(Posted August 25th)
Torus
.:: January 3rd - Saturday - 7:43 pm ::.
"Not every path will cross, and some do for but a moment. Make the most of what little time you have."
(Ancient Hexagon proverb)
➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗
Psst! Look for the words myriad and bluster
Later that evening, at the shopping mall across town…
"You okay?" Becky asks. Rex buries his face in the arm of her sweater without responding. Nearby, Mrs. Pirakell rustles through clothing racks in a way that makes the plastic hangers clack. Huggy watches in silence, saying nothing, as Rex screws his eyelids up tight.
It's warm inside the SpAdes clothing store. Warm enough that Becky's wearing her pink and purple coat tied around her waist now. The hot, bright lights bearing down on them do nothing for roasting fur (or skin, probably). Becky bends her neck, forcing Huggy - who leans over her head like a fuzzy gargoyle - to adjust his footing against her shoulders. There are still snowflakes and bits of gravel sprinkled in her curls. She didn't shower after that last explosive skirmish with Ms. Question. Huggy lifts a few strands of hair free from the back of her collar. They ripple like liquid chocolate across his palms.
Pretty color. I can't believe she'd have streaks of light cinnamon by now if she'd stayed on Lexicon. The sun's UV rays are killer there. Not enough atmosphere to shield the population, even that far from the sun. Huggy traveled a wide range of communities before the fateful mission that left him and Becky stranded on Earth, you know. Lexiconians spend almost every waking hour outdoors, hunting for food… Her community in particular use lightened hair as a sign of maturity. She'd be learning to drive a scootercraft right about now.
I guess I could pull the old one out of the garage block… but I doubt the fuel would still work after so many years.
Rex's eyes are so scrunched, he may as well have dunked his head underwater. Even his cheeks are puffed up. There's a famous rusty red fish back on Lexicon that inflates its cheeks and the long spines along its back when it senses predators skulking near. There's no telling what its name would translate to in English, but it's a bottom-feeder with whiskery tendrils like a catfish. In his scarlet hoodie, Rex looks sort of like that: a startled, squirmy fish. After such a wild, messy day, he even has spikes bending free from his carefully combed hair.
Huggy blinks at the boy in silence. Hmm. It's a fitting comparison when you think about it. Maybe not the bottom-feeder part, but definitely the defensive attitude the fish displays when under threat. When tricks of avoidance (like camouflage) don't shake off a curious predator, it fights back. It flares its hidden daggers and lashes a snapping tail. If you could earn a degree in fight over flight, Rex would be a shoo-in. Mostly.
Tonight, he doesn't seem sure.
Becky's handling the noise and brightness of the store better, though Bob can feel her twitches beneath his folded arms. Rex's spidery fingers tighten in her sweater like tiny fangs. He nods in response to Becky's question (the "You okay?") even though he'd ignored her the first time. His hair and glasses scratch against her sleeve. He presses one hand against his ear. Mrs. Pirakell checks over her shoulder at them, then returns to counting shirts. Cloth rustles like the leathery wings of Lexicon's gliding lizards. It sends shivers down Huggy's spine and lifts his hackles by a smidge. Plastic hangers click nearby. Each one rattles like a pebble.
Like home.
Earth this. Lexicon that. Divide and sort, splitting thoughts and memories in completely separate boxes like separate shards of his identity. Huggy's New Year's resolution is the same every year: to stop the word home from conjuring memories of Lexicon like fireworks inside his brain. So he's already unsuccessful, but that doesn't mean he can't try again. And again and again and again.
At least that's what New Year's resolutions are for.
The brightly lit store they're in now is called SpAdes (capital A not optional, because their logo is the Eiffel Tower). All these sunny yellow walls and cheery rainbow shelves are a welcome relief after the cold, clingy wasteland of gray lurking outside. He's needed this. It's a shame Rex and Becky are both hunched over, heads bent. They're missing out. It's a beautiful night to hunker down indoors, away from falling snow. Maybe they won't have to go out again. Maybe not tomorrow either. That'd be nice.
Mrs. Pirakell straightens up and turns to say something to her husband. Mr. Pirakell hovers in the walkway between clothing racks, watching the trembling Rex and gentle Becky. His hands stay bundled in the pockets of his forest green sweatshirt, but Huggy can hear him opening and closing his clenching fingers. Milo's noisy. He's also bouncing on his heels.
And he's always watching. Though his unblinking stare pierces straight through his fur to his skittish heart, Huggy's always liked the guy. A little. Mr. Pirakell means well, even if he does have a nasty habit of bumbling into trouble. Regardless of his wandering, his foresight has proved invaluable on myriad occasions. Wrong place. Right time. That's sort of how he lives his otherwise unremarkable life.
Scratch that. Unremarkable feels like a cruel word on his tongue. Mr. Pirakell's soft, moist cakes are unbeatable and the Mrs. is a wizard with frosting, fruit salads, and soups. She nails the presentation every time. 5 out of 5 stars for the both of them. Huggy can't help swiping his tongue around his lips. Mr. Pirakell jumps a little and skitters his eyes away. He turns aside to study a bin of puffy winter-themed socks.
In Huggy's humble opinion, it's been much too long since they visited the mall. Becky, Violet, and Scoops are still young and starry-eyed, prone to splurging their allowance on toy store unicorns, art supplies, and microphones. Stores all around them are shutting down for the night. Honestly, Huggy's a little surprised that Mrs. Pirakell wanted to swing by this place instead of Bullseye where she can double up her shopping with food, but maybe she has coupons. With the amount she's buying, she'd better, he thinks absently, then stops. Bullseye doesn't allow monkeys.
Is he making things hard again?
Rex is struggling, fading in and out of his verbal abilities. But this will be good for him. Some of his old Hexagonian clothes will be long gone in space by now, fired through the dirty laundry chute (Unless he's a clingy hoarder, but he won't be; he's too well-trained to go against protocol). It's about time someone took charge of that kid and started tracking how often he showers.
Most days, Rexagon wears his Kid Math uniform tucked beneath his hoodie. Huggy's afraid to ask how often he washes it. Not often enough. Rex is outdoorsy. He always smells like mud and sweat, tinged with the sting of salty seaside air. Huggy's contribution to that kid's holiday gift basket was an arrangement of dried fruit and a lightweight, long-sleeved tee, but winter won't last forever. Rex will fall back on the rest of his wardrobe. And once he starts puberty, his overactive sweat glands will upgrade to fruity pheromones, which will certainly be something… But for now, at least, what you whiff is what you get.
The funny thing is, it's mostly Lexiconians who are known for rolling in the dirt to stay clean and sweat-free. What's your excuse? Huggy wants to say in teasing, but he doesn't. Too many prickles still stand between them. It might hurt his feelings. Hexagonians, as a rule, don't share the Lexiconian sense of humor for puns, sarcasm, and clever wordplay. There are many words and double meanings that don't translate at all.
Rex and Becky stand beneath a mannequin on a pedestal that dwarfs them completely. It blocks one of the lights, casting shadows. Rex still flinches like it doesn't help. That kid flaps his hands sometimes like he's drowning. He thunks the edge of his shoe against the mannequin display. His breath rustles fabric and his feet scuff the carpet. Becky shifts her arms, cradling him a little more tightly.
