Chapter 5: Any Life Worth Living Isn't Life Just Filled with Ease

The next day was the Master's doctor's appointment.

"We'll probably head over to the garage to look at the van," the Mistress told Kirby, as she fished through her purse. "I can already guess the answer: it's a no go. So we might end up looking for a used one. Not that we can afford it…" Her thought trailed off as she glanced at the newspaper clippings she pulled out.

Kirby already knew what they were. The Mistress had spent yesterday evening looking through want ads and circling possibilities. She seemed to work without a clear purpose as she noted every opening from school administrative assistant to newspaper delivery. It occurred to him that she was working off the morning's nervous energy, and he wondered if his persistence on cleaning up the kitchen after lunch and dinner that day had burdened her more than it helped. The Mistress had always worked better with clear goals in mind.

"You sure you don't mind watching Robbie?" She glanced up at him again. "We can take him with us…"

The little master, who had insisted on Kirby holding him after breakfast, was currently clinging to his neck and tugging at his moustache again. His curiosity and sweet nature was just the balm Kirby needed after his lonely, fitful sleep alone in the drafty basement. No way was he setting him down for one minute.

"He'll be fine," he insisted. "You need to focus on your errands. You need…" Kirby sought the right words, examining her tired, worried face… "A change of pace."

"Well, it will be some change," the Mistress replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm just going to call in at a few places while we're getting Rob's meds. The pharmacy is hiring part-time; that would be convenient." She read over her clippings again before folding them and deliberately placing them back in her purse.

""Alright," she announced, finality in her voice. "We just need to get through this." She shouldered her purse. "I made up a bottle for Robbie in the fridge, and there are some containers of mashed carrots and strawberries on the bottom shelf for his lunch. Some bananas, too...Oh, if he gets fussy about being the house, you could take him to the park."

She looked sharply at Kirby and bit her lip.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, "Yeah, that would be alright. He hasn't had an outing in ages, and the park is a safe place."

"The park?" Kirby glanced out the kitchen window, taking in the sunlight and shadows of trees waving before the blinds. Outside, with just the little master?

"It's the new one the town put in. The corner down the street, right by the bus stop. You could go after lunch, when there's more kids. He really should be around kids his own age, but I haven't really wanted to put him in daycare…" She cut herself off by opening the backdoor. "Rob! Are you ready?"

The Master shouted some answer Kirby couldn't hear.

"Alright, I'm starting the car." On instinct, Kirby took a step back as she walked directly to him, but she only kissed the little master's cheek.

"Be good for John, Robbie. We'll be back soon."

And she was gone. Doors open and closed, and a car engine clicked into life somewhere in the distance. Shifting the little master carefully in his arms, Kirby glanced out the living room window as the rental car backed out of the driveway and zoomed out of sight. He stood watching the road long after the car left, listening to the little master babble as tiny hands played with fistfuls of his hair.

Even then, the house was quieter than Kirby had ever known a house to be. A clock ticked away, echoing through the vastness. He didn't even know where Toaster had gone. They'd barely spoken to each other at dinner the night before, and she'd made only a quick appearance at breakfast before following the Master out to the clinic. For all he knew, she was still out there, wandering around without direction and getting herself into who knew what trouble.

"Just like she always does," he muttered, staring out into the empty world beyond the window.

The little master fussed and nearly tore the mustache off.

"Confladded thing." Kirby gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain as he turned back for the fridge.

The baby was soon pacified with an early snack of mashed strawberries and bananas. Even after locating the containers the Mistress had labelled, he kept opening the door to examine contents of the fridge, running his hands over other containers and boxes. He pulled out a tray of chicken breasts, half opened, and wrinkled his nose.

What did humans need with so much variety, anyway?

"You feel better, big fella?" Ratso called, as he swung open the cage door. "No more puking today?"

"I just have a sensitive stomach," Kirby muttered at him. The soup at lunch the day before had gone down nicely, but the dinner of tacos later ln hadn't sat so well. Too many spices running together, with beef that was too heavy. He'd at least managed to make it to the bathroom before emptying his belly. He couldn't figure out how Toaster could eat with such relish.

