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Crimson Claws

24.

Nora lay awake late that night, thinking. Since she had befriended the little mutant Spawn a few days ago, her standing in the Labyrinth had improved. At first, the adults had been suspicious of his story about Nora defending him from bullies, but he really had skipped the more Nora-typical actions and no one questioned him. Something that was hard for Nora to imagine - she had always been mistrusted by her foster parents and pretty much everyone around her. Suddenly having an ally felt strange. What little conscience she had stirred uncomfortably at the thought of someone trusting her before she stole a bunch of money from everyone down here. That would hurt Zappy terribly if she did. But what was the alternative for her? Fred was right, it would probably take an action like theirs to get Derek to take his foot out of his ass and reluctantly start sucking on Xanatos' golden tits like it was their right. Nora and Fred would be some kind of catalysts to make things better for everyone here, to make things easier. Yes - she could work with that, justify it all to herself. She could do it, she was an asshole by nature.

Although she still hadn't found that damn card where the Xanatos compensation was supposed to be. She had little opportunity to search because Claw continued to keep a close eye on her. She could only retreat to Claw's room a little at a time to peek behind the many drawings pinned to the wall or to look through all the books. Now, to make matters worse, she had to pretend she was learning sign language because Claw had caught her with one of the books that illustrated sign language and in her panic she had stuttered out that she thought it was appropriate since she was now sharing a room with him to learn some of those silly hand-wavy expressions.

That Claw had believed her proved how careless, even downright oafish, he was. No wonder her brother had been able to fuck him so royally, because she knew by now that Fred had tried to take over the labyrinth back then. Seriously- her brother? Where had this fit of megalomania come from? He could maybe get a few drinking buddies behind him for a boozy evening, but seizing power there? Idiotic. If the original Gargoyles hadn't stopped it (and Claw) Fred would have been stabbed to death in his sleep by an angry mob a few days later. So he had served a few months in "jail" before he escaped - more than deserved, Nora thought. She wondered what the punishment was for stealing millions from the mutants. Nora couldn't think about that - if they weren't caught immediately, Nora would be out of the country before they knew it. Maybe Paris. Or Milan. Great fashion capitals. She could drown any feelings of guilt in work.

She glanced to the side in the darkness to where Claw was increasingly puffing and grumbling behind the room divider. Did he know he had nightmares almost every night? Or did he always forget them again? Nora at least believed they were nightmares. Not the kind that made him scream (as good as he could scream with cat vocal cords). But the distress in his breathing was audible in his small vocalizations. Something crunched. Nora took a deep breath, leaned to the side and turned the knob on the dimmable bedside lamp until faint yellow light illuminated the room meagerly. Claw didn't wake up. Through a crack in the room divider she could see his face, his teeth bared and his upper and lower jaws grinding tightly together. If he had had more human lips, he would probably have bitten them bloody all the time. But as it was, he only gnashed his inhuman and numerous fangs - a truly gruesome sound and a frightening sight. At the same time, his claws had dug into the mattress next to him, which was probably a good thing because they would have done more damage anywhere else. When he was awake, Claw always made sure to keep his claws retracted and not even show his teeth when he smiled. But even now that he wasn't, Nora found it hard to find him truly threatening with his agonized unconscious frown and his eyelids tightly shut. What was he dreaming about? What had he experienced that gave him nightmares? Was it something far in the past? Perhaps the mutation. Nora couldn't imagine what the mutants had been through, but she assumed that having a whole new body burst out of the old one was traumatic and painful as shit. She hadn't pressed Fred for details because they just didn't talk to each other about such things. Nora didn't care why people were the way they were because no one cared why she was the way she was. Now with Claw, Nora was curious for the first time. And felt sorry for him.