"How are you feeling?"
His voice comes out muffled by her knitted sleeve: "I said okay."
Huggy, still leaning over Becky's head, can't help but grimace. While he may not wield Becky's range of powers, he does have super hearing. He's faced his own share of sensory overload. It just doesn't hit him the way it hits them, because his people use noises for contact calls and communication, and he's always been well aware of the rustling of leaves and grass. Lexicon is brimming with vicious animals, and it'd be a death sentence to adapt that sensitivity away.
Rex, however, is inexperienced. And young… even for a Hexagonian explorer. Obviously smart, obviously capable… but one nagging thought hasn't stopped gnawing at Huggy's conscience since the first day Kid Math stumbled into his and Becky's lives.
Where is his co-pilot?
Never in all his travels has Huggy run across a licensed ship pilot without one. It doesn't add up. Partnerships are mandated for Class V spacecraft; even he's never strayed beyond the boundary without his brother in the co-pilot's chair (and truthfully, his history has been pockmarked with adventurous rule bending).
So what's your story, Rexagon? Which sleepy agent signed off on your exit route without checking the occupancy of your second seat?
… or how did you slip past without a license or friend to your name?
"Is there anything I can do?" Becky whispers.
"S'too loud. I can hear mice scratching underneath the mall."
"That'll be the doctor's doing," Huggy murmurs against his wrist. Dr. Two-Brains' influence stretches all over this city, all the way down in its cracks and tunnels. Of course some of his mice would scuttle this way over time. He can't hear them, though, so he's not sure what to make of the fact that Rex apparently can. His toes grip a little more tightly in Becky's collar.
Rex pulls back his head, exhaling deeply. His breath is colder on Huggy's leg than it should be, which is alarming. There's carbon dioxide in his lungs. As a Hexagonian, a little of that shouldn't be a problem for his system to deal with… But how much control does he have over his ice breath?
Becky grew up with hers. Rex only left his planet five or six Earth months ago. Huggy doesn't know their species well enough to be sure if the ice breath is classed as a power or just a natural part of their alien biology. Will he get… stuck? Solidify a layer of ice across his windpipe and fail to expel it so he can breathe again? Is that a thing?
There's just so much that I don't know… and now he has to be 'uncle' to kids from two different species instead of one.
He closes his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Becky's head. She smells damp, like a river bank. A vacation would be nice, maybe. Sally's already put them down for a relaxing day out of town - Becky, Violet, herself, and him - but it can't come soon enough.
Becky pulls Rex away from the mannequin, closer to Mrs. Pirakell. This also brings them nearer to the cold window. It's already dark outside. The mall's lights are hazy, and the liminal space that combo of dark and light lands them in makes Huggy shiver. When can they go home? When can they eat? He asks Becky softly, and she returns it with a disappointing answer: Whenever the Pirakells are done shopping.
He gets it. He really does. Rex needs attention, and Rex needs Becky. The kid just doesn't like admitting it. Even now, he's sour and pouting as he keeps his arms wrapped around Becky's waist. He's like a tick. Huggy, blinking in silence, wonders how many more days they have before Rex brings their secret identities crashing down. Surely he'll slip. Something's gotta give. The people in this city are patient, but they're not stupid. Sooner or later, someone will notice that Becky Botsford's new tagalong friend arrived in Fair City at the same time new superhero Kid Math did. Rose, probably. Rose is an investigative reporter in training. Bright kid. Catches everything.
It's not really an 'if.' It's only a matter of 'when.'
All right. He slides down Becky's back, hopping off to make it easier for her to move around. She's doing her best, and he's proud of her for it. Rex can be a sonic boom of a person, whether that's on the battlefield or clinging to her arms. To put it bluntly, watching over Rex reminds Huggy all too painfully of that time he and Becky babysat Scoops' pig - Inky - for a week so he and his family could enjoy a stress-free road trip out of town. He bears Inky no ill will, but he tromps mud around like, well… a hog.
Fortunately, Mrs. Pirakell - Bless that woman - can tell Rex is at his limit after 30 minutes in the store. She asks Rex for his opinions on two more textures. He dislikes both, but snaps to attention when he sees the price tags. This rejuvenates him for a couple minutes more. Huggy follows Becky, who follows Rex as he darts back and forth, comparing numbers. And this, Huggy realizes with a huff of amusement, isn't actually a surprise. As a general rule, Lexiconians are a bartering society. They dance, haggle, or simply swap stories as they work together or exchange gifts. Hexagonians are a bit more tightly structured, especially when it comes to calculating. They like currency. Though the numerals are different than the dots and dashes he grew up with, Rex is obviously fluent.
"What's this material?" he asks at one point, touching a cream-colored shirt. He gives it several pats, nearly knocking the whole display over. Mrs. Pirakell checks the other tag.
"Spandex. You might like this one; it's soft and stretchy."
"This is good value," Rex agrees, still patting. Then he runs off again to touch something else, blustering and bragging the whole way. "Hm," says Becky, leaning her shoulder against a wall shelf. "He sure likes numbers, doesn't he, Huggy?"
Huggy nods. "He likes scoring good deals. Your two planets aren't short on fuel and each of you holds natural resources the other doesn't. It's spawned a culture of flourishing through trade and maximizing productivity in separate environments… instead of one planet capitalizing on resources. Trading is constant. Now that he's registered a variance in prices, it probably makes him feel right at home."
Becky considers this in silence, folding her arms. Neither of them says anything for a while. Just breathing. Enjoying a sliver of alone time. No robots. No villains. No yelling. Rex's chatter carries back to them, but he's tugging on his foster mother's sleeve now- not theirs.
A moment later, Huggy's stomach rumbles. Becky shakes her head in amusement. He winces and tries to rub away the hunger pangs.
"I think I would have liked it," she says next. Huggy stops. His fingers tighten in his belly fur.
"What?"
"That thriving hub of back and forth chatter. I mean, I wouldn't get overstimulated so easily on Lexicon without super-hearing, right?" She looks down. Her eyes are sparkling. There's a canyon near her home commune that had the shiniest black stone, liquid-like, all the way down its basin. Her eyes could melt right into it and you wouldn't tell the difference. "I think I would have liked visiting the marketplace. There must have been so many people to talk to."
Her eyes slide away, already chasing another thought, so Huggy says nothing in response. Rex is fascinated two aisles over, speaking in hushed tones about the number 99. It does feel a little bit like the old marketplace. Just less busy. He's less likely to get stepped on or kicked between the ribs. Fair City takes monkey protection a little bit better than some communities he could mention. Though I do miss running along the vine bridges…
"I wonder," Becky muses in a sing-song voice, "if Rex and I would be friends if we'd never left home."
"You probably wouldn't have met."
"I know we probably wouldn't have met, but that's not the point." She wrinkles her nose and gives a little huff, then winds a loose curl behind her ear. And he smiles… He can't resist the smile. She looks so grown up, even without cinnamon streaks in her hair. "He said his dad spent most his time on Lexicon doing stuff in the warehouses and his mom handled deliveries between our planets. You know- in her ship."