"You know, you might want to figure out something youse can eat, or there'll be nothing left when those hearing aids finally figure youse guys out."

"Did they find something?" Kirby jumped at the sound of the voice and nearly hit his head against the fridge. He rubbed the nape of his heck as he turned to look at the Toaster, making her way to the little master's highchair. He hadn't even heard the backdoor open.

"Not a thing," Ratso answered before Kirby could reprimand her. "Oh, sure they can toss out some big words and numbers. But does it mean anything? Nope!"

"Well, that should make you happy," Kirby said, slamming the fridge door hard.

Toaster sent him a withering look. "Kirby, what's that supposed to mean?" He watched her smile as she bent over the little master, swishing her hair before the baby's face. Even at a distance, Kirby could see the tangles forming into rats' nests (he wondered how well Ratso would handle that cliche). The sun glinted off each wave as it flew back and forth. Between each, kirby could see that familiar smile.

"You ran off fast this morning," Ratso continued, as Toaster cooed to the little Master. "Hot date out in the clinic?" He clicked his teeth.

"We were checking on the rabbit. He's doing wonderfully!" Toaster either didn't understand Ratso's intent or chose to ignore it.

"You didn't eat anything," Kirby blurted out before he could think better of it. Just why he found himself so focused on food of all things, he didn't know.

Toaster stopped swishing her hair to look at him. "I didn't think you noticed."

Kirby swallowed as her eyes fixed on him. "Why wouldn't I notice? You missed perfectly good oatmeal." That was staying down, thank his luck.

"The master gave me some bread and jelly." Her tone had lightened. "Besides, I wasn't that hungry."

"Well, we have to take care of ourselves." He shifted under her smile. "Who knows when those idiots will figure something out."

"I'm okay." Her face shone. "Thank you for caring."

"Hmm." He couldn't handle her look anymore. He turned and continued digging through the fridge, though withoit purpose as his hand reached for every odd thing that caught his eye. Caring? "I just don't want either of us to do anything to jeopardize getting changed again."

"It's not like we could!" Toaster's laugh inspired the little master, who joined right in. "These bodies are so big and wonderful, Kirby! I can do all sorts of things! Look!"

Ratso's "whoa!" and the little master's shriek alarmed Kirby before he even had a chance to tell her no. He turned in time to see the Toaster's feet kicking up in the air, and her hair dangling over her hands as she tried to steady herself.

"Stop that!" He knocked his head against the fridge again as he rushed to keep her from falling backwards. But the Toaster wasn't adept at handstands yet, and she righted herself before he could reach her.

"But see?" she said, standing on two feet this time, to his relief. Her hair covered her face, muffling her voice. "There's so much more we can do now!" She parted the hair from her face like a veil and beamed at him.

He grabbed at his chest, wincing. That heart was beating hard enough to burst. "You just about cracked your head on the tile, and you think that's a good thing?"

"I should think we should try as much as we can. I'm going to experience everything I can while I still have the chance!" Her eyes dimmed some as she studied him. "Don't you want to do the same? Even a little?"

If she didn't stop looking at him like that, his heart was going to explode. "Just what do you think I am? I may be trapped in this thing, but I nothing more than an appliance. And so are you," he added.

"Come on, Kirby," Toaster begged. Her fingers rested on his hand as she looked hopefully, wistfully at him. "Let's go outside! Let's…let's have a picnic!" Her eyes brightened again. "We can bring the little master!"

"Absolutely not!" He yanked his hand away from the burning sensation of those warm little fingers. "You go do whatever you want! Explore, experience. Get it out of your system. I am staying inside, safe, until this thing gets worked out.

"But Kirby." Toaster rubbed her fingers with her other hand, as though comforting them. "What are you going to do all day?"

"For your information, I will be keeping the little master safe, and…and reading!" Catching the stack of books the Mistress had left, Kirby seized the first book he could get his hands on and waved it in Toaster's face.

Toaster looked bemused. "You're going to read a cookbook?"

Kirby flipped the book over in his hands. Sure enough, the title page read Ms. Butterworth's Recipes.

"Yes," he responded, slowly.

