A/N: Thank you reviewers, and all readers too! Here's the next set of oneshots, staying in the about same time frame as before, very linear. In upcoming chapters I'll probably do a lot more skipping around in time periods, and it'll feel less like a "story" and more like oneshots just for the joy of reading and writing. But, I hope you like how this is going, and please, continue to read and review!
Thank you and enjoy!
EDITED
"Where are you from?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"I'm just trying to be friendly."
Despite their snippy words, Onua and Daine were trading tiny grins and sitting on Numair's threadbare couch, a drab brown thing with plenty of holes and loose cushion covers. But it was comfortable. It had character, Numair liked to think. Underneath it was a simple rug, and scattered all around were countless books and papers. His house was always a mess, but today it was worse than ever. Old mugs lived on the coffee table, dust resided on the floor, and blankets grew mold on the ground. White walls and high ceilings were the only things that kept the room from feeling like some sort of filthy cave. Numair saw Daine's eyes scanning the place, undoubtedly making false assumptions about his character. He sighed and walked over to them.
"How old are you?" Onua asked as Numair seated himself in the only available space beside Daine.
The stormy blue-grey eyes flashed. "Fifteen," replied Daine firmly.
Onua nodded, but Numair narrowed his eyes. Somehow he could tell that Daine was hiding something. Her face was calm and betrayed nothing, but her eyes could not lie. "No. You're not," said Numair conversationally.
Whipping her head around, Daine glared at him fiercely, a sudden hardness in her tone. "How do you know?"
"I can just tell, that's all. How old are you, really?"
Her gaze burned into him. "I'm thirteen," she said at last. "What does it matter?"
Numair paused; Daine's eyes gleamed.
She was so young.
She'd been surprised at their kindness. They'd offered to let her clean up, given her a meal, and let her stay in the warmth for a while.
Daine knew it couldn't last.
She sat curled in one of the man's – Numair's – old shirts. The piece of clothing was so large on her that it fit more like a dress. But it was much warmer than the torn, tattered outfit that she'd been in for more than three days straight. Three days – or was it four? She couldn't remember.
She should remember. Clutching her legs tightly to her chest, she rested her forehead tiredly on her knees. The bathroom's door was cold against her back. Water dripped from her clean, wet hair onto the cool white tile. Three days or four? Her throat was still dry from black smoke. She could still see flames whenever she closed her eyes.
But she couldn't remember how long it had been anymore.
"Don't call Social Services," said Daine fiercely, spitting out the words like they were acid on her tongue.
Onua and Numair blinked; they looked at each other, then back at the girl. Her face was set with determination. Her hair looked almost black when it was wet, which made her skin look even fairer – and also emphasized her eyes all the more. Numair could not stop himself from behind drawn to notice them over and over again.
"Why not?" Onua asked.
"Because. Please, just don't."
The adults traded another glance. It was clear that there was something they did not know, and that they were not likely to find out what it was anytime soon. Daine was guarded, her eyes flat, but she was not wavering in her decision. Crossing his arms, Numair considered her carefully. "You'd run off again if we tried to call help, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I would."
Numair sighed. Her words were as sharp as cat's claws, a sting that Numair was learning to be wary of. "How do you want us to help you, then?"
"I didn't ask for your help," Daine muttered. "I'd be perfectly happy to just keep going to find a job somewhere round here."
"Good luck with that," said Onua dryly. "You have to be fifteen to get a job, and it doesn't happen often around here. When was the last time you were in school?"
"It don't hurt to try," Daine hissed. The kitten's eyes narrowed with the girl's rising irritation.
Too many factors were coming into play on very short notice, Numair thought. Letting out a long breath, the man collapsed into a chair, glaring at Daine and Onua both. So they couldn't call Social Services, and Daine couldn't legally get a job and be on her own. She couldn't be enrolled in school as an orphan without guardians. But though she was young, she didn't strike him as a child, in any case. All the same, Numair couldn't exactly leave her on her own on the streets. Meeting Onua's eyes, Numair knew that she, too, was thinking many of the same things that he was.
Crossing her arms, Onua looked Daine over and frowned. "What kind of things can you do, Daine?"
"I can work," Daine growled defiantly. "I can do anything s'long as I'm getting paid for it."
"That's what worries me," sighed Onua, but Numair wasn't sure if Daine caught the words. Onua glanced over at him. Numair knew what she was thinking. Young, pretty, alone, and on the streets – it was too risky. Looking back at the girl, Onua put her hands firmly on her hips and tilted her head in consideration. "You can work for me, if you want. I'm short on hands at the moment."
