A/N: Guest: Who doesn't love hugs? Especially if a little bubbly being gives them! And yeah, Moreau hiding from mirrors makes sense since he literally hid himself away for so many years.

Chapter Eight: Important

Lush lashes fluttered from the reaching morning brightness that deflected from the windows of the living section of the little, lone lodge. With a soft moan, the sleepy being rubbed her teary, adjusting vision as the haze of sleep ebbed from her clearing consciousness.

The whiteness of the wintry wilderness was vivid, but what had gotten the most attention was the clear sky...

A clear sky with sunlight. This brought the young woman out of her early stupor on the spot.

Maybe da sun melted da snow!

Flinging the blanket, Joy swung her legs over the warm mattress and hopped to the floor. She quickly advanced to the front door and turned the copper knob. Her smile heightened when she found that it was not locked. Moreau must have forgotten to use his key. Normally, Joy would've been worried that a door had been left accessible. However, she was too excited right now and pulled in the big board to find...

...the ground was still immersed in nearly four feet of ice. This revelation caused the woman's expression to drop alongside the glop of snow from the cabin's porch.

The wind had died down, but the chilly atmosphere was still very much present. There was no possibility for a petite person... and her short, part-merman cohort to search for help in such high levels of frost, let alone, brave such cold temperatures. She doubted very much that a little lantern would keep them from becoming peop-sickles. Moreover, Joy could tell that Moreau wasn't in favor of winter. He was so nice and kind. She couldn't force him to do something that he disliked very much.

Actually, she wasn't overly happy about all of this snow, either...

After idly viewing her vapored respires, Joy reclosed the entrance and her sock-shrouded feet took a pace back; wiggling her short nose after being irritated by snow dust, drifting in the air.

"Kah-doh!"

"Bless you!"

The woman veered to see Moreau wobbling up behind her. He was wearing his winter boots again, so he must've awoken before she did.

"Thank you, Mo," she greeted him, wiping tiny nostrils with the back of her hand. "G'morning."

"Yes, good morning, Joy!"

The cheery fish-man watched Joy move sideward to look through the first window on her right.

"Like we said," he chortled, "there's so much snow!"

"...Yeah," she peeped quietly.

Moreau cumbersomely swaggered to the second windowpane, shaking his head. "Nobody can walk in all that cold snow..." He paused with another throaty titter. "Hmm-hmm-hmm! Unless they were mooses! Huh-ha!"

"I know..."

Moreau slanted his head towards Joy. She brushed her snuffling nose with a sweater sleeve.

"Is, is Joy going to sneeze again?"

"...No..."

This reply was much smaller and meeker. The light in Moreau's mien faded as he observed the woman rubbing her left knuckles. Although her face was somewhat indifferent, the glassy green irises and insecure movements told him otherwise.

No! No! No! No! No! My precious person will not be sad! She will not cry! She won't!

Licking wide lips, the fish-man's right callused hand patted her recessed shoulder... like she had done to console him.

"J-Joy..?"

With shimmering sights and drizzled cheeks, the woman finally turned to him. She wasn't concealing her emotions, but by the produced small smile, she was willing to listen to him. And trust him.

"...Y-yes, Mo?"

With fiddling fingers, Moreau glanced at the whiteout landscape through the icy glass to ponder momentarily.

"Don't worry... winter isn't forever. Soon, spring will come and melt all the damn snow!"

"Oh!" Joy gasped, shielding her mouth with both palms.

Moreau stumbled a tad backward. "Wh-What did I say?"

Joy removed her hands. "You... said a cuss word."

Moreau side-eyed nothing in particular while reconsidering his last sentence. Of course! Unlike his big, brassy brother, his precious person never swears!

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry! I mean, uhhh... the bad snow! ...Is, is that better?"

Joy nodded. "Uh-huh. And you're right. All dis snow is bad."

The fish-man was glad that his cohort's countenance was now corresponding with his own. But truth be told, as much as he complained about winter, he was relieved that the cruel season still resided in the forest...

Joy needed more time.

With a guttural giggle, Moreau tapped her forearm. "Yes, yes, bad snow! He-hee! And once the bad snowy days are good sunny days, Joy will be..."

"Unlosteded," she finished, placing a hand atop his crooked shoulder. "I remember your promise... Thank you for cheering me up, Mo."

Moreau's cheek-lines deepened as he gazed at the little arm over him.

"You're, you're welcome, Joy."