"You'd rather read a cook book than come outside with me?"

Kirby felt his heart tighten. "Yes." He placed emphasis on the decision by plunking down in the nearest chair and throwing open the cover to the first page. "Soups and seasonings," he read aloud from the index. "Just what I was looking for."

Toaster stood silently, unsure. "Kirby."

"We don't have any business being human. Now, go find something else to do. I'm busy." He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs to rest the book on them, and started reading.

Tried to, at least. His eyes never left the title word soup as his ears strained for sounds of movement from the toaster. As though finally deciding that he was unmovable, she sighed, ruffled the little master's hair and left through the kitchen door. She was careful not to let it swing shut behind her, but even the clicking sound of it closing was as loud to his ears as a slam.

"You're a moron," Ratso cheerfully informed him.

Kirby chose to ignore him.

Toaster didn't make another appearance that morning.

It was easy to ignore that fact for the first hour or two. The cookbook, though he had grabbed it by mistake, had become more enthralling with each recipe he poured over. Who knew cooking was so structured? So fascinating? You combined things, simmered things, baked things into every shape and dish possible. The chicken pot pie especially kept calling his name; probably because of the chicken breasts he had touched earlier. But as noon rapidly approached, Kirby found himself getting more and more restless. He left the book and the table several times to pace between the kitchen and the living room, taking glances through each window he passed. The little master thought it was a game at one point, and trotted behind him, dragging Blanky along.

"Why don't you just go get her, you dummy?" Ratso exclaimed when he passed by for the fourth time.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kirby grumbled. He rummaged through the cabinets for the little master's lunch, selecting the box of crackers and jar of peanut butter-the little master's favorite- and even grudgingly shoved a few crackers into Ratso's unit.

"Thanks, Pal!" Ratso nibbled at a cracker with relish.

"I don't see why I should have to chase that bread head down," Kirby continued, scooping the little master up and setting him in his highchair. "If she's perfectly happy outside, then she can just stay out there."

"Yeah, don't know how, since there's no food in the clinic." Ratso emphasized that by finishing off a second cracker in two bites and licking the salt from his fingers. "Believe, me I've looked. she's gotta be hungry by now."

As if he needed a reminder. Kirby's fingers lingered briefly over a third plate as picked out two for himself and the little master. "Then she better be prepared to feed herself. If she wants to stay human."

But he grabbed a third plate anyway.

It took some time to wrestle the lid off the peanut butter. Spreading the peanut butter with a knife didn't prove much easier, as he found after smearing it all over his fingers and the plate. His fingers were thick and awkward, and he actually envied the Toaster's smaller hands as he snapped cracker after cracker. Eventually, he managed to make up enough for himself and the little master, and Ratso was perfectly happy eating the first few disasters.

Kirby hesitantly took up a cracker himself after watching the little master eat one with gusto. A rumbling stomach didn't make the nutty goop look any more appetizing, and one bite firmly convinced him that it wouldn't become his favorite food.

The third plate remained cold and untouched across from him. Kirby tried hard to ignore it as he cleaned the little master's face and gathered the other plates, but its very presence made the Toaster's absence all the more obvious. He caught himself scanning the backyard as he washed the dishes. No sign of her whatsoever.

"Is she just hiding in the clinic now?" he fumed.

"You could always go and find out." Ratso's sing-song words rankled Kirby as much as his unspoken 'told you so' smirk. Kirby guffawed and fixed his gaze on his soapy hands.

"Besides, I can't leave the little master alone inside," he continued his thought outloud. "Who knows what sort of trouble he could get into?"

"Yeah, especially since there's only me and some appliances here to look after him." Ratso gestured toward Blanky, lying up against the highchair.

The sight of the electric blanket sent made Kirby's stomach lurch. Or maybe he just hadn't eaten enough. Who knew what was wrong with this body?

"You idiots couldn't keep him safe if there were ten of each of you," he retorted, going back to the fridge. He found those chicken breasts again, and the onions, eggs, and milk the recipe had called for. There was American cheese instead of mozerella; would that affect the taste?

The door rustled.

"That was the wind," Ratso informed him as he looked up eagerly.

