Well, Barn Owl Girl, this is the chapter of truth! I can't wait to hear what you think of Pi! ;D

Also, in a major break from Prodigal (for those of you who followed and loved it), the library isn't quite as miserable as it was in my last story. In Prodigal, 2 wasn't around to build that handy-dandy generator. XD

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Foundling

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It was incredible to think about, but almost ten whole weeks had passed. The blizzards of December had snowed them in, made it impossible to even think of leaving the library for anything. But the nine Stitchpunks—plus one—were safe, deep inside the building, with the generator keeping them warm. Even when snow blew inside through the holes in the roof, it was never terrible.

An entire season of winter had come and gone in what felt like the blink of an eye, to 9. While stuck indoors, he'd had plenty to keep himself busy. He had been fortunate enough to find the last few pieces he needed for 10 before the first blizzard blew in; the rest of the winter had been spent putting them all together. A fitting ten weeks later, the wiring, framework, and fabric skin had been completed and made into one thing. All it needed now was the soul, and it would be alive.

Even into the first weeks of January, the soul wasn't ready to leave the shelter of its mother. It had grown large, strong, and heavy on 7's boundless energy, leaving very little of it leftover for her to use. She was impatient for it to come out; the idea of moving freely again made her beyond antsy. And the idea of finally holding her baby close, speaking to it, rocking it and singing it to sleep, when it could actually hear her voice… Waiting for that for another second was almost more than she could stand.

9 couldn't wait, either. He consoled himself with the knowledge that only two more weeks remained. And to weeks would be perfect timing. The blizzards that had ravaged the city for all of December were dying down in January, giving way to light, gentle snowfall. The harsh, icy winds still blew fiercely, but carried away the mountains of snow that had fallen. It was actually becoming manageable again. 9 couldn't imagine what could go wrong enough with the birth for him to have to go out and find something at the last minute; but knowing that he could, if he had to, put him at ease.

One morning, they woke to find the sun shining pleasantly, radiating a feeble warmth through the chill wind. If any of them were going to go out, today was a good day to do it. Supplies had run rather low over the previous month. Now that the weather was somewhat bearable, the usual suspects—9 and 5, 2, 1 and 8—all ventured into the snow together. The two brothers fished a small rock out of a snowdrift, and began tossing it back and forth as they talked, as always.

"I still can't believe you're going to be a father," 5 commented with a laugh. "It's just too wonderful to get my head all the way around it."

"I can't quite believe it, myself," 9 agreed. "5, do you think the baby will like me?"

"Of course it will. You're its father. You made it. And anyway, anyone who doesn't like you, of all people, doesn't have a soul."

9 appreciated the compliment, and told himself not to doubt that it was true. Life was simply too good to waste it feeling useless or sorry for himself. But to himself, he wondered about his brother. He still wasn't sure what was bothering him, but a part of 5 had spent that whole winter not liking him for some reason.

I have to bring it up, sometime, he thought, trying not to let his thoughts show too much on his face. But how do I do that? What am I supposed to say? I don't want to be on 5's bad side. After all we've been through, and with all that's coming, I just can't do it right now. I hope this doesn't come back to haunt me…

They continued to walk, talk, and toss their rock around for a while longer, gathering useful things as they went. After they had gone a ways, and stopped to look through an exposed pile of trash, 5 looked up and off a bit.

"I think I see something… I'm going to check it out," he said, walking off toward whatever he had seen.

"I'll be right here," 9 answered, still going through the trash. "Holler, if you need me."

5 hadn't been gone for more than a minute, when 9 heard his brother shouting.

"9! 2! Come here! Help me with this!"

What on earth could he have found? 9 abandoned his search and dashed to his brother's side. He found 5 kneeling in the snow, cradling something in his arms. It was the body of another Stitchpunk. A very young woman with strings of curly yellow yarn for hair. Her skin was of cotton—rosy pink arms and legs, and cream-colored torso and head. And she was ripped badly in several placed.