"Hm."
Something about the idea of a one-person delivery ship seems to spark in her like a candle flame. Becky straightens, gathering her hair in a swoop of quick hands. "I bet she brought him along sometimes. You know- 'Take Your Son to Work' day, even if 'work' might be on an entirely different planet- HA!" The laughter leaves her in a snort. She gives her hair a sharp twist. "I mean, they're his parents, so they must have taken him for a million rides back and forth. I bet if I hung around the marketplace a lot, talking to different people, and he kept showing up… I think we would've been friends."
"Maybe."
Becky didn't bring a scrunchie or hair tie, though she usually keeps one or two dangling from her wrist. Her hair won't stay up. She bounces on her heels, letting the threads filter through her fingers. Fortunately, it's not much longer before the Pirakells check in again, and Miah suggests they go out to get something to eat. Finally. Huggy voices agreement and Becky smiles in one corner of her mouth.
"Sounds great! And Bob approves. He's good to eat anything, by the way. He's got a strong stomach."
Mrs. Pirakell leans her arm on Milo's, arms weighed down with clothes, and Huggy likes the glimmer in her eyes. "Mr. Pirakell will take them around while I finish up here. Go nuts; get some nice dessert. I have to get school supplies anyway, so I'll be here a while." And to Milo, "Swing back around to get me in an hour or whenever they're antsy to go home. Okay?"
Mr. Pirakell's brows pinch together. "Um… Are you sure?"
"Mmhm," she says, kissing the edge of his lips. Huggy politely averts his gaze, though Becky and Rex think nothing of it, blinking with mild curiosity. Mrs. Pirakell counts a few things in her arms, then hands the clothes and hangers to her husband. "These ones were definite 'Yes's. I'll see what I can find in a similar fabric and maybe go back for one more pair of jeans. Are you good?"
"Yeah. N-no problem." Mr. Pirakell swivels around on one leg, the other high in front of him. He laughs. That smile-laugh combo could charge a spaceship engine. A small one, anyway. "Let's go get ice cream! If… if you guys are up for that."
"I don't do ice cream," Rex says, skirting around him like a puppy dog. He's looking much better after his romp and play with numbers, at least. He tucks his hands in his hoodie pockets with loose shoulders and a much less twitchy figure than he'd had just ten or fifteen minutes ago. "That's usually a dairy thing."
"Oh… Oh. Right. Well, wh-what about frozen yogurt? Or cookies?"
"No, sweets aren't good for your teeth. Can I have bread?"
"I… I think there's a fancy bread place still open around here… How do you feel about cinnamon bread?"
Rex's eyes widen. "They make that? That sounds delicious. That's worth it. I've decided. I'll brush my teeth three times tonight if I can have cinnamon bread."
Huggy groans in agreement. Oh, he knows exactly which shop Mr. Pirakell is talking about, and he's absolutely right. The assorted artisan breads and sweet rolls they serve there never miss.
"Well, maybe not three times," Milo says, utterly cheery and absentminded as he walks away. "You have to be gentle to your gums, you know?"
Maybe so, Huggy thinks, leaping onto Becky's back again. But life's too short to not enjoy the little treats.
They say good-bye to Mrs. Pirakell, buy the clothes, and return to the yellow car in the parking lot. As they exit, Rex breathes a sigh of relief. Becky gives his shoulder a pat.
No one says much of anything on the drive, though as they reach the artisan bread shop, Mr. Pirakell starts a rapid-paced story about how his wife likes to go for long drives along the beach on her days off, and would Rex like to join her sometime this week? Rex jolts upright, whipping his stare from the window. Huggy can sense it even though he's half asleep.
"You can go to the ocean?"
Mr. Pirakell chuckles. "Would you like to?"
Uh-oh, Huggy thinks, cracking open one eye. He's been curled in Becky's lap for the last few minutes, aching from the earlier fights and exhausted from pushing his usual outdoor curfew. I mean, it's 8:30 at night… He's ready to cuddle up in his hammock with a hot water bottle and a blanket. Rex stares at the back of Mr. Pirakell's seat, breathing loud, wispy breaths for a moment in silence. Mr. Pirakell checks on them in the rear-view mirror. He finds a parking spot and turns off the car.
"Yeah," Rex finally says. He unclicks his seat belt. "I would."
Mm. It's a little cold and late for a beach visit, isn't it? It's January 3rd. There might even be snow on the beach. Huggy stretches, but resists the temptation to snark him for it. His bones are flexible. He's still too young for the aches and pains of middle age. Becky scritches behind his shoulders and then they finally get to eat. Rex wolfs down his bread so fast and viciously, even Huggy throws him a startled glance. Who's been feeding this kid?
They're close enough to the beach that they leave the car in the lot and walk down to the shore. The waves are crashing hard tonight. It's been a long time since they were out this late. Or this close to the water. It almost feels illegal to enjoy an evening walk as Becky and Bob instead of WordGirl and Captain Huggyface, and Huggy takes a deep breath. Technically, you can't smell salt. What you really smell is the sting of it. The water's cold even from a distance and the wind isn't much better. It tousles all their hair and slithers between their noses and lips. As they move away from the buildings and into the open, Huggy starts wishing he'd brought a coat. And I'm the one with fur.
Becky leads the way along the sidewalk, thrumming her hand along the iron bars of the fence that separates them from the final buildings, bushes, and early patches of asphalt-stained sand. She's humming. Huggy forgets the lyrics, but it's one of the peppy ones she's always singing with Violet. One of those sappy, overly romantic ones she's still too young for, if you ask me.
Rex moves more cautiously behind her, repeatedly adjusting his glasses. He's quiet, but that's not unusual. Becky's a Lexiconian. Whether it's an evolutionary history of contact calls ingrained in her genes or a simple love for language, she's always muttering or humming to herself. Rex, who embodies the classic Hexagonian stereotype to a T, is inwardly contemplative. Glancing left and right. Calculating everything. Huggy's behind them, but can imagine the equations that must be leaping in front of his eyes. Metaphorically speaking. How funny to see them walking alongside each other, their sleeves barely brushing with the occasional vup! vup! Swish.
My two little waifs… The universe only knows what agony they'll put me through now.
Long exhale. He doesn't like to think of himself as getting old. He really isn't. It wasn't that long ago that he earned his captain title and said good-bye to home. Entering my prime is his preferred answer whenever Becky prods about his age (Rex won't; Rex will know; Rex is Hexagonian and can identify anyone's age right down to the day even if he doesn't know the words to translate his calculation fluidly into months or weekdays). But watching Rex and Becky stride away, one of them flitting about with proud confidence that this city is safe and no one can hurt her, the other one waltzing in her shadow… He is getting old.
Huggy picks his way along the top of the fence, hand over hand between the little spikes. The wind hasn't grown any kinder, so he has to lean to one side to keep his balance. The metal's frigid from winter cold. It's hard, manufactured with corners, and nothing like the rainforest at all. But when he shuts his eyes… the fence isn't made of iron and he really hasn't been sentenced to pass his final years on Earth. His fingers slot into place with practiced ease. His opposable toes are more at home like this than in any shoes or silly outfits he tries on.