"i promised the Mistress I would look after him," Kirby replied, ignoring the infuriating grin, "and I'm going to keep that promise." He ducked his head down to rummage through the lower shelves for pie crusts. Normally the Mistress kept pre-made ones on hand...or was that only for the holidays...?

"So, take him with you." Ratso indicated the window. "The Mistress said you could take him outside, didn't she?"

"Outside?" The little master was now tugging at Kirby's pant's leg, smiling widely. "She said the park."

"Well, the park is outside, ain't it? Geez, you don't gotta be a genius to figure that out!"

Kirby didn't have a rebuttal for that one. His gaze drifted from the smiling baby to the window again, and he slowly closed the fridge door. This time he wasn't looking for the Toaster; he was comparing the sunshine to that day long ago when he'd stepped out into the world for the first time in his life. The memory passed before his eyes, bringing with it every old, odd sensation: weight of the chair with the battery strapped tightly at its base... the smaller appliances gathered on its seat...watching the cabin door open before him...

Ratso must have kept talking, but Kirby felt the memory controlling his every movement. Thoughts of chicken pot pie slowly faded as he gathered the little master into his arms and headed for the hall closet. Mechanically, he pulled out the single stroller. The little master squealed when he saw the stroller and scrambled to sit in the seat, chirping one word which Kirby understood well enough to be 'park'. Somehow, he managed to find the diaper bag and pack the little master's juice cup without much conscious thought.

"We'll be back," he told Ratso, without waiting for the response. Perhaps it wasn't even Ratso he was speaking to, considering the electric blanket now resting on the sofa. His neck prickled as he sensed other ears listening, but even then he found himself fixating solely on the door looming before him. He clutched the stroller handles tightly, feeling the little Master wiggling in his seat.

The last time Kirby had stood before a door like this...but he was different now, after all. Even the Toaster had that right. It wasn't like he'd end up eating a grassy carpet again, or pushing through a thicket.

Or nearly losing Lampy and Blanky to an electric storm, or watching his friends plunge to their doom down a waterfall. Nothing like that first adventure could ever happen again. Could it?

"Okay, Kirby." Toaster's voice urged from that distant memory. Experiences to talk about later...Mustering whatever stubbornness the voice lent him, he reached out and opened the door.

The walk down to the park took far longer than Kirby thought possible. The community park, only just finished, was not more than half a block from the house, but the anxiety that weighed on him as he drew closer and closer seemed heavier than the July warmth.

It had been pleasant going at first. The sun lapped that enveloped him when he stepped out onto the porch made his skin tingle. The scent of the grass and the breeze was stronger than he'd noticed.

But there had been no sign of toaster anywhere about; not even in the clinic. He'd found the doors completely locked, and no amount of knocking could get them opened. She just wasn't there.

Or she's sulking and ignoring you. Kirby wasn't sure which idea was better: that she was ignoring him and staying out of sight inside, or that she had wandered off from the clinic and house altogether, going down a path he couldn't even guess.

But he didn't know where to begin looking, and the little master had gotten restless with his hesitation. So he found himself following the directions the Mistress had given him, glancing back over his shoulder every few minutes just to be sure the idiot wasn't following a ways behind.

Shouts greeted him as the park came into view: the jungle gym with two yellow slides and two sets of swings were swarming with small children, barely older than the little master. To anyone familiar with the sight, it looked happy and inviting. What turned kirby's mouth dry was the sight of mothers gathered around the benches, surrounded by strollers and their tinier tots.

He nearly turned back. What was he thinking, going outside by himself? Heading directly into crowds of strangers. Hadn't the hospital been bad enough, with people coming and going? What had the mistress been thinking?

To keep her son occupied, of course! What else was any mother thinking? And the minute the park with its screaming banshees came into view, the little master began kicking his legs in his seat and straining against his seatbelt.

No, Kirby realized, he couldn't turn back now. He couldn't disappoint the little master.

So very aware of the eyes that snapped to him, he carefully unbuckled the baby from the stroller and watched him run at full steam towards the crowd. He found himself gripping the stroller like a life line, and focused on breathing as his stomach heaved.