The young woman regained her hand and her sights wandered to Moreau's heavy footwear again.

"Umm, I could tell dat your feet weren't very cozy in dose boots, yesterday."

"No. They're nice but they pinch my ankles." Moreau tramped in place. "Ouch. Yes, very pinchy."

Joy canted her head because he was still grinning.

"So..? Why're ya still wearing dem in da lodge?"

"Oh! I'll show you!" He shuffled around and beckoned her to accompany him.

As before, the woman shadowed her companion who seemed to shirk his sights from the slightly extended back wall; where the large dresser stood in the sleeping section of the chamber. Joy mulled if perhaps, something in one of the carved compartments made part-mer-people allergic?

In the narrow corridor, they stood by the backdoor. Moreau reached to unbar it, but he receded with an abrupt groan.

Joy went quickly to his side. "What's wrong, Mo?"

Baring jagged teeth, he strained to curl the corner of his lips.

"Oh, it's just that my back is... is..."

Through the trench-coat, Moreau felt a caress circling on his benign back and his eyelids slid shut in pleased awe.

No. He would most definitely not ever tire of the tangible aid of his precious person.

"Your back is...?" she asked worriedly.

Moreau reopened his murky white eyes and gave a relaxed smile.

"My... my back is good, Joy."

"Well, dat's good! Joy glanced at the anchored plank of wood. "But please, lemme open da door for us. Okay?"

With a low croon, the fish-man nodded and with a small grunt, the young woman lifted the flat, dense timber. Luckily, she recalled that her grandmother had latch locks for her shed. So, it had been easily figured out to remove and replace the backdoor's board when she first arrived at the cabin. Very big in comparison to the little metal rods, but still, quite simple to maneuver.

"Just take a peek," advised Moreau while forestalling the unfriendly air by clinging to his elbows.

Joy bowed her head and after placing the bar aside, she drew the door ajar and peered through...

Right below them, in the snow, was a trail leading to the outhouse. It wasn't very deep as there looked to be a foot of snow within it. However, the vast amounts among it made the overlong path analogous to a cavernous, narrow pit. Joy grinned as she reclosed and locked the backdoor. She knew that her next tread to the outhouse would be more like a stride.

The woman fronted Moreau, folding her hands over her bosom.

"You made da path... for me?"

Absently, the fish-man scratched a tinted cheek.

"Yes... All the bad snow made it hard for Joy to walk and lots more fell from the sky last night. So... I shoveleded it all away."

"But... how?"

Moreau chuckled from hearing the expected inquiry.

"When I went on the porch for more woods to make more fires, I found a shovel hiding behind the woods."

But what he left out was how long it had taken him to dig into the snow. Since lifting a ton of clumped snowflakes wasn't exactly the hunched-back fish-man's forte. Fortunately, he raised before the sun had barely awoken. If he'd just been still living miserably alone, he would have never done such backbreaking work. And the need for relief would've just been beside a tree. However, ladies like to be proper and prefer to use a... powder room. At least, that's what Moreau imagined on what his big, booming sister would proclaim.

His grateful companion's gaze remained on his own, initiating the sides of his face to feel warmer.

"Uhhhhh... So... uh'hem... I made a path for Joy... I'm sorry it's not very-"

The fish-man cut himself off from the sudden feeling of enveloping arms.

"It's great! Thank you, Mo!" the light and chipper tone resounded in his gray hood. "You're such a good friend!"

"I... I... I am?" whimpered Moreau, his hands adhering to the back of the soft, ocean-blue apparel.

"Uh-huh!"

With full realization, the once, derided fish-man returned her squeeze as his recognition celebrated through an inner, vibrant tempo.

I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend! I'm a friend!

The pair's limbs gave one another space and they ambled back to the living area. When Moreau readied to sit on the couch to remove the bulky boots, his eyes began to blink hard and his palm reached for his brow. Moreau didn't realize that his wide girth was rotating... As was his vision.

"Mo? Are ya alright?! ...Mo?!"

"Huhhh..?"

The ringing and muffled voice sounded far away, but its alarmed inquirer had skipped beside him. The fish-man was brought out of his mental miasma and sudden pallor from the tender sensation of his left, webbed digits being enfolded...

"Oh!"

...by the left, fair hand of the first person to call him a friend.

"What's wrong, Mo? Feeling lightheaded?" Her enunciation started to come in more clearly.

Smiling weakly, Moreau squinted his fatigued sights while craning his face.