No, he hasn't forgotten the branches he used to sprint across… the vines he used to hang from back before he lost his tail.
Mr. Pirakell, walking beside him, chuckles in a puff of air. It startles Huggy into flickering open his eyes. "Look at you," he says, and Huggy stares at him, still meandering. Mr. Pirakell doesn't ruffle his fur or anything - doesn't even touch him - but the way he tips his head, sandy brown eyes shining in the dark, hits like a fist between the ribs. "Becky's a really good kid. I'm glad she feels safe enough to be out in the city this late at night… She's lucky to have you, Bob."
"She's a pain in my backend, and don't you forgot it."
The gets him a chuckle, even though he knows his voice only registers to the man in a series of squeaks. "I've seen the way you look at her. You're like her own personal Captain Huggyface."
Huggy turns his face away, fur prickling. Mr. Pirakell can't understand him. No one in this city can… except Becky. And General Smoochington and the simians at the zoo, but they hardly qualify. And the vet. Huggy turns his wobbly hand over hand walk into leaps, putting as much distance between himself and Mr. Pirakell as he can. The man didn't say anything wrong. It's just…
He's just not in the mood for one-sided chats. That's all. He's under no obligation to engage or entertain. He's a companion- not a pet.
He's an honorable spaceship pilot. Not some sideshow circus monkey.
Becky made it to the end of the fence. She stands there, leaning back as far as she can with her fingers lightly curled around the metal bars. Rex hovers beside her like a moth. As Huggy comes bounding up beside them, he hears the boy whisper a few words to him and Becky alone.
"I… I'm home."
And that's where all the trouble starts. Huggy wrinkles his nose. The stubby remainder of his tail gives a tiny twitch. Now, will this be an emotional moment for the kid? And if so, how well will he keep himself and the stories of his past under control? Mr. Pirakell's a little ways down the sidewalk behind them, granting them a moment of privacy if Rex starts feeling chatty, but he's not that far away.
"This is Fair City Beach, Rex. The snow isn't usually here. It's just been a really cold winter, I guess." Becky uses the very tips of her pinky fingers to hold her weight against the bars, lightly bouncing as she leans back even farther. Huggy's sharp ears detect the faintest noise of strain. Apparently Becky's do too, because she stops before he can even warn her. She releases the bars and steps away, brushing her hands down the front of her coat. "When we get the summer heat back, I'll bring you here and show you all the Earthling beach toys and games. You might like volleyball."
Somehow I doubt that…
Rex says nothing for a moment, still staring across the snow-dusted sand. There's a bit of driftwood piled to one side. Huggy can see Captain Tangent's handiwork in a few mismatched heaps of metal scraps. Totally dangerous. That kid needs to get ahold of himself. Then Rex turns his head, gripping his wrist. "This planet's axis has a strong tilt. It would be… really cold water, right? Can… can I swim in it when the seasons change? Do you do that here?"
"Of course! When summer comes, all sorts of kids and grown-ups will be playing on the beach. There are squirt guns, beach balls, boogieboards… Do you have anything like that on Hexagon?"
"Not… really. Maybe the squirt guns, though it really depends what you mean by that." Rex cocks his head (Huggy checks how close Mr. Pirakell is to walking within hearing range). "I've never seen the ocean before. I just meant… It reminds me of the edge of the city bubble. You've got water, rushing, gushing… and then there's nothing. And it's flat… and sandy… and it goes on forever."
"Oh."
Rex fidgets with the end of his sleeve. "I think I'll like summer on this planet, actually. The anniversary of my Earth year birthday's coming up sometime then. I think I want to see the beach that day. I want to swim. You know, I've never gotten to use my gills before. We're not allowed to."
WordGirl shifts her eyes sideways. "'Not allowed?'"
"Well, we can't turn the rivers off."
That's the end of the conversation. They both turn, peering back as Mr. Pirakell joins them. The man shivers despite his sweatshirt, then asks if they want to go down on the sand. Becky and Huggy check with Rex, who hesitates and opens and closes his hands a few times by his sides.
"I'll get sand on my feet… and it'll track into your car."
"That's okay."
Rex lifts his head, blinking through a squint. "It is? But… won't it get under the cracks in the seat and all over the carpet and be really difficult to clean up?"
"I don't mind. Go have fun. We've got 30 minutes before we have to go back and get Miah from the store."
Becky grabs Rex's arm, tugging him so hard, he stumbles. "C'mon, Rex! Let's go touch the surf!"
"Oh. Um… Okay. Yeah!"
They scramble off together, a blur of arms and flapping coats. Huggy balances a moment longer on the fence, watching them race down the stairs. The moon's just a cold, waxing crescent tonight. You can barely see it in the sky. It doesn't cast a lot of light on the beach, but the snow's so pale that it reflects it anyway. Becky's almost running backwards, pulling Rex after her, and he stumbles and giggles and she grabs his second hand. She swings him around and then they both go tumbling in the snow. Rex screeches, flailing his limbs as the stuff soaks beneath his coat collar. Mr. Pirakell leans his arms over the fence top and cups his chin in one hand.
"You can tell, can't you?" asks the man. His words are absentminded, but they still fluff out Huggy's fur.
"What do you mean?"
"That he's had a rough go of it. Y-you know." Mr. Pirakell aims an imaginary squirt gun at Rex and makes a clicking noise with his tongue to load it. "Pew, pew… Geez. That kid never got the chance to be a kid."
Huggy drops his gaze to his hands, testing his fingers against the iron bar he's crouching on. Mr. Pirakell scrunches his arms together, folding them beneath his chin. They sit in silence for a few flickery seconds. Becky and Rex giggle and swat snowy sand at one another's coats.
"Yeah," Huggy finally says. "Neither did the other one… I should go."
"Oh, see ya," Mr. Pirakell says as Huggy leaps down to the sand. He lopes towards the kids as casually as he can, trying not to startle either of them from their play. They need this sometimes. They really do.
The wind is still blustery. It's just that time of year: cold, gray, chilly… And it's late. Huggy narrows his eyes, which helps a little. He strays past Rex and Becky, closer to the water, and wanders among the surf. The waves are tinted brown with swirling silt. The sand's soft and mucky here. He steps carefully over a broken shell and a black strip of seaweed. The waves rush in, white foam lapping at his feet. Huggy tries for a moment to stand there and conjure up any memories of home - of Lexicon - but… they don't come. He lived in the rainforest. The beach wasn't really his thing. Did its sand get dark and brown like this, or was it pale and bleached by the sun? Did it run red with iron? … I don't think I have any books in the library that would say.
He sits, exhaling in the silence. The beach at night isn't nearly as peaceful as he'd like it to be. It's not out of the ordinary for a villain to spring into action at this weird cusp between evening and full-on night. He hopes they won't have to rush off again. After Mr. Big, Tobey, the Butcher, the jail visit, and Ms. Question, he's had enough villains for a single day.
"Some people build sand castles on the beach," he hears Becky say behind him. "But my dad's a big history and architecture buff. He likes building sand pyramids."
