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Crimson Claws

17.

I took another deep breath as I walked through the common area with the two dozen donated washers and dryers where each resident could wash and dry their own clothes. Here you could feel the floor vibrate long before the subway lines 4, 5 and 6 rattled past a few yards away, separated only by three walls. In addition to the earthquake when they did - rattling past that is - came the noise. One reason why there would never be communal dormitories in this part of the labyrinth and no one stayed here longer than necessary. No one except Nora. One room away were the large industrial machines for communal bedding. We even had a machine for mattress sterilization, which was a blessing during lice outbreaks. Fun fact: 87 medium-sized cuddly toys fitted in there and came out fluffy and toasty.

Nora Sykes was working with her back to me, her weight shifted to one leg as I looked into this room.

She must have washed her head at one of the sinks, still wearing the T-shirt with the orange stain that went almost to the small of her back, but her hair was wetter than before, water now shining in the stubble at the back of her head, making it an almost hypnotically beautiful sight.

"Come on, Nora. Come the fuck on, this- jeah fuck. That was a super mess but why not. Not like I thought-, but I can do it. I can handle this." A sniffle followed the quiet manic chatter barely audible over the sounds of the gigantic pressing and laundry folding machine. And although I couldn't smell anything over the odors of detergent and chemicals, I knew Nora was sobbing. Or at least was about to. Nora Sykes had taken refuge here so that no one could see that she was deeply affected by what had just happened. The urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, hell, even pull her into a hug, was suddenly so strong that I took a step back instead. I healed quickly and it was harder to hurt myself- but I still didn't favor a broken jaw or kicked in balls. You didn't touch a feral cat and impose comforting cuddles on it if it didn't come to you on its own (and I had to stop making these weird comparisons in my head).

Nora turned around at that moment, no tears but eyes glazed with moisture. A stack of folded pillowcases in her hands, she shrank back with a loud scream that skillfully turned into a curse and normal near-punctuationless babble.

"WAAAholy SHIT! Can't they put a bell on you when you're sneaking around like that?! Jesus Christ, warn a girl, next time you'll get bleach on your face." My first reflex was to bend down to pick up the dropped pillowcases but she had the same reflex and, like in a bad movie, we knocked against the head of the other, causing her to awkwardly plop down on her bottom from her plaster-induced half-crouch.

"Fuckingbloodywazzogshitheading-down the gutter," she exclaimed nonsensical, rubbing her forehead. With an apologetic purr, I handed her the crumbled cases and she snatched them from my fingers.

"Thanks, I guess, you big klutz," she said without any real fire, ignoring my outstretched hands that were trying to help her up. She struggled back to her feet, propped herself up against the folding machine, her back to me (and who did that when they were really scared of us?), shook out the covers to fold them better again.

"I can't believe Big Black is sending his mute Henchman to read me the riot act. That's what I call bad management. Or is that a joke? Because I'm obviously the butt of all the jokes around here, and now that I've pissed off the little prince-"

I breathed quietly behind her and just let Nora ramble. She probably needed it and if it kept her from throwing a real tantrum- good for me. And her fingers were obsessively busy with the laundry - so no danger of making acquaintance with the bleach.

Finally, with the covers back in order, she grabbed her crutch and walked the three yards to the laundry cart where she stowed the laundry. Only then did she turn to me.

"So? Do you have something to say? Or ... to grumble or purr? Go on, wouldn't be like I could run away from you ... or any of you."

I avoided eye contact, fumbling a little awkwardly to get my tablet out under her scrutiny. But she pulled it out of my fingers.

"OH Christ on a stick, spare us both that! I hate it when you use that thing, I lose focus because all I can think about is that old movie and that HAL- AI with the red eye already fucked me up, Jesus. What would you have typed? Biepbiep This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it. Biep."

I grumbled at her weary laugh and raised my hands, wondering how Nora, who knew no sign language (I wondered sometimes if she spoke our language as "flowery" as she expressed some things) was going to listen to what I had to say to her.

She smiled sarcastically.

"Yeah, nah to your hand-waving but ... let me help you out here, I've heard that song so many times in my life, I can be your fucking prompter:

She cleared her throat in an artificial manner and her mouth twisted into a wide grin that feigned mirth.

"Nora Sykes, you are, to put it simply, because you need it to be simple, a human piece of shit. Today was the straw that broke the camel's back. You're a fucking mess and no one can stand to be around you. It's a miracle you haven't gone to jail yet, but who would be so cruel to the other inmates, you'd be much better off in a mental institution. Nobody needs you, nobody wants the trouble that comes with you, not even your biological parents. You're a bomb that could go off at any time, a waste of medication and a danger to the population and it would be better if you just-fuck-off. It doesn't matter where, as long as you get the fuck out.` Attention Stripey! Watch out, here comes Boss-Cat's original sound. `This Nora Sykes is really her brother's sister. By now I think he was right to beat her up because by God, my patience is at an end. And now that she wanted to punch my darling Michael - get rid of her. Fred can have her - if he dares.` ... I don't have to imitate the following applause from the labyrinth dwellers, do I? Did I get the general consensus right?" She looked at a non-existent wristwatch still with that desperate grin that couldn't fool anyone who didn't want to be fooled. "And look," she hummed, "it only took two minutes- much quicker than with your tablet. So - you're welcome." She laughed but her eyes were wetter than before, wide so the tears didn't spill out and damn, I almost wanted to cry myself.