"It looks like she was attacked," 5 explained as 9 knelt beside him. "She's unconscious, and very cold, but she is breathing, and she has a steady pulse."

"Where did she come from?" 9 wondered absently, scanning the area for other signs of life. "And who or what could have done this…?"

Before he could ponder that further, 2 caught up and took over, as he always did, in his doctoral manner.

"Oh, the poor dear," he mused, looking over her injuries. "We need to get this child inside, and quickly. It's a very lucky thing that we found her when we did. We can still save her."

The two boys were relieved to hear that. Holding her safely in his arms, 5 stood up and turned back toward the library. 2 headed off after him, but 9 hung back.

"Aren't you coming, my boy?" 2 asked over his shoulder.

"I'm going to look around here for a minute," he answered. "I need to know some things. But don't worry, I'll catch up."

"Don't be long," 2 advised. "We'll be needing your steady hands, in the workroom."

9 just nodded his assurance; he honestly didn't know how long this investigation would take. While his family walked back home, he looked around the place where 5 had found the injured girl. There was her outline, where she had lain in the snow until 5 had found her, and then there was where he had knelt to gather her up. Obvious, but unexplanatory. He ventured a little farther off.

Now here was something interesting. Several deep indentations, many of them skidding across the snow before settling. He reached into one of the many small holes to find what lay at the bottom, and pulled out a rock, like the one he and 5 had been tossing around. Searching a few other holes, he found the same. He also noted that the rocks had landed surrounding a trail of dainty Stitchpunk-tracks, that probably belonged to the injured girl.

In a word, disconcerting. A little further beyond that, an entire chorus of tracks—different sizes and shapes, all muddled together in a crowd. Some were even small enough to be young children. And while they were bunched together, overlapping and obscuring some of the tracks, they all seemed to be in one place, in a line on top of another trash pile.

Clambering to the top of the pile, messing up the tell-tale tracks, 9 looked all around the land that he could immediately see. Thanks to the ruins and snow in the way, he couldn't really see much. But he could plainly see the same family of tracks wandering away in a neat little parade. And they were fairly fresh, perhaps stamped out in the middle of the night. He felt an urge to dash off and follow the tracks, see who they led to, and find answers to the many questions pestering him.

But his family, and the girl in their care, needed him more. He slid down the pile and hurried to catch up with them, reluctantly leaving the crime scene behind him.

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Back in the library, in the space they had set up as an infirmary, 5 contemplated the young woman he was treating. At least eleven cuts graced her arms, legs, and torso, and it broke his tender heart. The rips could all be mended easily, but there would be so many scars. She was so pretty and innocent; it was unfair that someone so young would carry this many scars for the rest of her life.

Together, he and 2 carefully rolled her over to see the state of her back—and to find her name. Her back looked substantially better than her front, only one rip on her shoulder blade, and another in the small of her back. And there was her name, undamaged at all. It was an odd symbol that 5 had never seen before. It looked kind of like a table, with the bottom of the right leg curled outward a little.

"That symbol is called Pi," 2 diagnosed thoughtfully. "It's a letter in the Greek alphabet. And in mathematics, it represents a decimal number which is used to determine the measurements of circles."

"A complicated name," 5 commented.

"Perhaps for a complicated girl. If what 9 told us is true, she's gotten herself into a mighty deal of trouble, recently."

"It's hard to imagine someone so young and pretty in such serious trouble."

"Looks can be deceiving, my boy. You and I ought to know that better than anyone, by now."

"I know, but…"

5 slowly, carefully studied Pi's sleeping face. It was roundly shaped, its lines soft and even, sort of childishly cute. He counted nine strands of bleached, curly yellow yarn stitched to her head like exotic braids, reaching halfway down her back. A few of the strands had dark pink strings twisted into them, and one was even decorated with little silver beads. Her head was of soft cotton, bleached to a creamy off-white over the years; certainly not a tough, sturdy material fit for a warrior, or even quite for a fully grown adult. Her brassy eyes were closed; but he was sure that youthful, intelligent eyes lay beneath.