"Pyramids are good," Rex says. There's silence, which hits harder in the dark. It's mostly silence, though flapping fabric creates a sense of fiddling. "Um… I need to use the bathroom."
Becky turns, shuffling the sand between her feet. "Let's see… I think it's that building over there, with the faucets on the side. When we're ready to go, we can rinse our shoes there."
"Okay." Rex moves off, though Becky doesn't. Huggy blinks after his departing form, then gets to his feet. It's as good a time as any to get him alone. He scampers after Rex, leaving Becky writing letters in the damp sand with her fingertip. The building's near enough to Mr. Pirakell that he can keep them in his sights without stressing that he lost them, but distant enough that he won't hear their conversation as long as they keep their voices low.
Huggy trails behind Rex, piecing the words together in his mind. Rex gives him a funny look, not sure what to make of him, and Huggy tightens his jaw. It's not often he gets the chance for a private conversation. Basically never, in fact. Since he can't fly, Becky would need to carry him to reach Rex's spaceship, and things only got more complicated after Rex moved to the group home. They're still well within the first circle of Becky's hearing range, but maybe… the noise of the ocean and battering wind will be distracting enough that she won't take any interest. Especially if she's trying not to pay attention to bathroom noises.
There's the restroom building. The ground beneath them changes from sand to cement. Rex hesitates on the path, flicking his gaze between the Women and Men signs. Finally, he turns to Huggy. His voice drops to a whisper. "Um, I've never seen these symbols before. Am I supposed to use the toilet with the person in the superhero cape or the person in civilian clothes?"
Huggy's mouth twitches with amusement. Just once. He's still burning up with questions, but he stuffs them down long enough to say, "Welcome to America. A wide range of Earth cultures gender their toilets. You'll use the one for boys. Starboard side."
Rex looks at the signs, then at Huggy again. "Well, yeah, I know that. They split that way here… I've just never seen signs like this. Why does the girl bathroom show her with a superhero cape and the boy without one? What's the difference?"
"Gender, apparently." The women's sign dress does look a bit like a cape when you think about it, actually.
"But why?" Rex is sulky and cranky, the two stinging emotions wrapped around him like a hot dog bun. The thought rumbles Huggy's stomach, even though he had a sandwich when they went for bread. He leans a little more weight on his knuckles and tilts his head.
"Humans like their 1s and 0s. They categorize. It's comforting to them."
"On Hexagon, we say 'dots and dashes.'"
Huggy shrugs. "Well, humans aren't like you or Becky. The cultures are different here. You know how Lexiconians like their communes? Their multiple females to a single male? That's not looked on fondly where we are. Everything is different. Even their bodies." And he stares at Rex's quiet eyes. "These Earth people… They'd consider it outrageous to hear a child crossed the universe by himself. Cruel, even. Did you have a companion?"
Rex's eyes flick away. "How… how are human bodies different?"
Hm. The deflection is too deliberate. Huggy plays along anyway. "No gills. No malleable bones. Their skin is softer. Their lungs are smaller. They can't run as fast, but they can run for a long, long time. And they don't have the organ that lets them smell pheromones like we can." After a moment's thought, he adds, "Humans aren't born with baby spots, either."
Rex peers down at himself. He lifts his arms as though studying exposed skin straight through his red hoodie and blue superhero uniform. Then, tossing one frown in the general direction of Mr. Pirakell, he tugs his hoodie hem down again. "Actually, that's starting to go out of fashion. Sort of. At least, I can't think of a single logical reason for us to continue being born with them much longer. Hexagon doesn't have predators. We got rid of all those."
I beg to differ, Huggy thinks, but keeps his jaws shut. He understands Becky's concerns, but the chances of Rex and Miss Power ever crossing paths on Hexagon are negligible. Like Lexicon, Hexagon (New Hexagon, anyway) couldn't thrive without its "glass dome" communities. Back when he was still piloting, there were only three of them (with plans for a fourth that had been spoken of vaguely for centuries, but never truly acted upon). In the 11 Earth years since he left the Erudite system, he can't imagine that's changed very much. Hexagonians are known for packing people into incredibly tight living spaces. They did that even in the old days before leaving their first planet.
On some level, Huggy gets it. While it would be foolish to believe any culture could be uniform across the entire planet, they've always divided their home into "places people live" and "places we can strip for resources." Why build a new community when four million or more people can fit under each dome?
Judging from the dark melanin in his skin, Rex almost certainly hails from the tropical equator community of Vinculum. Miss Power (more probably) either lived up north in Numerator or down south in Denominator. There likely is some form of travel between the bubble communities, but frankly, Huggy would believe Rex if he said Earth was the first place he saw a pale-skinned person in his life.
"You'll grow hair on your back," Huggy says, watching Rex play with his sleeves. "If you were human, you'd get it on your face. You'll have to keep that in mind when you're older. People will wonder why you don't shave." His fingers twitch. "And they'll want to do tests on you to track down your parents. Earthlings are curious. Like I said, they enjoy categories and comfort. People will always ask you questions about how you wound up alone."
Very alone.
Rex shakes his head. "They can't… They can't do a DNA test. I told them no. And Becky said that even if they did, they can't confirm anything because my parents won't be in their database. I've been studying humans for the past few weeks, though. I think we're not actually that different."
Another swift dodge. This one feels less intentional, but Huggy's patience only runs so thick. He tries again, this time more directly. "How did you end up on this planet all by yourself?"
This question shoots Rex's brows halfway off his forehead. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Where's your co-pilot?"
Rex's eyes skid sideways. The wind ruffles up his hair. He blinks at the sidewalk, then turns away towards the open restroom doorways. "O-oh… Well, I've never had one."
"Don't dodge the question," Huggy growls. Rex freezes in the restroom entrance like someone rammed a voltstick up his tail end. "You drive a Class V cruiser. A Drakken, if I read the brand name right. That thing wouldn't pass as an M even if you chopped the cap-room off and gutted the storage space. Where is your co-pilot?"
"I said I've never had one."
"Unicorn dung." At least, that's the censored translation. He spits it in a stronger way that makes Rex whip around, eyes flashing. Still, Huggy levels his gaze directly at Rex's. He pulls his lips slightly from his teeth. "No one can pilot past the border guards without getting searched. Where is your co-pilot?"
Silence tangles itself around Rex's throat like liquid shadow. He stares back at Huggy, unblinking. His fingers open and close against his sides in little patterns, one finger at a time. Like he's counting. Like he's trying to hold his cool. Huggy does not stop staring at him.
"It's been on my mind since I saw your ship," he says. "And if you and I are going to work together - if you ever want me to put my faith in your hands the way I've put my faith in Becky - then I need reassurance that you've been properly trained."
"You don't believe me? Huggy, I graduated second to top of my class. We've been over this. If you can't trust the second best, then who can you trust? … Okay, yes, I guess that would be the-"
"Where is your co-pilot?"
Rex blinks at him. Huggy swears he can hear the click of slightly damp eyelids.
Again, then: "I need you to trust me with that information."
"Well, I'm not super comfortable sharing that. I should be allowed to keep a few things to myself."
