Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Tin Man 'verse. Nothing and no one. Because (at the moment) I'm playing only with the Sci-Fi original characters.
He'd arrived back at camp with an armful of firewood just in time to see Furball grab a hold of the girl. Immediately he dropped the fallen branches he had spent so much time collecting, his firearm trained on the creature in an instant. She was not going to be harmed on his watch.
She waved him off, once again placing trust in the basic goodness of someone she'd just met. And the fur ball responded by gentling and attempting to comfort her about her missing parents. Two people he'd momentarily forgotten.
Hearing Furball speak about her parents missing her reminded him sharply of his own child. And he was almost lost in the pain of his absence, but for D- the girl's introduction. She'd swallowed her own pain for the moment, intent on continuing on, knowing it would accomplish nothing to wallow in self-pity.
So while Zipperhead mumbled over the accuracy of Furball's name, he swallowed hard. Pushing aside the gaping torrent of pain over his son, it would have to be dealt with later. There were more pressing matters at hand, the least of which being the escaped viewer who had joined their group. So he backed off, and set to building up the fire.
He warned her about blind trust, or rather trust of any kind. Despite the fact that deep down he wanted her to be able to trust him. But as long as he could he would make sure she wasn't hurt. Especially by him.
The next breath found him on the ground, grabbing his leg where he'd been bitten. Furball - Ray, moved to heal him, ignoring the beginnings of argument he'd tried to dredge up. But the bite hurt that damn bad, that he'd allowed the newest member of the group to lay hands on his upper thigh in an attempt to make it better. The embarrassment was not lost on him.
Then Furball was spouting things he no longer truly believed about himself. Brave? Good? Maybe once, and when he thought about it, it made him rather sad.
His musings were cut short by the girl's incredulous and somewhat confused expression on hearing that he was once a Tin Man. They way she spoke he got the distinct feeling she wasn't too fond of the policemen where she'd come from.
He looked down at his leg, and then over at Furball. The bite was gone, only two blood-stained holes in his pants giving any evidence that it had been there at all. Too bad Furball couldn't have fixed that too, they were his only pair left.
Damn it, they were drafty.