Yes, indeed, Pi was innocent, a young flower beginning to bloom. But 5 looked at her and thought her more than just sweetly adorable, with her angel face and willowy, rosy-colored limbs. No… As he continued to gaze upon her, he thought that she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The only other girl he had ever seen, really. Maybe the only other girl he would ever see. Could it really be true…?

"How could anyone this beautiful possibly be bad?" he mused, only half aware of his fingers as they caressed her soft face. "Just look at her…"

He felt cool metal fingers grip his shoulder tightly, forcing his whole focus back to reality. 2's eyebrows had knit together in a frown, the look on his face of concern and caution.

"Don't be rash, 5," he advised. "We haven't even spoken to her, yet. And she needs medical attention before anything else. If I were in her state, I would rather wake up to see my injuries mended, than find myself still in shreds."

That said, he picked up a needle he had thread while 5 hadn't been paying attention. He had chosen a light-colored cotton thread that matched Pi's torso very closely; a spool of dark pink thread stood at the ready, for her arms and legs. Starting with the largest rip he could see, he began to stitch the wounds closed.

I hope you wake up soon, Pi, 5 thought as he watched his father working. I helped save you today, but we haven't really met, yet. I can't wait to meet you.

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Pi wasn't sure when consciousness returned, or how. After her, um, unfortunate accident with the Jaco-punks the previous night, she had been sure she was done for. But she suddenly realized that she heard voices around her. She was totally capable of opening her eyes again, and slowly did so. Her body still ached, though; she tried to sit up, and groaned as her muscles protested. Her sudden liveliness alerted the owners of the voices to her waking, and they dashed to her side.

"Mercy me," said an older man as his kindly face appeared in her vision. "She's finally awake. My boy was getting impatient with you," he said with an amused chuckle.

"I was not," said the other voice on her other side. She slowly turned her head to see its owner—a dark-skinned young man with an eye patch where his right eye should have been. He looked as goofy as his voice sounded. Pi instantly decided that she had no real interest in him. Or the old man, for that matter.

What she was really interested in was who these people were, how many more of them there were, and who was in charge of them. She had been aware of a fifth clan existing, somewhere. But no one had ever seen more than a rare glimpse of one of them at a time. In fact, recently, the consensus was that they had been wiped out before she'd had a chance to get to them.

But it seemed the consensus was wrong. In fact, it seemed the elusive fifth clan had saved her life. How very ironic, for them.

The old man helped her sit up straight, and laid a supportive hand on her shoulder. "How are you feeling, child?"

"Um… Stiff," she mumbled, gently rubbing her neck. "Where am I?"

"Safe," he answered comfortingly. "You've truly been through something, recently, my dear. If our 5 hadn't found you this morning, you might have frozen."

Pi looked up at the goofy boy, apparently 5, from the old man's gesture. He gave her a shy, sheepish smile and looked away quickly, as if she was too much to look at for long. And she didn't appreciate the patronizing tone the old man was using with her. As if she were a naïve, traumatized little baby.

"We've repaired all your rips as best we could," the old man continued. "It is a tragedy that you've gained so many so suddenly; you're so young."

Pi snorted indignantly at him. "I'm not a child," she insisted sharply. "I'm a grown woman, thank you very much. Treat me like one."

The old man removed his hand from her shoulder. "I apologize. You weren't in the best shape when we found you, and I had honestly expected you to need—"

He was interrupted by a knocking on a nearby open doorway. They all looked up to see another young man, who looked very much like 5, standing in the entrance with an expectant smile on his face. Both his eyes were intact, and a brassy zipper ran down his chest, gleaming in the light.

"Just coming to check on things," he said with a high, mellow voice that oozed gentleness. But he seemed stronger and tougher than the other two, somehow, and she was instantly very interested in him. Who could he be?

"Oh, good timing, 9," the old man said cheerily. "Our patient just woke up."

"That's a relief," the young man agreed, and walked up to the bed with his hand extended to her. "I'm 9. Welcome to our home."

She hesitantly shook his hand, trying to gauge him. "Pi," she answered. "I… suppose I should thank you for saving me."