"You're offering me a job?"
"Yes."
"What kind of job?"
"Onua works at an animal shelter," interjected Numair, watching the girl carefully for her reaction. He hadn't seen the cat leave her side since they had met. A small intuitive hop lead him to the conclusion that Daine liked being around animals. "Onua runs it, really – does most of the caring and managing. It's always short on hands because they take in any animal in need, so some workers get scared off by the more uncooperative types."
"Uncooperative," muttered Onua dryly. "That's an understatement."
"And you'll pay me?" Daine questioned. "You won't treat me like some kid? You'll actually pay me, as if I was a full worker?"
"No. But I'll give you a place to stay that's not government-owned."
There was a pause as the two women stared unblinkingly at each other, Onua with a perfectly flat gaze, leaving her question open to either response. Daine's eyes were still hard and cautious, but Numair could tell the proposal held something for her. She was considering it.
"You won't turn me in? You won't treat me different and call up Social Services soon as I turn my back?"
"No."
"You can trust Onua," Numair put in. "I've known her for ages. She's not lying to you."
"And how's I know I can trust you?" spat Daine, whipping around to direct her glare at him instead.
"You have to trust someone. What other options do you have?"
For a moment, Daine's eyes narrowed dangerously at Numair, as if daring him to underestimate her. Numair met the burning gaze evenly, and eventually, Daine turned back to Onua. Caught off guard by her sudden reversal, Numair blinked and frowned.
"I'll take it," she said calmly. "I'll work for you, without pay, if you give me a fair decent place to live."
"Then we have deal," smiled Onua.
Back outside again, Daine titled her face to the sun and soaked up as much of its fresh rays as she could. The day had gotten warmer since the raw morning, but it was still brisk. The sunlight was welcomed by all. Padding quietly by Daine's feet, Cloud suddenly rushed forward to pounce on an unsuspecting blade of grass, and then skittered back to Daine with her prey proudly clutched between her teeth. Daine laughed and knelt on the sidewalk, lifting the kitten up to her own height and speaking firmly.
"You're slowing us up, Cloud," she scolded. "I'll carry you if you're keep on doing that, you know."
Cloud mewed pitifully, making Daine smile as she placed the tiny kitten on her shoulder. Tucking her pink nose under Daine's hair, Cloud seemed resigned to her new seat for the rest of the walk. Onua titled her head as she watched.
"How long have you had her?"
"Who? Cloud?" asked Daine. Onua nodded. "Oh. I suppose – 'bout four months. She's hardly a kitten still."
"She's very small," noted Onua. Daine shrugged – almost dislodging Cloud from her nap.
"All the food I had, I shared. I did the best I could so's we wouldn't ever get too hungry."
"You've had some rough times, haven't you?" Onua said quietly.
The warmth of the day seemed to vanish, leaving Daine cold and empty. She cast her eyes down at the ground, avoiding the other woman's gaze. "Yeah," she said shortly. Cloud woke up and moved, shifting so that her penetrating hazel eyes glared threateningly at Onua. Daine was relieved when Onua took the hint and changed the subject smoothly.
"How much schooling have you had?"
"Up till seventh grade," replied Daine, "but I was taught mostly at home, too. I had to work somedays and couldn't always go to school."
A smile formed on Onua's sharp face, matching the sudden, mischievous light in her eyes. Daine frowned up at her in some trepidation. Onua's grin grew, and she let out a short laugh, clasping her hands together and stretching her arms out lazily in front of her. "I know a certain man who will not stand for a young woman to go through her years without proper teaching," she said, her expression wolfish. "You'll be working for me four days a week, then. That'll be enough for you to earn your keep."
"'Proper teaching?'" repeated Daine. Her heart beat faster. "You've just hired me in a job, school wouldn't work, I don't got birth certificates or social security or even a legal guardian."
"Calm down. I didn't say school. You'll be working four days a week; you couldn't also go to school. You're under the radar - I get that." Onua's voice was sympathetic, but to Daine's relief, there was no pity. Only firm kindness.
"Just four days from seven?" Daine clarified. "What'll I do the other three?"
"Friday will be your day off," stated Onua. Something was still glimmering behind her friendly gaze. "Mondays through Thursdays, you'll work."
"And on Saturdays or Sundays?"