He had taken it badly that she had slipped away from him and Thomas and had put herself in supposed danger. He had been grumpy all evening and she hadn't managed to apologize because she wasn't sorry. It had been necessary. It wasn't until the morning after that Claw had thawed out. He had brought her a plate of toast, bacon and eggs from the food counter. Then later, when she had been working on the sewing machine in the laundry room, he had brought her a footstool on which she had been able to prop up her leg, which had been aching from overexertion the day before. No one had ever provided for Nora. She caught herself thinking how sweet it was that someone cared about her. Claw probably just saw it as a duty and part of keeping order in the Labyrinth anyway, but it was still cute. He... was cute. Too trusting but sweet.

Nora took a deep breath. VERY deep. These thoughts really sucked! Counterproductive. She had a mission and if her roommate was having bad dreams and becoming tired and less alert as a result - all the better for her. Made it easier to search. And yeah, maybe the card wasn't in Claw's room. The labyrinth was large, and apart from the areas where there was a lot of public traffic, there were dozens of areas where hardly anyone ever went. She would be searching there for the next few days. As soon as she saw the opportunity. Since most people other than Michael still thought she sucked, no one would tell on her if she limped into one of the tunnels in the hope that she might break another leg or even her neck and never be found again. Besides, it had become established among the mutants that she was always in the sewing room - so hours of searching wouldn't be noticed. She stuffed earplugs into her ears, switched off the bedside lamp again and turned her back on the unconscious, suffering beast.

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Brentwood had only been gone 5 minutes! Only 5. Or 50. 50 quick minutes to stretch his wings and grab a stress snack from one of the surrounding rooftops. The half-eaten pigeon fell out of his mouth when he saw the CHAOS that En-25.1 had caused in the kitchen. The now much more mobile clone (and who would have thought that Brentwood would miss the days of almost complete motionlessness of the product) had obviously figured out how to stand on two legs to get to the cookie jar on the kitchen counter. And everything else on the counter. AND she had figured out how to open the fridge door. When EN-25.1 noticed him, she showed that horror smile again that she had made her own. More of a gargoyle-like snarl than anything else. The thing pulled itself back from its position in front of the open fridge and crawled to him in a similar way as Brentwood often did as a web-wing, crushing all the food it had pulled out of the fridge underneath her, slipped, fell on her face and immediately recovered because it didn't hurt her thanks to the "improvements" in this body. Nevertheless, Brentwood swiped the ceramic shards of the cookie jar out of her way with his tail before she could slice her skin open. Brentwood growled in disgust as the doctor's vessel wrapped her arms around his legs, pressing her bare tits against him. God, everything about her was so dirty and sticky. Which in turn made HIM sticky - Urgh. At least the boxers Brentwood had bought were still in place now that she'd understood and undergone potty training. Good thing neither Sevarius nor Thailog were home. The Master often accompanied the Doctor to his medical appointments - probably out of boredom and because he enjoyed being surrounded by sick and dying humans. EN-25.1 pulled herself up to him on wobbly fawn legs and pushed something against his lips, inviting him to try the treats she had discovered. But what she had in her hand was one of the fake apples from the decorative fruit bowl on the counter. Seductively varnished and painted on the outside and looking very real - polystyrene on the inside. And it was bitten into! MORE THAN ONCE!

Brentwood pushed the clone off him, causing her to fall. Not that she felt offended, Brentwood now had the impression that the rougher he was with her, the more she was clinging. The clone's questioning expression forced him to swallow his nausea.

"Bad Clone!" he grumbled, tired of all the mommying he had to do and pointed around the kitchen. "'Naughty! Fridge contents not for you. You eat what I give you! Stupid vessel! Styrofoam apples not okay to eat!" The clone hung on his lips with wide eyes. Something he actually liked. He and this house were the clone's whole world. But the clone was a stupid broken thing, so it was less flattering. At that moment, the electric door lock opened. Brentwood's head shot up and the few seconds he had to think of a story that wouldn't get him into trouble passed far too quickly. Then Thailog came in. The master pulled his shirt over his head and the plaster from under his tongue and turned into his glorious self before he looked up. And his eyes widened. The doctor limped in behind him.