"No..? Because my big head is always heavy..."

The fretting woman's mouth-line rose faintly. "Lightheaded means da ditzy dizzies."

The fish-man's free palm pressed onto his hidden temple. "Well... my head does feel... heavier..."

"Alright. Please sit down, Mo."

Still clasping his hand, she coaxed him to rest his feet. Once Moreau was settled, she released her grip, and before he could say a word, like the previous evening, the supportive young woman knelt and removed his boots.

Moreau made an astounded, single blink. "Th-Thank you... Joy."

How did she know he wanted them off? Could Joy read his thoughts? Did she know everything like Mother?

"You're welcome." Joy put down the hefty footwear. "Do ya feel icky, Mo?"

"Icky?"

"Like your tummy doesn't feel good..."

The distraught fish-man swayed his ungainly head feverishly for a visual conviction that he wasn't ill.

"Okay, okay!" she cooed as she cupped one of his bony-covered knees. "I believe ya. Now, have ya had anything ta eat or drink dis morning?"

Another shake of his head, but this time, much slower.

"Just tired from shoveling all the dam- bad snow." Moreau released a hoarse sigh. "So much bad snow..."

Joy's curved lips lengthened and she stood up. "I'll be right back. Please stay on da comfy couch, alright?"

"All... All right."

She patted his knuckles and hurried through the kitchen entrance. Moreau leaned into the sofa's back cushion and closed his sights to ease his dazed mind. The fish-man's back pain had recommenced and was hurting like it had when he used to wake up from his under-sized stool in his former shack. But Moreau decided to keep that to himself.

Heaven forbid, if the caring woman witnessed the weighted monstrosity that beleaguered his existence...

With vision under heavy lids, his ears detected the slide door of the pantry open and close, the cling of porcelain taken out of the cupboard, then the rough creaks of the backdoor being unbarred and undone. Moreau mused that maybe Joy couldn't wait to use the outhouse again. However, that thought ended brusquely for the door was shut moments later. Shortly after, the gathering items clanked on the kitchen table, followed by a popping sound that resonated within the pine dwelling.

Moreau faced the kitchen opening with weary, tired eyes.

What is Joy doing?

Prudently, the woman walked up to the puzzled fish-man, holding a cup and its handle with both of her hands.

"Here...," she said softly, giving him the filled white porcelain.

Inaudibly, Moreau accepted it and saw that it contained apple juice. He brought it up for a sip and was happy to find the juice refreshingly cool.

"Since dare isn't a freezer, I poured da can in da cup and added some fresh snow ta make it nice and cold." Joy smiled. "Is it cold enough, Mo?"

Moreau took another drink and smacked his reinvigorated mouth.

"Yes, it, it is nice and cold." He looked at the young woman and shared her beam. "Thank you, Joy."

Joy knitted her lowered hands. "You're very welcome, Mo." She tilted her head. "How'ya feeling, now?"

Moreau looked down at his drink and then returned her gaze.

"I, I feel better!"

He chuckled jocosely to himself and the woman's eyebrows arched.

"What's so funny, Mo?"

"I'm, I'm laughing because, because bad snow isn't always so bad!"

Joy giggled as he drank from his cup.

"Tee-hee! Yeah, sure looks- tastes like it!"

When Joy heard a small crunching from her friend's closed mouth, she knew that he had finished and was currently enjoying the soft clumps of snowflakes.

"I think ya got da ditzy dizzies 'cause ya did all dat work without eating anything," Joy indicated. "Your body needs fuel ta move around."

Moreau scrunched his damp lips. "Uhh... I think I would like foods better than coals...

The woman's eyelids flittered from hearing that preference.

"Umm... Yeah... I don't think I'd wanna munch on dose, either..."

She observed the illuminated windows. "My mom taught me dat breakfast is da most important meal of da day, so da body has da energy ta start da day. ...Mom likes when I have someone with me while I help with cooking." She looked to Moreau and her smile turned into an open one. "But it'll be alright... if ya help me..."

Taken back, the fish-man cleared his soothed throat. "Uh... Y-Yes, I can. ...But, but, Joy, y-you don't have to cook."

"Why not?"

"Because... you're... my... guest?"

It was the only explanation he could give. Being treated kindly and... holding hands was still so hard to believe. But someone wanting to cook for him?

"I know dat, Mo," replied Joy as she gently took the empty cup. "But, I'm your friend, right?"