The sun was still inching its careful way up through the sky, cloudless and pure. Onua's voice was as bright and impish as the fickle winter sun.
"You're going to have lessons."
Daine glowered, snatching a book from the coffee table and settling herself as comfortably as she could on Numair's shabby couch. For about one second, she stared at the dark, inky words on the first page, then tossed the text back onto the coffee table, closing her eyes stubbornly and letting her head fall back onto the cushions. "I'm exhausted."
"Good to know," said Numair vaguely.
"No, really. Everything all at the shelter's twice as tiring as I was thinking it would be. It's a waste of time, doing this. I should be working more, to pay back Onua for all she's doing."
"From what I've heard, you've worked twice as hard as the other employees," Numair said, frowning. He watched as Daine glared at him, then looked away and rubbed a loose thread in between her small fingers.
"It's not real work if I'm just doing what I like," she muttered. "It don't work that way where I was from."
"You enjoy working with animals, Daine, and you do it well. There's nothing wrong with that."
She yanked the thread from her shirt, tying it absently into a tight knot. She stared at it for a moment, then threw it on the ground and crossed her arms stubbornly. Her eyes were fixed on something distant. Something far away in her mind that Numair couldn't see. Drawing her legs up to her chest, Daine folded her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees. Now her gaze was blurred, but not as if by tears. It was like seeing the road through a heat haze on a summer day.
Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked. The flames vanished.
"There's something wrong with that," she murmured, not looking at Numair. "There's always something wrong."
Pale sunlight filtered through his window at the break of dawn. He'd been distracted the night before; he'd apparently forgotten to shut the blinds before falling exhaustedly into bed. So now Numair was awake at some dreadfully obscene hour, far too early for his liking. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He rose, dressed, and sauntered to his kitchen for breakfast. A bowl was lying neatly in the sink, rinsed and clean, with a spoon placed carefully beside it. One box of cereal had been removed from a cupboard, and Numair could see a tiny spot where milk had spilled on the counter. Someone had been up and eating already. With a small smile, Numair turned towards the large, glass-windowed door that led to his backyard, a place even more mysterious and overgrown than the frontyard maze.
As he had expected, she was there, sitting in the middle of a patch of slightly flattened leaves and vines. Cloud was by her side, curled and calm, her tail swishing silently through the still air. The cat's vivid eyes were as awake and alert as Daine's. The girl was wearing one of his Numair's old shirts. It fell all the way over her knees, and the sleeves hung past her elbows. The cloth was thin, and the air was cold, but she didn't seem to notice. She was completely focused on a small squirrel about a yard away from her, its small paws making almost no noise against the dry leaves. She must have come over from Onua's house early, before her lesson was meant to begin, and eaten her breakfast before finding her way to the yard. Numair supposed Onua gave her a key. Either that, or he'd just forgotten to lock the door again.
Numair walked quietly to the porch and watched her. Leaning soundlessly against the worn railing, he saw her remain still, then move her arm just the slightest bit towards the little rodent. She held a small cracker in her fingers. The moment seemed to stretch out indefinitely; she was moving so carefully. Inch by inch, the squirrel crept closer to her outstretched hand and the treat it held. Daine didn't move, and, surprisingly, neither did the kitten by her side. Everything was still.
At last, the squirrel cautiously sniffed Daine's fingertips and inspected the cracker. Finding the food trustworthy, the squirrel took the cracker, nibbled it, and then scampered off in a rush, holding its prize proudly between its tiny teeth. Daine smiled and rose slowly to her feet, brushing leaves off her legs as she did so. Yawning widely, the kitten stretched and rose as well.
"How long have you been out here?"
Daine whipped around, jumping at the sound of Numair's voice. Holding his hands up quickly, Numair smiled in apology and tried to justify his presence. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you. It was just interesting, that's all. You really do have a gift, you know."
"A gift?" she said dryly. "I've got no gift. I've just a knack with animals, is all."
She rubbed her hands together in the cold and held them to her lips, blowing warm air across her fingertips to try and dispel the morning's numbness. Watching her, Numair frowned. She had more than a knack, he knew. But he didn't say anything yet. He didn't know enough. "How come Onua never told me?" asked Numair, frowning. "She must see it every day."
"I dunno," growled Daine, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. "Maybe she's smart enough to know I've no gift at all, not any kinds."
He might not know enough now. But as Daine strode stubbornly past him, Numair decided that he was going to figure out just what it was about her that intrigued him so.