"What the bloody-" the human said, his gnarled knuckles white around his walking stick.

"Master. Doctor!" said Brentwood with a soothing sheepish smile and a cooing tone. "Clone is developing so well! Only been gone 5 minutes, fridge already open. Progress and hunger great, very healthy Clone and I here cleaning up everything." Brentwood patted the tousled, lasagna-clotted head of the clone, who let out a delighted coo. Brentwood looked down, only to see that EN-25.1 had just smashed her human teeth full force into the carcass of his pigeon. With a caught cry, the gargoyle ripped the treat from his foster child's fingers, feathers and blood spurting out, and not a second later the clone began to retch and regurgitate EVERYTHING the house had to offer onto the floor and over Brentwood's feet.

Thailog looked briefly at the doctor, who was shaking with rage. Then he raised his hands as if surrendering.

"I bow out of that one, you sort it out amongst yourselves. Good night," hummed his master evasively and disappeared faster than he had shown up so that Brentwood could deal with this disaster. And the cane beating he was probably facing.

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"But Molly pushed him aside and went up to the unicorn, scolding her as though she were a strayed milk cow. "Where have you been?" Before the whiteness and the shining horn, Molly shrank to a shrilling beetle, but this time it was the unicorn's old dark eyes that looked down.

"I am here now," she said at last.

Molly laughed with her lips flat. "And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where where you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?" With a flap of her hand she summed herself up: barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart. "I wish you had never come. Why did you come now?" The tears began to slide down the sides of her nose.

The unicorn made no reply, and Schmendrick said, "She is the last. She is the last unicorn in the world."

"She would be." Molly sniffed. "It would be the last unicorn in the world to come to Molly Grue."

When she heard a sniffle beside her, Elisa broke off.

"Honey? Why are you crying?" Elisa knew why as soon as she asked. It had been a stupid question. The kind that automatically slipped out of adults. She closed the book, just one index finger between the pages. She found The Last Unicorn already depressing as a movie. This was and was not a children's book. But it was the favorite book of the girl she was keeping company with tonight.

"Maybe I should... read something else to you," Elisa thought aloud and the girl's tired eyes settled on her, skinny little fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"No, at least finish the chapter," she begged as if that were vital. Elisa didn't believe that an eight-year-old really understood the context behind this part of the story. But precisely because Elisa couldn't spend as much time as she wanted with this child, she had to find out. Tonight her brother had left early and Elisa had been able to take his place. The girl never whined for her relatives either out of exhaustion or because she had learned not to beg for things she couldn't have. This was also something that struck Elisa to the core. Children should be allowed to beg. To be allowed to dream.

"I find this part of the story really sad," the adult admitted and the child snuggled closer to her shoulder. The child thought about it, playing gently with individual strands of Elisa's hair as many children did by default.

"Me too," she then began, clearly at pains to explain. Many children here felt not only sick but also unheard. Elisa had learned that listening was just as important as comforting or playing. "But here, I know it will get better. ... Molly Grue waited a long time for her unicorn. She waited for magic. And you know, legends say that unicorns come to pure girls full of innocence. And Molly thinks ... she's no longer innocent and she's no longer pure. She thinks ... she no longer deserves magic or a wonder. That it's ... too late for her. But I like the part even if it makes me cry. Because I know that Molly will find magic. She's not young anymore and she's not innocent. But she has innocence and faith in her heart. Her heart is pure. That is enough for a miracle."

The child took a deep breath, a wet rattling deep in her lungs. The little girl must have thought a lot about it. About miracles. And when it was too late. More pondering than a small, sick child should do. On the other hand, she was predestined to think about such things. Where other children jumped around outside in good health, this girl was confined to the space of her room, on good days to the play area down the corridor. The only thing she had in excess when she lost the strength of her body after a few minutes or hours were her thoughts. Perhaps that made her precocious and thoughtful beyond her years.