He was thirsty again.

Toaster roused slowly from sleep as threads of light tickled her eyes. The shadow of the willow she'd fallen asleep under had shifted as the sun changed direction, and now she found herself bathed in warmth instead of the cool breeze that had first lulled her to sleep. She didn't mind it, though, stretching out. She'd had the nicest nap, with her head had pillowed on a think patch of grass, and the ground around the pond just soft enough to serve as a suitable mattress. Probably even better than the guest room bed, she smiled to herself, looking out over the pond again. Plopping noises burst along the still water as turtles stuck their heads out here and there.

She was so glad she'd taken the opportunity to explore it. It was just as peaceful as the Master had said.

"When we first moved here, I used to just take a quick walk and toss rocks across," he'd told her when they entered the clinic that morning. "It was just a quiet place where I could gather my thoughts; get a little alone time." He'd paused before unlocking the clinic door, glancing off towards the field behind the house with a sigh. "Chris will just get upset if I try to go now."

"That's a shame," Toaster had replied, helping him out with the key.

"Well...there will be another time." But he sounded wistful even as he said it.

The idea had tickled the back of her mind as they checked on the rabbit, and wasn't forgotten even in the excitement of finding him hopping around his unit, eating the alfalfa the Master had given him. Toaster had laughed to see him press his front paw and his twitching nose against the bars to greet them. He would still need time to rest, and his back legs would limp when he tried to hop, but he was alive and happy.

Perhaps it was even that little but of encouragement that persuaded her to seek the Master's favorite spot.

So when he and the Mistress had left, and Kirby had given her the cold shoulder yet again, it was directly to the pond she had headed.

What a shame Kirby couldn't see it. Wouldn't see it. She sat up and hugged her legs. He was missing out on so many opportunities by being such a grump. There was so much to try-she'd even tried another handstand (which sent her sprawling on her back, but who was there to point that out?)-and they could share it together.

"Why can't he see that?" she asked the pond.

Her stomach rumbled for answer, and she pressed her hand against it. How long had she been asleep anyhow? She squinted up at the sky before scrambling to her feet. The Master and the Mistress could have been back by now, and though Kirby and the Mistress might not care if she ever showed up again, she knew the Master would fret over her.

She headed back to the house as quickly as her feet could take her, both refreshed from her nap and spurred on by her complaining belly.

The rental car wasn't in the driveway, to her relief. At least she'd be inside before they came back. So it was only Kirby she'd have to face again.

"Wonder what mood he's in now?" she muttered darkly, as the sharp reminder of their last fight weighed on her.

It was a surprise, then, that the sound of whistling greeted her as she opened the front door. The little master was leaping around the living room in some energetic game, Blanky held tight between his hands, but the whistling was coming from the kitchen. Not ratso's shrill whistling, but someone else's.

"Kirby?" she exclaimed, finding him bent over something in the kitchen. The whistling broke off. Kirby started and whirled around, revealing splashes of white flour and yellow soup on his shirt, and clutching a spool in the Mistress's favorite mixing bowl. His face went red, as though she had caught him in the middle of something terrible. Before he could answer, Ratso yawned loudly from his unit, awakening from a nap.

"Well, well, so the progidal appliance returns." He yawned again. "About time, too. You missed lunch, but you'll get a performance dinner piece, if you can stand the entertainer."

"You're cooking?" Toaster asked, focusing on Kirby. The cookbook was propped up against the wall before him, its pages smudged with finger prints and wrinkled from someone not used to handling them.

Kirby immediately turned so that the bowl was out of her sight. "Well, I just thought I-I'd been reading it, so…"

"And he got some cooking tips," Ratso interrupted, with a snicker. "What that mom tell you? Use olive oil on the pie crust instead of Crisco? Of course, Kirby would run into a vegan nut at the park."

"You went to the park?" Toaster couldn't decide if she was exhiliarted or annoyed. "You said you didn't want to go out."

"I didn't go out." Kirby looked as befuddled as he sounded. "i-the mistress said to take the little master to the park."

