A/N: Hope you enjoy the fluffy chapter ahead! Again, trigger warning section is marked off.
Disclaimer: I own only Abby.
As the next few weeks pass, Abby grows stronger and learns skills she will need to be able to sneak around the opera house. The most difficult of these will be walking silently through the rafters.
The first thing I do to help her is set up six metal poles in two groups, tying three twenty-foot long ropes between them. Two of the ropes will serve as handrails until she is steady enough to take one away, then the other.
Once it is set up, Abby comes out of my library. She spends most of her time in there now, only coming out when I tell her to. She is studying architecture as far as I know, but I also have the vague suspicion that she may be teaching herself to speak. Once or twice in the past two weeks, one of my ventriloquism books has been in the wrong spot on the shelf.
I help her climb into place, stepping up behind her to make sure she doesn't fall. Her hair has begun to grow out, and I can now see that it is dark blond, not brown like she had dyed it just before she arrived.
"Forward," I command once she has gained her balance. She takes a few cautious steps, gripping both handrails. "Faster," I urge, putting one hand on her shoulder to help her. She freezes for a moment under my touch before jogging forward, left hand trailing on the rope.
"That's it," I call, stepping down. Abby reaches the end and runs back to me on the rope.
Trigger warning for injury.
Lower the ropes, she signs in our new language. We spent a week developing it so she could communicate with me from a distance.
"One for now. Which one will you keep?" She taps the left rope. She is the only other person I have met who does many things with their left hand despite the religious stigma. Of course, she can write with either hand, but her left hand is clearly more fluent.
I lower the right handrail, and she steps forward at her average speed. When she reaches the halfway point, I notice the rope under her feet beginning to sag. "Stop, Abby," I call, but she doesn't heed my warning.
The rope comes undone at the far end, and as I run forward, Abby falls the foot to the ground.
"Abby!" She points to her shoulder as I arrive next to her. Dislocated, I think to myself. She was still gripping the handrail when she landed. Her tears confirm the pain she is in.
I kneel next to her, moving quickly. The sooner I can help her, the better off I know she will be. "Shh," I whisper, cradling her as she sobs. All of a sudden, I move her shoulder back into place, eliciting a sigh of relief.
"It's alright, Abby. Just be careful." She nods, her eyes closed as we stand and walk back to the house.
Warning complete.
"Thank you."
I freeze, staring at her. "You're welcome, Abby. When did you teach yourself?"
"Last week," I hear, but her jaw doesn't move. I can hardly tell she is speaking. "Your books proved very useful."
"Ventriloquism? That's the only way you can speak?" I confirm.
"Yes, but this is still tiring. I prefer to sign and stay silent." She looks up at me, and I brush her bangs out of her eyes with one hand absentmindedly.
"Why don't we get something to eat to celebrate?" I ask, surprised by her sudden progress at nearly nine years old.
She nods. "Pastries?"
I laugh. "Alright. Go write down what you would like, but don't forget bread. We're almost out." Abby smiles, running to my desk and scribbling on a sheet of paper. In the meantime, I grab our coats and hats. As Abby finishes writing, I tuck her hair into her hat and help her into her coat before donning my own.
After crossing the lake, we climb the staircase to the street level. Abby leads the way to her favorite bakery, which we discovered last week. The light drizzle gives me an excuse to put my hood up over my hat.
When we arrive, I give her money after glancing at her list and calculating the price. She comes out a few minutes later holding two boxes, one of which I take from her. We hurry back, trying to avoid getting wetter than necessary as the rain begins to come down harder.
As I open the door, Abby freezes, glancing toward the street. I follow her gaze, spotting a tiny tan kitten attempting to climb out of the mud.
Please? Abby signs. Knowing I will never hear the end of it if I don't help the animal, I hand Abby my box. I walk to the kitten and lift it up, failing to avoid dirtying my gloves. It can't hurt to get the mud off now, I tell myself. When its face remains brown despite my light rubbing, I freeze. I try the cat's paws next, achieving the same result.
The cat is Siamese.
I carry it inside, Abby shutting the door behind us. How a cat never meant to leave Persia ended up alone on a Paris street, I may never know. But Abby needs company while she is studying, and a kitten will be perfect for her.
On the trip back to the lair, I try to think of a good name. As we arrive, I suggest to Abby a name to remind her of her new life with me. She accepts it, trying it out quietly as she takes the kitten from my arms.
"Ayesha."
Enjoy? Please review or PM me with ideas! The plot bunny for this bit is nearly fulfilled, and the sequel bunny has been born! I still have to write another month or two of these drabbles in 1881-time, so help is thoroughly appreciated.