"Thank 2 and 5," 9 insisted, motioning to his friends in turn. "5 was the one who found you, and 2 did all the stitching."

Pi looked down over herself at the many stitched scars; she could have played connect-the-dots with them. She sighed sadly, more peeved than ever. But they had been repaired beautifully and tightly; they weren't coming undone any time soon.

"Thank you," she said flatly, still fixated on her scars. She looked back up at them and thought of their names. 2, 5, and 9. It seemed that there were several digits missing…

"I hadn't realized there were others," she commented, hoping to draw something out.

"Neither had we," 9 agreed. "We've been aware of ourselves, but we had hoped there were others like us, somewhere. We're happy to be right."

"So, it's just the three of you?"

"No, no. I'm the ninth. There are nine of us, altogether; plus one, later this month," he informed with a very proud smile.

These people were becoming more and more intriguing, with 9's every revealing word. Had they been so secluded, they didn't know about the other clans? She had barely known about them, herself, so she supposed it was possible. And could it be, that one of their clan's women was expecting a child? That was extremely good luck. Her search would prove fruitful after all, and much shorter.

"Where are they all?" she asked. "I'd like to meet them."

"Already? You just woke up. You don't want to rest more?"

"I don't want to rest all alone. And you've been very kind to me; I'd like to meet my hosts."

"Well, I can understand that. 2, is it alright to let the others in?" he asked the old man.

2 made a doubtful noise, reluctant at first. "…I suppose it's alright, if she would like to meet them," he finally consented. "But we mustn't let them rile her; she does need to finish recovering, after all."

"There are already a few certain someone's lurking in the hall," 9 informed them, looking back toward the doorway. Following his gaze, Pi saw three curious pairs of eyes peering into the room.

"Come on, you guys, you can come in," 9 called to them. Slowly, the three other Stitchpunks came quietly into the light, and two of them darted behind him before she could get a good look at them. But he laughed good naturedly, not bothered in the slightest by their shyness.

"Pi, this is 3, and his twin sister, 4—my adopted children," he explained. "And this is 6."

She could clearly see the stripey Stitchpunk, standing in the open light. His skin was covered in blotchy ink stains, and his left eye was noticeably smaller than the other. He was also the first of them she'd seen to have hair, a tangled mop of black yarn stitched to his head. And his fingers were the nibs of ink pens. At first, he stuck her as being crazy, or a bit slow, or maybe a mix of both. But she looked again and felt something bigger from him. Pi was certain that 6 would turn out to be much more interesting than he appeared.

"We're still missing three of our number," 9 continued. "I can go find them for you, if you'd like."

"I would love to meet them, yes," Pi agreed right away.

"I'll be right back, then," he said, taking his leave. As he walked off, she finally got a look at the twins. 3 was a hair taller than 4, who stood behind him as if he were a shield, while their guardian was gone. They were very obviously children, probably no older than ten years old, at heart. She decided to be cordial with them, convince them that she wasn't to be feared.

"Hello, 3 and 4. I'm Pi," she said sweetly. They just stared back at her with bright, wide eyes. They looked immensely intelligent, for being so young. But they didn't answer her.

"Come on, you two, I won't bite," she encouraged them, but they remained silent.

"They won't answer," 2 informed her. "Aside from being shy and skittish, they are also mute. They don't speak. At least, not in the conventional way."

"What do you mean?"

"They speak with their eyes," 5 explained, speaking up for the first time in his goofy voice. "They flicker in what we think is Morse code, and it just registers to us as whole words. We don't understand how it works, but we don't question it. We just enjoy it."

"Oh…" Pi didn't understand, either. She had seen other unusual things in the other clans, but this was in the top five, at least. Still not speaking in any form, 3 waved at her shyly, prompting his twin to do the same. Instead of pondering the matter, she turned to 6.

"Hello," she said to him.

"…Hello," he answered, a barely audible whisper, and he backed up to stand against the wall, as far from her as he could seem to manage. What did he sense in her that upset him so? How did he read her so well?