Moreau's heaving chest sensed an odd exhilarating of lightness and heaviness, all at once.

"Oh, oh, oh! Yes, yes, yes! Joy and Mo are friends... He-hee-hee! We're friends!"

The young woman blinked at his waggling arms and fingers and she laughed with much relief. Because this gleeful reaction meant that he was feeling much better!

"Ya see! You help me, I help you and we help each other. Friend stuff!"

Moreau bobbed his head keenly and with a little hop, Joy gestured to the kitchen.

"Great! I'll wash da cup and get things started!"

After she left the room, the fish-man's exuberance unforeseeably started to dwindle. Why didn't Mother Miranda ever teach him about the most important meal of the day?

With a drooped head over his slumped posture, Moreau exhaled loudly through small nostrils. Mother probably never told him how to eat well because he wasn't important enough.

But still, Mother gave him Joy...

Delighted humming twirled into the fish-man's simple sentience, and the light melody melted the heavy sadness, reversing a disconcerted frown.

Right! Now, I have Joy!

With the fruit sugars steering his drive, Moreau grunted to his bare feet and crept into the eatery. He stood at the entry to find the woman judiciously pouring one of the ceramic jugs of water into a bowl that contained rolled oats. She caught sight of him and her smile amplified.

"How do ya like your oatmeal?"

Moreau droned flatly. "Uhhh... llliiike oatmeal?"

Joy shook her head. "I mean what do ya like ta add ta it ta make it yummy?" She put the jug onto the table and her little index finger pointed to a small shaker, then tapped an amber-looking glass bottle. "I got some cinnamon and maple syrup dat tastes great with oatmeal."

The fish-man waddled in, looking intently at the spice and sweetener. As far as he could recall, he never had oatmeal nor even these condiments before. Sure, he ate the canned soup heated up, but he was inexperienced with culinary work.

And just about every other utility skill in life...

Joy froze and emitted a squeaky gasp. "Oh my goodness! I shouda asked first if ya want oatmeal! I just know dat it's super easy on da tummy and it can stop da ditzy dizzies."

After Moreau took a moment to relish how much concern this little being had for his opinion and welfare, he realized that his ample stomach and abdominal walls were feeling empty and tight. Last night, the fish-man had eaten lightly at dinner and Joy did say that oatmeal wouldn't upset his digestion and help him from being... ditzy dizzy. Of which Moreau assumed was outsider for feeling woozy.

Joy gingerly held the tablespoon that she was using as a mixer.

"Is... is oatmeal, alright, Mo?"

To the woman's relief, he bowed his head.

"What does oatmeal and these things taste like?"

With a jump, Joy resumed stirring the bowl. "Really good! Maple syrup's really sweet, too!"

A hungry glint flickered in the fish-man's left eye.

"Sweet like sugar?"

Joy nodded merrily. "Yeah, but sweeter!"

Moreau chuckled excitedly. "Then I will like lots and lots of Joy's oatmeal!"

"Tee-hee-hee! Den I better add lots'a and lots'a oats and water!"

Gradually, the young woman poured the sack of flat grain, then dribbled more hydration from the jug while her eyes discerned the amount. Afterward, she set the glass vessel down and replaced the cork with a brief hum.

"Now... dat black pot in da foodie pantry is too big. So... how can we cook da oats..?" Joy's eyes raked the kitchen until they landed on the cast-iron stove. "May I take a peek in da oven, Mo?"

The fish-man stared at the old appliance in question. "Uh, yes, you may."

Joy stepped in front of it and after a minute of discernment, she took hold of the handle of the largest opening and pulled the door downwards.

"Ah! Dis is what we can use!" She took an item out from one of the two racks. "My grandma used ta keep all her cooking pots in da oven, too, ta save space."

Joy held out to Moreau, a two-quart aluminum saucepan with a long and slim handle.

"We can cook da oatmeal in dis."

The pleased woman placed it on the table and removed the lid. Then, she poured in the soaked oats and shook the cinnamon shaker over the pot a few times.

"We can add the syrup later when it's ready ta eat."

Moreau scratched one of the many bumps on his enormous chin. "But... how do we cook if I can't use the oven?"

The woman made a pearly grin as if she was waiting for him to ask and had to detain herself from performing another bounce so as not to spill the lidless pot's contents.

"Like we did with da soups."

The fish-man put his claws down and beamed with delight.

"Oh! Another camp-out... Uh... camp-in! He-hee-hee!"