"Where is your co-pilot?" He will not let Rex squirm away. It's not often he gets the opportunity to push and prod without Becky breathing down his neck. Becky pulling him away. Becky trying to play nice, to Hang on and calm down, Becky trying not to force information out of Rex that the boy doesn't want to give. Rex's eyes dart sideways, then back to Huggy. His lower lip trembles in a squishy sort of way. He's cracking. He's lying and he's cracking hard.
"… I didn't have a co-pilot."
"Who was assigned to you? And what happened to them?"
Rex looks away, his teeth clenched like he's chewing leaves. "I… I…"
It takes nearly two minutes. He tries to squirm. Huggy presses. But Rex doesn't flee or even duck inside the restroom, and after a bit more mumbling, he caves.
"We kinda had a fight."
There it is. Though it just sparks new questions instead of laying them to rest.
"'A fight,'" Huggy repeats, trying to get a taste for the word in his mouth. It clashes with the sandwich he had earlier. It clashes with a lot of things. "And your co-pilot… left you?" And you didn't say anything about it?
"She wasn't having fun," Rex says, taking a very intense interest in his hoodie zipper.
"'Fun'… Oh, no." Don't tell me it's who I think it is. Huggy massages his brow with thumb and forefinger. There are myriad highly skilled co-pilots he can envision Rex getting paired with before he left the solar system. There is exactly one that Huggy would unquestioningly believe would ditch him for the excuse of "having fun." Some people never change.
"She let me keep the cruiser." Rex's voice cracks on the last word. "She just… didn't think we were compatible anymore. So she went away, after we landed. She… I mean, she… She just went away. Please don't… tell Becky." Rex bundles the end of his sleeve in his hand and wipes it against each eye. "I mean, unless you have to. You know what's best. I just… don't know."
"I think I know the answer, but if I'm wrong, I'd rather not live with misassumptions. What's her name?"
"Lieutenant Snickertail."
The wind whispers and the ocean crashes. Then Huggy flings his arms above his head. The screech whips out of him before he can stop it. He hears the sharp jolt of Becky's gasp.
"Snickers is here on Earth!? Who thought that was a good idea?" He'd already hit the fruit with a tossed stone right in the center, but he still wants to yell. It just… it just feels good to bluster a little, even if he can't do it face to face with her right now.
"She's not mean… She just doesn't… really like me. She really wanted to get paired with Vector. I wasn't… her first choice."
It's Huggy's turn to stand there speechless. So she dumped you? And you didn't go after her? And you never thought this was important to bring up in the month that you've been training with us? He wants to shake the boy back and forth by the collar of his costume. But before he can, a new wave of thoughts starts to click and roll inside his head. Huggy draws back, holding one hand over his mouth. "Snickers always loved tinkering. She's an even better mechanic than I am, and she can adapt like no one I've ever met. If she's here…"
If Snickers is here on Earth, she might be able to help him find an alt fuel source to get the supercruiser off the ground.
"… Then we can go home."
He can see her fuzzy gray face in his mind's eye. Hear her piercing laugh. Feel the swish of every black and white ring on her tail coasting across his cheek. And he wonders, horribly, with a flicker of interest he should not be having, exactly how much she has or hasn't changed since the last time he saw her.
"Huggy," Rex says, still playing with his zipper. "Do you want to know why I came in this direction in the first place?"
Oh. "You're here on purpose?"
He gets a nasty glare for that one. Yeesh. Rex continues anyway, keeping his voice low. "Snickers never stopped looking for you and Private Cuddlyface. And I guess… I don't know. Well, it's the darndest thing. Seems like we both had our reasons for wanting to get off Hexagon." Rex checks behind him, then seats himself on a section of the sidewalk that isn't caked in light snow or damp sand. His hands drop against his legs. "Hey. Question. I only knew her for about three Hexagonian years. She didn't say much about her past, but she did mention you. I got the feeling you two were…" He pauses. Tastes the word two or three times against his lips. Then glances off. "Um. Courting?"
Him and Snickers? That's… more complicated than he's looking to share tonight. Huggy coughs into his fist. "Not courting. We went through basic training together, were stationed together on X2X, and I helped her out of an abusive relationship on two separate occasions. You've met her. Snickertail has this hard-to-break habit of chasing partners I can't stand." He considers saying more, then wipes the thought away. He's satisfied with that amount of information. The only further piece he'd even consider offering is We share an ex, and that isn't something Rex needs to know.
"Oh." Rex purses his lips, fingers drumming on his knee. "Well, even if it wasn't courting, she cited your name when I asked why she wanted to pilot us in this direction. She said she just wanted to see the place you made your last transmission. Your ship went down before I was even born, so I don't know much about it, but I guess… Well, it's obvious that Lexicon never found you. Once we fix my ship's heaters, we should take Becky back to Lexicon. Her real parents must be worried about her."
Real.
The wind is cold, it's getting late, he is tired, and Becky's been alone in the sand for far too long. Considering that she was invited on this shopping trip specifically to spend a little time with Rex, he should probably let them reunite. Yeah. That makes sense. Huggy takes a careful breath.
"We can't go back with you and Snickers. Becky's home is here now. I won't… I won't make her give that up." For me.
This earns him a curious look from Rex, who picks him apart like a puzzle with his chocolate brown eyes. "Are you sure?"
"It's… She's young. It would be a big change."
"What if things were opposite? Say I'd been the little kid who crawled on your spaceship and you and I fought crime on Earth for 10 years. Then a superhero from Lexicon showed up and I could meet my parents for the very first time. I would give anything…"
His voice trails off. Huggy stares longer at the snow-dusted cement between them, saying nothing. Then Rex corrects himself, massaging the back of his neck.
"A-actually, if I had an Earthling family who loved me like Becky's brother and parents do, and if my other option was MY real parents… I don't think I'd say yes to going home either."
"I've… met your dad." Rex told him the guy's name the first time he mumbled out the story, and every pilot knows the Hexagonian who works on Lexicon with the ships. He still does all these years later, it would seem. Rex stares back at him now, silent and still like a puppet. Huggy pushes on anyway. "Rayd was a good guy, at least when I knew him. You don't have to like him and you don't have to wish you'd lived with him, but he has a kind heart. Maybe someday it… it won't hurt so much." He fumbles backwards, trying to tweak his wording as Rex wrinkles his nose. "He… I mean, it can't have been easy on him, working in the Lexicon ship hangers. I think he would have liked to see you more, if it would have been convenient."
"I think you're right," Rex says, but his voice is icier than the snow at his fingertips. He stands, brushing off his pant legs. "If it would have been convenient, I think he would have liked to see me too."
That's not what I… ahh. Huggy scratches his forehead, but the words are struggling and Rex is on the defensive now. He clicks his teeth. "All right… This is a big deal, and if Snickertail really can fix my ship… both ships…" He doesn't want to say Becky's name aloud. That might jolt her attention. Huggy gestures across the beach. "She deserves to have the choice on whether she'd like to visit home. I can't be the one to make that call for her."
This isn't a good idea. She's young. She's impulsive. She doesn't realize how lucky she is to have a loving family who adore every little thing about her. It static shocks the beats of his fluttering heart. He continues, because Rex is waiting.