"Oh, I see." The peace and confidence she'd found at the pond melted away. "You're happy to do something the Mistress says. You just didn't want to come out with me."

"I went out to find you."

"You didn't try very hard."

Kirby's gruffness returned. "Well, Where were you anyway? Getting lost out there, trying to get yourself hurt or worse." He turned his back on her completely, focusing on his task again."

"I walked down to the pond." Toaster slid into a seat, weary (so much for that refreshing nap). "I didn't think you'd…what was the park like?" she asked, hoping to quell the fight.

"Loud." Kirby slapped the bowl on the counter and began to struggle with a box of rolled pie crusts.

"Yeah?" Toaster encouraged.

"Too many kids. A big one knocked the little master down."

"Oh, no! Was he hurt?" The little master was making quite a racket as he hopped across the rug.

Kirby grunted. "Not really. He got back on the slide without even crying."

"I'll say! It was that kid who got the living hell beat out of him!" Ratso slapped his knee. "Tell her what you told me, Kirby! How his big fat mother charged into the playground to drag him off by his ear."

"I never said she was fat," Kirby muttered as he poured the contents of the bowl into the crust. Toaster, recalling her own baking disaster, envied the masterful way he steadied the bowl. "She was just...larger. And I never said she charged or dragged him off. She made him apologize to the little master, anyway, and that's all that matters."

"Sure, that and the fact that she wouldn't leave you alone after that!"

Even Toaster smothered a laugh at the glare Kirby sent the rat. "You weren't even there, newspaper butt."

"Oh, come on, that's what you said." Finding Toaster an eager audience, Ratso turned fully to her. "So she's apologizing and apologizing, and Kirby tells her its alright, the little master wasn't hurt. Then these other mothers come up and start putting him through the third degree. You think they'd never seen a man bring a kid to the park!"

"it was not the third degree."

"You said they wanted your name, and where you lived! Get this, Toaster, one of em thinks Kirby's sweet for bringing his friend's baby to the park. Sweet! Its Kirby, am I right?" Ratso fell back in his cage as he clutched his sides. "They think Kirby's some kind of male nanny! One hour there, and he's got a whole park of ladies hanging on his every word."

"They were not." Kirby bunched over the oven, trying to hide his face, but even Toaster could see the flush on the back of his neck.

"You made friends!" she exclaimed, awed. "Kirby, you enjoyed it!"

"Shut up."

"But that's wonderful!" Toaster could hardly contain herself. "See? There's nothing wrong with having experiences! It feels great!" She rushed out of her chair to bend over him while he checked the oven. "You should come with me to the pond next! You'll love how great it is! And I can go to the park with you and the little master next time…"

"There won't be a next time." Kirby slammed the oven door. "I did not enjoy myself; they were not hanging on my every word. See if I ever tell that rat anything again."

"Well, excuse me for living." Ratso sulked in his armchair.

Toaster studied Kirby's pinched expression. "Kirby, why can't you admit that this isn't so bad after all?" Without catching herself, Toaster put a hand on his arm. For a moment an electric shock passed through her, and she could feel Kirby shiver. Slowly, they locked eyes with each other, and she could see his nostrils flare as he drew in a shaky breath.

"Kirby," she whispered, searching his widened eyes, "what are you so afraid of?" She waited as his lips parted, leaning closer to hear his words.

"We're home." The Master's voice rang out as the front door opened.

In a moment, the McGroartys were stumbling into the kitchen, and Kirby found the excuse he needed to brush off the Toaster's hand. He grasped the kitchen counter for support as Toaster immediately went to help the Master with his bag. The touch was gone, and just as he had realized that the caress on his forehead had not been a dream at all, now he could relax. Whatever had happened, that heat coursing through him when she laid her hand on him began to cool. He fought to control himself. He turned back to the cookbook, pretending to focus on it as the Master made some mention of supplies and Toaster followed him out to the car.

"Just make sure everything is out of the trunk," the Mistress said as she walked into the kitchen, carrying a box. "I have to make sure the rental car is cleaned out before I take it back tomorrow."

She barely seemed to notice Kirby as he carried the cookbook to the table, getting well out of her way.