"Don't mind him," 2 insisted. "He's a brilliant boy, and a fine artist, but he is as shy as the twins. Don't be offended if he doesn't say much to you."

After a few more moments, 9 returned with the rest of their clan in tow. The small infirmary was suddenly rather crowded. The first of the three to step forward was an older man—perhaps older than 2—who stood in front of another newcomer, obscuring them slightly from view.

"Pi, meet the rest of us," 9 introduced, gesturing to them. "This is our elder, 1," he continued, indicating the sharply shapen old man, who's front was adorned with metal buckles. Without hesitating, he walked right to the bedside and grasped her hand.

"Welcome, milady," he said grandly, though with the barest hint of a grimace. "It's good to see you awake so soon."

"Thank you," she said quietly, unable to not feel slightly intimidated by the old man's presence. She sensed a great change had taken place in him recently; but something deep and dark lay within him, still. He released her hand and stood back, and 9 continued the introductions.

"8's still out in the hall," he said, looking back out the doorway. 8 was huge—every clan had its strongman. While he let everyone breathe by remaining outside, he peered into the room at her with an easygoing smile, and waved hello.

"Welcome," he said in a rumbly but sort of snuggly voice. Since he was so far away, it was difficult to read him at all. She decided to wait until later for him. Finally, 9 pulled the final member of their clan into view.

"And this," he concluded lovingly, "is my lovely wife, 7."

7 gave her a brilliant smile. "Hello, Pi," she said in a deep, silky voice. 9 had clearly saved the best of them for last. It didn't matter that, up front, her body was as androgynous as the rest of them. Every inch of her was white canvas that almost glowed, even in spite of being sun-bleached, rust-stained, and scared in a few placed. She was elegant and gorgeous. And—whoa! Her belly was swollen with life.

"Oh, you're expecting," Pi noted. To this, 7 smiled and patted her belly with pride.

"Yes, in a week or two, now," she agreed. Beaming at her husband, she added, "It seems like only yesterday, doesn't it?" In answer, he beamed back and raised her fingers to his lips.

They were in love. So deeply in love. And there was absolutely no doubt that 9 was the father of this unborn child. Such volatile emotions always made Pi's work a little easier.

2 laughed warmly, looking over each and every one of them. "And that is our family," he said with a smile. "We're a pretty good-looking family, aren't we? Except for 1, of course."

Everyone struggled not to laugh out loud, but 1 bristled a little.

"That's not funny, brother," he grumbled.

But the two brothers seemed to have an understanding, despite it all. Still, there was a remnant of darkness in 1 that Pi couldn't wait to put to her advantage. While she pondered this, 3 stepped forward and tugged gently on 7's arm to get her attention.

"Mama, it's too crowded in here. 4 and I are gonna go."

Even though she had been warned, Pi was still a little surprised to see the alleged flicker-speak. Even though 3 hadn't been talking to her, she completely understood what he had said.

"Alright, I'll be back in a bit," she answered, and the twins skittered out, gone in a flash.

"The children are correct; it has gotten too crowded in here," 1 commented, as if he had just noticed. "I shall let myself out." With that, he turned and went back the way he had come.

"8, are you coming?"

"No," 8 rumbled. "I'll stay."

"Very well, then," 1 answered, sounding like he didn't really approve, but continued on his way. 8 graciously remained just outside the door, but continued paying attention to what was going on inside.

"Pi," 2 said in a much more serious tone, "if you'd like to rest for a bit, we would understand. But—since you're awake—if you don't mind, we'd like to know what happened to you."

Oh, no. There was no way she was telling them the series of events that led to the Jaco-punks trying to stone her to death.

"I'd like to rest," she answered. "I suppose I am still a little shaken."

"Take your time, young lady," he insisted. "We're all just glad that you're feeling better."

She gave him a sincere smile. She was remarkably good at faking them. Convincing them that she was just a poor, injured lamb had been wonderfully easy. They didn't suspect a thing.

The fools have no clue what is coming…