"I'll try to figure out if… she overheard us talking. If she probes for details, I'll spill everything. But if she wasn't listening… let's keep this between us until we find Snickertail. There's no reason to get her hopes up if we have no solution."
"I think hopes are good," said Rex seriously. "She needs all the time she can get if she wants to start planning your trip. Becky" - blabbermouth boy - "likes to know things. She even learned counting. I saw her add the weight for different combinations of barbels in her hideout, and she's not even Hexagonian."
It's so funny, sometimes… Huggy can't help but stare back at him. A million languages are spoken on Lexicon. In a way, the language you opt for is something like gender in the way that children search books for one that calls to them. Some stick with a language their entire life while others switch depending on their mood. But the ability to have definitions for words you've never heard spoken aloud flood your brain… Well, that's a superpower, just like the calculator in Kid Math's brain that he can't turn off even if he wanted to.
Lexiconians can't count. Not unless they learn from a Hexagonian, which is culturally taboo across at least a third of the planet (if not more). No matter where Huggy went, the words were always the same: "'without,' 'single,' and 'multiple.'" Watching Kid Math fidget brings all those memories gushing back.
Huggy turns away, exhaling in a single snort of breath. He gives his head a shake. "I've kept you long enough. Use the waste facilities and then enjoy the beach before we go back to get your foster mom. I… I'll be in touch. I'll pay a visit to Cuddly. It'll take time, even if we don't jump on the search for Snickers right away. Can you and Becky handle yourselves without me for a week or multiple?"
"I like to think we can." Rex plasters on a syrupy smile then, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know she didn't get her official certification, but WordGirl's great at being a really cool superhero. She had a great teacher!"
"Yeah, well…" You have to make do with what you have. "I did my best."
➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗
Back at the Pirakell household…
The first evening with a new foster kid is always an exhausting one. Getting the school supplies was just bad timing, but shopping for clothes was smart. It started getting late and Miah didn't exactly want Tim and Sally getting antsy if she kept their daughter out late, so they dropped Becky off as soon as they could get back. The house is full of non-dairy snacks, but they'll have to make another shopping trip on Monday or Tuesday for better meals. Maybe to the actual grocery store this time.
Rex is clearly up past his bedtime, though, because he keeps yawning and rubbing his eyes on the long drive home. He flops against Becky when giving her a hug good-bye on the sidewalk and stumbles over his feet while following Milo inside the house. Miah would like to give him a hug too or at least a shoulder pat, but she keeps her distance. She has a sugar glider she can cuddle. Rex, however, needs to be the one making all the decisions on physical touch.
"Thank you," he mumbles once they're inside again. Miah hangs her coat, though Rex clings to his hoodie with his hands bundled in the sleeves.
"Of course. I hope you have enough to be comfy tonight. Take a bit of time to settle in and let me know if you think of anything else we should get."
Rex nudges his shoe against the entryway rug. "I don't really need all these clothes and the school stuff… or my own room with decorations… but it's nice of you to do this for me."
"Hey, if I'm not spoiling you, I'm spoiling Misty… and she already has a whole room to herself. If she can have a bedroom decorated to fit her personality, so can you."
The simple statement does seem to cheer Rex a little. He nods, then hurries off down the hall. Miah hears the sounds of him fumbling to brush his teeth. She brings the shopping bags to the counter, dusts off her hands, then goes upstairs to check on Milo. He's already in their room, flopped face-down in the middle of the bed like an eagle because even though he loves wandering the city, the true key to his soul is a tidy bed with freshly cleaned sheets. Har har.
"How was the beach?" she asks the back of his head, rolling her eyes. He didn't even turn on the lights. But, well… Milo's like that. His brain's always running at top speed during the day. He absorbs every ounce of quiet he can get.
"Good," he mumbles into the covers. He absorbs the softness for a few seconds longer, then peels himself away, flopping on his back. "I think they had fun. I think… Becky's good for him. I hope TJ can help him get out of his head, too. He's a good kid…"
"Game night will be nice, and if it's not overwhelming for him, maybe we can make it a regular thing."
Milo sits up, blinking at her like an aye-aye in the darkness. "Miah? Do you think… he'll do okay? With us?"
"… I think he will. He doesn't seem sad. I think he's numb and scared. He's trying not to show it. The first night's always so hard… but he's a sweet kid. He's downstairs right now, brushing his teeth."
"I'll listen for him tonight… If he gets anxious, I'll sense it. And… and if he bolts, I'll know."
"Don't stay up too late," she says, crossing the room to push back his hair. She plants a soft kiss on his forehead. She tries to pull away, but Milo gets a grip on her shoulder and keeps her close and steady. So she gives him a second little kiss and breathes in the tangled scents of beach salt, gasoline, sweat, and curry spice snagged in the fibers of his sweatshirt. It's so very him. All that's missing is the grass clippings, but those will return in summer. She could pick out Milo's familiar scent from a whole room of sweatshirts. Even if she were under mind control. Maybe.
Milo's lips bump against her cheek. They linger, cold and damp, before he slightly loosens his grip on her shirt. He doesn't say I love you, but the deep look in his chocolate pudding eyes is there regardless as she pulls away.
"I don't know what to think," he tells her. "I'm… I'm nervous, sweetheart, but I'm sure we can do this together. We'll make sure our home is a safe place, no matter how much he wants to share. I… I think I'll stop by Eileen's this week. Maybe I can take her and Rex to the park."
"That's a good idea. Eileen adores you."
"Uh-oh," says the Narrator under his breath. Miah jumps, though Milo just glances up with a tight-lipped scowl. He gives another tug on her shirt and slides off the bed to bring himself closer. They wait, silent, but the Narrator covers his little noise with a quick backpedal and a sigh. Mish can hear him rustling his papers together. The moment's ruined, which Milo is bristling about, but he'll work through it. The Narrator can't stay forever. There will be another time.
"Ready for bed? I told Rex he can get us up if he needs anything. You okay with that?"
Milo pulls his gaze back down to hers. "I can do it… You don't need to worry. Sweetie, I'm not the nurse. I just do accounting. You do… so much. I'll get up if he calls. You just sleep."
"Tsk tsk. You spoil me, hon."
"Mm," Milo mutters, leaning towards her mouth. They kiss, softly, until Miah realizes the clicking noise she's hearing is probably the Narrator tapping his fingernails. Against what? Nobody knows. Ah… Right.
She pushes Milo off, this time more firmly, and doesn't let his puppy eyes snag her back. He turns away to change out of his sweatshirt and Miah goes back downstairs to check on how Rex is faring after brushing his teeth. She hears Milo and his brother trading hissy comments the whole way there.
Rex is playing with the bathroom drawers when she pokes in her head. Or drawer, rather. He pulls it open and shut, watching things rattle inside, then asks why she has 14 toothbrushes.
"For fun. Some foster kids don't bring one and I can't always get to the store the first night. I try to keep a variety of colors."
Rex stares blankly at the inside of the drawer, then slowly pushes it shut again. "You've been doing this for a long time."
Miah raises her brows. "I like to help people." It's the simplest answer she can give. It's a little more careful than I have a lot of experience or I like to think I'm good at this. Rex is allowed to form her own opinion of her.