"Good, he was good," he answered when she asked, weakly, how the little master had been. "I took him to the park, like you suggested." He could swear he heard Ratso snicker.

"Oh, thank you." The Mistress washed her hands at the sink. "Did he have fun?"

"Yes." Kirby remembered watching the little master play. He'd never realized how hard it was on the little boy to be cooped up alone inside. Sure, he had Blanky and the other appliances, but he needed little people his own age to play with.

And their mothers…Kirby stared at the cookbook, flushing as he remembered. The freckled kid hadn't hurt the little master, and probably hadn't meant to shove him down to get to the slide. His mother, however, was just certain that her son had scarred him for life.

"He doesn't do things like that. Honestly!" Kirby had blinked down into the worried face, red with trying to make amends. Judy Toll. She hadn't stopped talking for a moment, no matter how hard he tried to get away. When her two friends joined them, he'd been utterly trapped.

"Mary Hildago." The brunette rolled her eyes as she shifted a toothy baby on her hip. "No relation to the horse."

"Colette Savage." The third grinned elfishly, her pixie cut helping the effect along.

Kirby had only nodded roughly before realizing that they were waiting for an introduction. "Kirby." He'd had to swallow the dryness back in his throat. "John," he added as a quick afterthought. The name felt thick on his tongue.

But, just like that, their suspicion was gone. His hand was shaken so many time his arm nearly fell off, and their chatter threatened to shatter his eardrums. But it was friendly.

Ratso may have been exaggerating everything Kirby had told him, but even he couldn't exaggerate the relief Kirby had felt.

"It was nice," he said out loud. "It was very nice."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it went well." The answer was flat. Kirby cocked an eye towards her. The Mistress had dumped her purse on the counter and was pouring over her newspaper clipping again.

"Um, how was it?" He asked, noting crosses in the circles now.

"No luck," she said, sighing, as she crumbled a clipping and tossed it towards the trashcan. And missed. "Rob's arm is healing just fine, but the van is a waste of time. It's going to be the bus from now on until we can save for a used one." She slumped over the counter. "And the pharmacy position was already filled. The bank wants too many hours. I couldn't, not with Rob and the baby. It's not happening."

Kirby watched her rest her head in her arms. "Rob doesn't really want me to take on a job right now anyway. He won't say it, but I know."

Kirby grunted noncommittally, then started as she suddenly strode to him for a bear hug. "But thanks for all your help. I mean it. Looking after Robbie and taking him to the park." He breathed when she released him. "We stopped by a store to get you and Thea some things. Combs, toothbrushes, toothpaste, some clothes. Thea's been wearing some of my things, but we didn't have anything to fit you. I hope second-hand is okay. You'll have to try them on, though…" The Mistress sniffed the air. "You…you made dinner?" she asked, turning to the oven.

Kirby couldn't help the swell of pride as she opened the oven and glanced at the pots. "Chicken pot pie? Homemade? John, it smells terrific!"

"it was just something I was reading," he mumbled, fingering the cookbook. "I…I hope that's alright."

"You watched the baby all morning, took him to the park, and cooked?" He'd never seen her so thrilled in his life. "Boy, if I were a rich woman right about now, I'd hire you!"

"Rich." Kirby snorted, trying to hide his flush with the cookbook. "Everybody gets into a snit about money. If you're good at what you do, you don't need money to do it. You just work hard and don't expect a reward."

"Wow." The Mistress closed the oven door slowly, watching him with an odd expression on her face. "You say that like you mean it."

"I do mean it." Kirby surprised himself. He'd wanted to say those things for years. "I don't need money to do what I enjoy doing."

The Mistress seemed to consider that as she gazed around her clean kitchen, scrubbed down with every inch of satisfaction Kirby could give it. "What would you live on without money, though?" she asked.

"I wouldn't know," Kirby admitted. "I've never needed money. Just a little place to sleep at night and some way to be useful."

"Couldn't I give you anything else?" the Mistress asked, watching him closely.

Confident for the first time in days, Kirby shook his head.

The Mistress' smile grew wider, and she reached across the table to grasp his hand. "John Kirby, have I got a proposition for you!"