"Faith is important, of course," Elisa agreed with a warm smile as the child looked up at her inquiringly because of her silence.

"I don't mean... necessarily faith like in a church or something," the child clarified, perhaps because she didn't believe Elisa really got it. She moved her hands, circumscribing something that had no form. "I um, my faith - in a miracle. That her life can change ... even after she's had a bad time. Molly waits and waits. But only when she does something does her miracle - her life change - come to her. Only when she decides not only to wait but to follow her um..."

"Destiny?"

"Yes! She takes her destiny into her own hands and only then can ... go on living. After her wounds and unfulfilled hopes. She finds new hope. Even if she is old and hurt. She has other strengths ... uhm discovers other blessings? And helps others with them."

The child bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Then she nodded as if she had found the right words and done a really good job. Which she had! Elisa nodded too, stroking her little protégé's arm. She, in turn, was at a loss for words. She shouldn't take the rambling of a child so much to heart, but without realizing it, the girl had nailed her own and by extension Elisa's situation and state of mind. It was a coincidence, of course, and Elisa was reading more into it than was professional, but damn, it had hit home.

People were all waiting for miracles in their own way. Wonders of all kinds. But usually things only changed when you took your life into your own hands. These changes were not always the ones you wanted or expected, but everything has a purpose, everything has a reason, even if you couldn't understand what it was. Crying that it was too late until it REALLY was? That didn't help. Instead, you had to live every day you were given as best you could.

No, Elisa didn't want to waste the blessings she had been given or the hard-won lessons. You can't wait for miracles to fall into your lap or even steal them like that ruthless king in The last unicorn. Every day was a miracle and every encounter with his fellow creatures could be precious. Should be precious.

"Zizi?" Elisa said huskily, feeling the tears in her eyes on the verge of overflowing.

The child looked at her, dark eyes that were so different from her brother's wide. Eyes that were far too deep in a gaunt face, which looked unreal from the bare skull that had long since lost its hair.

Elisa smiled lovingly and gratefully, wishing her gesture carried the message of words she couldn't currently utter. She slowly raised her hand, feeling her long hair glide through her fingers. It was her hair - her own hair. And yet not. Not since last year.

She grabbed her forehead, let her fingers slide under the rough webbing and heard the adhesive strips come loose.

She heard the child gasping for air. But she didn't look at her again until her wig was in her lap and she shivered at the unaccustomed draught of air on her bare scalp. Elisa didn't know when her hair would grow back. Usually after six months, when the cancer medication had broken down enough in the body. Some people were left with bald patches or cobweb-thin hair forever and preferred to wear wigs until the end. And for the first time, she was grateful that her baldness was something that could give comfort to others. The feeling of being able to convey that she at least partially understood what the child in that bed was going through brought a warmth that felt wonderful and painful at the same time. And the clever girl understood what a sign of trust that was. How difficult it was for adults to show themselves vulnerable. She didn't know Elisa, but Elisa knew herself quite well and knew that with her wig she was giving away part of her protective armor in a way she didn't allow herself to do except in front of Goliath. Why did she do it in front of this girl? To comfort her, of course. For herself, too. But there was more. Her heart didn't ache in a bad way when the girl grinned broadly. It was the pang she had often felt towards Goliath in those first months. Alongside confusion, insecurity, longing. It was love. Perhaps it was Elisa Maza's destiny to love where it was inappropriate. A male that did not belong to her species. A child that was not hers.

"Like me." the child whispered in awe and held out her fingers. Elisa lowered her head, grateful that the girl couldn't see her tears dripping freely onto the book cover between them.

"Like you," Elisa whispered, reveling in the feel of little fingers dancing across her scalp.

Damn, I'm an emotional thing that I get misty-eyed over that last section myself. Even though I meant the part with Brent and Enya to be so disgustingly funny. I have to jump back and forth quite a lot between my different storylines at the moment. It will happen again and again.

Thanks for reading Q.T.