"Oh," says Rex. He pulls and pushes the drawer a few more times. He doesn't say anything, nor does he seem inclined to go to bed on his own. Hmm…
"I'm planning to go shopping again next week," she tells him, leaning farther around the doorframe. "You're welcome to join me, but you don't have to unless you want to, and you don't have to decide now. I was just curious, though… Did you have the chance to celebrate Kwanzaa?"
Rex stops fiddling around. "What's Kwanzaa?"
"It's a holiday that many African Americans choose to celebrate… Clarissa said you might recognize it, but if you're not comfortable with it, we don't have to.
Rex's stare stays blank. Almost threatened. His fingers clench around the knob of the drawer, though he doesn't pull it out again.
"And if you don't want to," she hurries to add, "that's totally okay! The last day of Kwanzaa was January 1st, so I just wanted to ask. I wasn't sure if you'd missed out while in the group home."
"… African American? Is that, like…" He struggles with every word. "Is that me? Are there others like me?"
'Like me?' That could mean anything. Miah's heart pings once, then thumps its way lower in her chest. Rex has no birth certificate. No school records. The state suspects his parents and/or guardians left those bruises on his skin- one of which she can barely see on the back of his wrist. Maybe she stares a little too long, because Rex reaches over and tugs his sleeve down to keep it concealed.
How closeted has he been from the bigger world?
"I don't know," she finally says, as Rex searches her face like his eyes are searchlight beams in a storm. "Mrs. Argent implied you might be, um, African American…" This discussion is uncomfortable. She forces onward, pushing her midwife professionalism into play. She's breathing. "Maybe we can look at pictures when we're done shopping. We can eat cupcakes and talk about anything you like. I'll tell you about Africa."
(Is she overstepping? Is she being inappropriate? Is she leading him down the wrong path?)
Rex's eyes flash wide open. "Pictures? You have cross stitch on this planet?"
"What?"
Rex realizes what he said a second later. He shakes his hands back and forth, palms forward. "I… I just meant, I'd really like to see your pictures. Can you show me right now?"
"Oh, uh… sure. They're right out here in the hall."
Rex sort of pushes past her, swinging around the door frame, and scans the wall of hanging pictures as though seeing it for the first time. Maybe he is. He stops in front of the largest, staring with wild eyes. Miah points at it with one finger, just for the sake of storytelling.
"This is the day Milo and I got married. You, uh… You can't really tell, but all three of his brothers are in this picture with us. They're just invisible." Daddy Nightmare King's gene game is strong.
"That's me," says the Narrator, gesturing with a hand no one can see.
Rex stares at the picture, his eyes searing straight through their faces. He double blinks. Then blinks a little more. Then his feet lift off the ground. He reaches up, stretching his arms, and pries the framed photo from its hook on the wall. Um…
Miah observes all of this in silence, saying nothing. If Rex is comfortable enough around her to float, she isn't going to make him feel unsafe. And if the hovering is unintentional, she doesn't want to draw his attention to it and leave him feeling ashamed. Rex holds the picture between his hands, staring at it with the most… the most heartbroken look that Miah's ever seen. Slowly, he rotates it around.
"This isn't cross stitch. It's not a painting, either. How did you get this?"
"It's a photo," Miah says, mildly surprised.
"Photo…" Rex scratches his fingernail against the glass of the frame, frowning hard. Gingerly, Miah puts her hands around the frame's upper corners to lift the picture away. Maybe he doesn't need to touch that. She's allowed to put her foot down here. Rex lets go and slowly floats back down to the floor. He stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets, letting out a short breath. "I'm going to bed. What time do I have to get up?"
"Tomorrow's Sunday… We really have no plans until evening. Sleep in as long as you want. I don't work, so I'll start breakfast once you come out and we'll make sure it's hot and ready for you."
"What are you making?" Rex sounds exhausted. "Because if it's dairy, I'll get sick."
Miah…
… Miah pauses. And she looks at him for a few seconds. "Did… did you live with someone who kept giving you dairy on accident?"
Rex's tired eyes remain completely blank, like the only thought in his head is the warm bed inside his room. "Yeah. I'm the only one who could read the dairy words. They kept messing up. What are you making?"
"I'm making whatever you like." She's unpacking that 'I'm the only one who could read' thing later. "You can decide in the morning. It'll be an awkward first few days at our house, but we'll work something out and get a system going."
"Okay… I'm going to bed."
"Do you want me to stay so I can turn off the lights for you?"
"No. I can do it myself."
"Good night, Rex." He really is a sweet kid. "And if you need anything, you can wake us up in the middle of the night. Mine and Milo's sleep schedules are all over the place, so we're always getting up at odd hours."
Rex tilts his head. "Odd hours? … I'll remember."
He moves away down the hall and quietly shuts his door. Miah waits a few seconds in case he wants to poke his head out again, but she only hears the noise of zippers and rustling fabric as Rex starts to undress. She leaves him to it, heading back to the kitchen. On the way, she glides her fingertips across the wedding picture frame. She's holding up one edge of her dress and clutching her bouquet, beaming sunshine bright. Milo's got her hand and glittering with happy tears.
They have a lot of good photos from their wedding day. They both looked younger, then… 15 years less experienced in the ways of the world, but even when they've bickered, they've always made up again. No one else slides as well into her complicated, eternally busy, sugar glider-filled life as Milo does. She'd like to think he feels the same way about her. Miah pauses, tongue against the back of her teeth. 15 whole years married. 39 years old…
My mom was already dead by the time she made it to my age.
It's difficult to imagine. Her life still feels like it's in the early stages of 'everything coming together.' She's already enjoying Rex's company… She doesn't want to lose any of this. Not to dying. Not to divorce. Not to destructive robots or invasive mind control.
I love you, Milo… I'm so glad we're doing this together.
"Miah," says a quiet voice from the ceiling. Miah tears her attention from the picture. Though she can't see her brother-in-law, it still feels polite to make attempted eye contact.
"What?"
There's affection in his voice when he whispers back, "You're doing really great. I don't write the scripts, but…" Slight flicker of a pause. "I… I would have chosen you, too. Don't doubt yourself."
That's really nice of him to say. Miah makes her way down the hall to the kitchen, tracing her eyes across the myriad chocolate cupcakes waiting on the stovetop. Milo frosted them quite nicely. She walks over, takes one, and thrusts it into the air.
The Narrator stays silent. Only for a moment. Then his invisible fingers brush against hers. The cupcake ripples, shimmering in her hand, before he lifts it away. "Thank you… I've been eyeing those since we changed scenes."
"Any time."
A/N - Eileen declared Exposition Guy [Milo] her "best friend" in "The Birthday Girl's Monstrous Gift." I actually set Miah up as someone who's often absent for exactly this reason- sometimes Miah just gets busy with work and can't spend time with her husband, and Eileen sometimes gravitates to him because she doesn't get attention at home and Milo listens to her talk. Basically my headcanon is that they both like to go for walks and sometimes their paths cross and they walk together.
In other news, we're finally done with January 3rd and I'm taking a break. I hope you're enjoying the story thus far! Let me know your favorite part, if you have one :)