"Tee-hee! Ya got it! C'mon! Dis'll be fun!"

The two beings left the kitchen and stood in front of the refreshed fireplace. Joy handed the saucepan to Moreau and excused herself. She soon returned with one of the white washcloths from the hall closet.

"Dis will help our hands from getting too hot."

Moreau regarded Joy while she swathed the soft cloth on the handle of the deep pan. She looked at him and noticed him grinning broadly.

"Ya feeling hungry for da oatmeal?"

"Yes, yes... And... Joy... is super smart."

The woman's sights coyly skimmed the awaiting embers which must've started making her face feel flushed.

"...Thank you, Mo."

With some vacillation, she readied to give the pot back, however, Moreau swayed his head.

"You can hold it."

She quickly blinked several times. "R-Really?"

"Really, really! Joy's eyeballs tell me that Joy wants to cook the oatmeal." The fish-man gave her a short but stern nod. "Remember... Joy is super smart!"

The young woman beamed with pride. "Alright! And I'm not alone 'cause you're- 'cause Mo's here, too!"

Moreau's bottom lids creased from the strength of his smile. That last sentence struck a chord in his hindsight.

"Yes, yes, that's correct, Joy. But please, do be very careful..."

Nodding to her friend by her side, Joy cautiously yet confidently, jutted the saucepan until its bottom was tickled by the soft, yellow flames. Shortly after, steam started to flow toward the duo, causing Moreau to lick his moistening mouth.

"Mmmmmm! It smells very tasty!"

"Dat's da cinnamon. It makes a lotta foodies tummy yummy and it's good for ya, too." The woman peered at Moreau's covered wrist. "Do ya have a watch? I like ta time how long oatmeal cooks, but dare's no clocks in da lodge."

Moreau answered with a low and slow shake of the head. He felt disgruntled because he had spotted a timepiece on the arm of the sedated, silver-scalp man. It was a shiny watch, too. It had a gold face and a buckskin band that would've matched his own. The fish-man wished he didn't forget to own the shiny watch as he'd done with the winter boots...

"Dat's okay, Mo," Joy assured him. "We can just let da fire do its job and stop cooking till da oatmeal looks thick enough." She pursed her lower lip while her sights flitted to the bare walls of the lodge. "But how do ya know what time'a da day it is without any clocks?"

"Oh." Moreau signaled to the windows. "I know the time by looking at how and where the sun is shining."

Wow..," gasped the impressed woman. "Mo is super smart, too!"

"Awwee!" the ruddy-faced fish-man giggled.

Joy peeked over his hood. "Can ya also teach me ta tell time dat way?"

"Oh! Of-Of course, Joy!"

Moreau bounced without taking his feet off the creaky floorboard. He didn't know why this felt both so ironic and exciting; someone would see him as a tutor!

Moreau's exuberance deflected onto the bubbly being on his right.

"Great! If ya want, Mo, we can have a lesson on... Tee-hee, sun-time after breakfast!"

Moreau nodded eagerly and the pair resumed watching the bubbles begin to rise in the enticing porridge.

"It shouldn't be long till da oats are turned ta oatmeal," stated Joy, maneuvering both of her hands to hold the weighty saucepan.

In the corner of his eye, the fish-man marveled at the round, delicate profile of the sweet and smart woman beside him. In the past and excluding this latest and grandest gift, Mother Miranda hadn't appeared to think of him as anyone who could accomplish anything. Rarely, had the estranged, angelic monarch graced him with her glorious presence. Minus the fleeting visits when more subjects were brought to the lesser Lord of the Village to prove his importance to her and his family... And without success...

"Phew! I forgot how heavy oatmeal can be! I'm glad it's almost done cooking."

Moreau's sullen reflection faded when he heard his positive, precious person. He shifted his focus fully to her, triggering his contented countenance to reemerge. Because now, those pitiable memories were just that. Long-gone, pitiable memories.

Joy's forearms were starting to quiver from the prolonged, held weight. And with a swallow, Moreau made their gap narrower by wrapping his right fingers on the handle... and right above hers to help support the chockfull pot of the boiling breakfast.

"Thank you, Mo," she whispered warmly. "But please be very careful, too... I don't want Mo ta get burned."

The besotted, flushed fish-man eventually nodded and while he and Joy resumed watching the enticing grains cook, another epiphany tugged at his lengthening mouth-line.

Now, he was important. And so was she...

I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friend! I have a friennnnnd!