it, a sick fantasy I didn't want to indulge. So when Stork cleaned it, with as much gentleness and kindness as he could muster, I didn't fuss. I didn't look. I just held my breath, it seemed, and waited for him to finish.
Much like now, I held my breath. Step. Step. Step. Step. Almost at that last door. Step. Step. Step. Step. There, past it now. Looking down, I could see his green feet right behind mine, the toes ready to snatch me up at a moment's notice if I go down. My fingers wrapped around his, his arms brushing against mine. Always behind me, a breathing on the back of my head. Right there, right behind me. A velociraptor, looking over me, though whether to care or to eat, I couldn't tell.
It was slow going. But he was patient. We made it to the end.
"You're doing well," he said kindly. He turned me around. We started back to the front.
Inching, shuffling. Occasionally stepping, striding. He's not particular as to how I go about it, just that I'm using the leg, and moving. He's there if I need him. For support. For encouragement. For company. It's a long trek, but we do it every day. Up and down each level, marching the dead body of his fallen love.
We were on level 3 when I stopped again. Panting, as he once again shifted himself beneath me. Playing prop. His hands squeezed mine reassuringly. His face slipped into my view – he smiled at me.
"It's alright – you're making good time," he told me. "Last lap, and then lunch."
I nodded quickly, trying to catch my breath. In... out. In... out.
But I looked back at him, and noticed something.
He was looking away. It was much darker down here – it was a much smaller corridor. He wasn't going to take me into the cargo bay. If you could call it that. We generally used it as a 'movie room', although the countless lockers in the walls held something. I didn't know what, but something. Likely, he knew. Likely a store of Merb cabbage, for one.
As I looked at him, his eyes seemed... like he was debating something. His eyes were focused on one hatch in particular, and it took me a moment to realise... it was his room.
"Do you want to... move shop down here?" I asked him. In all honesty, I was terrified he'd say yes. It was so dark down here... If level 2 was ghostly, level 3 was demonic. Level 1 was the only one with enough natural light to call it really lit, and we did generally hang out in the bridge as a crew. Not that we didn't hang elsewheres as well, the bridge was just... Stork's comfort zone. Or rather, most of the time he was flying the ship, and it was easier to come to him then get him away from the helm for any extended period of time. He murmured something non-commital. Doubtless he'd sensed my wariness in with the proposal.
I glanced at the hatch as well. Wondered if maybe that's where he'd run off to. His room. As I pondered it, a realisation came to me – I hadn't seen Stork sleep in some time.
My eye turned back to him, and my observation that he looked... gaunt. And tired. I slept fitfully – the pain kept waking me – but he was always there with an icer, or food for my 'strength'. I wondered if he ever slept anymore – it wasn't the first time I'd thought it, but now I realised, even for Merbs, it wasn't healthy to go days without sleep.
"Stork..." That eye turned to me. "You really look tired. You should get some rest."
His smile was kind. So kind, it was patronising. "You're almost done with your lap. And then I'll make you lunch. Then we can rest."
"No, Stork, I mean it," I argued back. I looked to the hatch. "When was the last time you slept in your own bed?"
He looked to the hatch, and back at me. And then away.
"Longer than I'd care to admit, to be honest," he answered.
In that moment, he let go of the mask. The weariness dragged him down – his arms fell limp, his hands cupping mine, the legs sprawled out on either side of me. Even his head drooped over my shoulder. He nuzzled my neck.
"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly against my skin. "I guess I am... really tired."
I smiled, rubbing a finger on his hand. "It's alright. I do appreciate what you're doing for me."
He murmured against me, his skin soft and smooth, and cool against mine. It felt... real nice.
"That feels good," I said softly.
I could feel him instantly clench around me. The fingers clawed ever so slightly. His muscles tightened. Even his face hardened.
His voice sounded a little harsh when he spoke. "You don't mind?" I think it sounded... bitter.
"No, it feels nice, actually," I said. I even craned my head away, so he could get more neck. "Please."
I sensed a calculation being made. Finally, "I don't think you know what it entails."
"A little... physical affection?" I chanced. "I mean, you practically change my diapers. Don't see how much more intimate I can get."
I think my snarkiness assured him. His eyes looked into mine.
He closed them. "I am... Really tired. And my bed has been calling me for some time." He opened them, slightly, just to look at me. "But I don't want to have you too far away. In case you need me."
"You can take me with you," I suggested. To be honest, this touching thing did feel real nice. And... he was always so gentle. I felt... safe. Safe as one did with a guard dog. That velociraptor thought again.
His neck coiled back, and he narrowed his eyes at me. But he blinked. Presumably seeing my point.
"I... suppose. If you're not hungry, that is."
I shook my head. "Not quite." To be honest... I was tired. I often fought through lunch – I just wanted to crash a while, not eat. I would be starving later, but... Not having to go back to the lift was a little spoiling I hoped he would give me. And it wasn't really a lie...
"Well. I can't argue with that," he said finally. He held his hands open to me, and my fingers wrapped in his. I had an extra finger, and it hung about oddly, but neither of us said anything about it. Using his arms as a base, I tried to pull myself up, his body pressing against mine as he tilted me on my feet.
Step. Hobble. Hobble. He stepped into the hatch and turned to me.
"Um... How about if I just... pick you up?" he asked.
"Yes, please!" I said quietly, gratefully falling into his arms. He scooped me up without a sound – though I'm sure I felt him grunt – and placed me on the bed. My good leg lay on the outside – so I didn't have to worry about it falling off the end, I suppose. With his always surprising dexterity, he crept in the other side.
There was a very happy little smile on his face as he very gently pulled the blanket from beneath us. He snuggled – yes, snuggled – in beside me, and pulled it over us.
"If you need anything, I'm right. Here," he said, looking up at me with eyes that... I think were 'adoring'.
I smirked. He really was tired. But he then rested that head of his on my shoulder, nuzzling me again. His hands clutched my arm loosely, and I watched the weariness – and life – drain from his body.
Before long, he was snoozing. The deep in and outs of his breathing were soothing, and before long, I was asleep, too.
xxxxx
Yes, I purposefully started with that assumption, hehehe... Contrary to common assumption, I don't see Stork as someone who is naturally insomniac. Quite honestly, I think having a number of people on his ship (or at least, that's how he sees it) stresses him out quiet a bit. Near the end of the show, he relaxes a bit, but in "Origins" he's rather well contained – which is at odds with how stressed he is to begin with. I feel this is from the crew, and their invasion on his home more than anything else. So when Piper needs someone to watch over her, he's used to sacrificing sleep for the crew. Problem is, it does take a toll on him – it's not healthy for him to skip out on sleep like that, even if he's gotten pretty used to it. I also like a strange balance between Stork's animalistic nature and his advanced intelligence. While the humans are more 'civilised' physically, their mental evolution isn't quite there. I feel the Merbs have kept some of their animalistic parts – such as the feet, the ears, and the muzzle – but in turn are more intellectually evolved. So when he gets tired, or stressed, or angry, or even aroused, he's very feral about it – nuzzling, and growling and being rough and wild.