My next breath was shaky and my chest hurt. She had hit a lot of nails on the head with her Derek's interpretation. And at the same time, her harrowing tirade had given such a deep and painful insight into her past and how she saw herself that it was shocking. I saw so much more clearly. She was angry. Because she was depressed and consumed by self-loathing! As if she had kicked open the door to her innermost self, given me a glimpse of all the monsters inside like a haunted house where you are driven through at lightning speed - and then slammed the door shut again to leave me stunned. All her rage. Her lashing out, her sarcasm, maybe even her vulgar, crude language - all a protective armor to shield her from further injury. Hurt others before they hurt you, or if they hurt you, give it back to them three times as bad. Because being angry and uncaring was so much easier than collapsing into a heap of misery. I almost buckled when a hard edge bit into the back of my knee. A chair, obviously pushed towards me by Nora. I plopped down on it and looked at her, now at eye level with her. She smiled. Not sad, but compassionate and patronizing.

"God, you really are a marshmallow. Did I bring you down like that, huh? I thought you heard the pathetic pity-party stories of the derelicts down here every day." She sighed, rubbed a hand through her hair, then wiped the dampness off on her shirt.

"Whatever. Get a grip, Stripey, and just show me how much time I have to pack my shit. Use your fingers."

When I didn't respond, she lifted her hand and spread her index finger. "An hour? - No? - Two? Surely he won't give me a whole day in his almighty mercy? What tha fuck am I supposed to do with a whole day, it takes ten mins to pack my duffel bag?"

I shook my head, still a little numb, my eyes on her fingers, a little chafed but mostly healed. She hadn't wanted to tell anyone what or if she'd been working before she'd come here. Whatever it had been, she must have lost her job by now. Her hands had calluses in certain places. So thick that it was evidence of years of doing the same job over and over again. And it reminded me of something. Till it hit me! My mother hadn't been allowed to go to work. But she had been allowed to take on jobs from people in the next town. Orders to repair or re-sew their clothes.

At this memory and realization, I jumped up and Nora recoiled in horror.

"What?" she asked snappish. I grabbed my tablet that she had placed on the table. Even though Nora, strangely enough or by incredible luck, often hit the mark with her assumptions about what I wanted to say, this was too complex for her to guess. I now knew how I could "punish" Nora. She liked clothes? I would give her clothes. And it further reduced contact with the other residents until the general anger about Nora's behavior towards Michael had subsided because there was only so much bedding in the week and thanks to the machines it wasn't a full-time job.

"You don't have to go," I tapped.

Nora bared her teeth.

"And as a sign of my rehabilitation, I have to grovel in front of your kitten, huh? Not gonna happen, he did it on purpose, he should apologize to ME," Nora spat, probably would've stomped her foot if she could've.

I grinned my feline smile as I continued typing and let it speak.

"No. It would be good if you could get along. But that doesn't have to be today or tomorrow but when you're both no longer so angry. However, we can't ignore the fact that you wanted to hit Michael, even if it was out of impulse."

Nora Sykes opened her mouth with a stubborn expression. But she closed it again because she probably couldn't say anything against it.

"Nobody wants to throw you out of here."

Her eyebrows hiked almost into her hairline and I huffed my laughter because she looked oh so droll. "Okay, Derek doesn't want to kick you out. Currently. Fang is a danger to you and we haven't found him - yet."

Nora took a deep breath and then shook her head, annoyed. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Mostly - I wanted to know if you were all right."

The woman opposite me wrinkled her nose, more disgusted than I had ever seen her. Something I didn't really want to take credit for.

"You wanted ... what? Why?!" she exclaimed after a few heartbeats, as if something so crazy had never happened to her before. And ... maybe ... it never had. And she covered up this new unintentional insight into her life with what was probably the only processing method she had internalized. She almost spat in my face and her expression was contorted in loathing like a Halloween mask as she lashed out.

"What's wrong with you? I almost hit your baby! Okay, probably my punch would have gone over him because I aim higher than that. But I'm the bad guy here! Are you too dumb or too horny for harmony to see that?"

She laughed a shrill incredulous laugh and started pacing the room with her crutch. Moist eyes. Suddenly they were back. More prominent than ever. I saw that she wasn't walking stably and touched her on the arm but she tore herself away.

"Are you the kind of guy who gets a kick out of this?" She waved her hand in front of her face and body. "You see a huge ass construction site, a hole full of rubble like Ground Fucking Zero after 11/9 and you think - hey, I'll make a flower garden out of it. Florence Nightingale syndrome? Fuck off!" She had grabbed one of the sheets that had been neatly stowed away on the laundry trolley and flung it in my face. I was glad that pretty much everything in here within her reach was either heavy as a ton or soft. Hopefully the chemical canisters back there on the shelves didn't catch her eye.

"You don't even know me, Tigger! If you want to fix someone, find one of the drugged-up Christopher Robbins out there, you've got a huge selection of crashed losers, a huge bouquet of fucked-upness. The fact that you think I need comforting (she spat the word at me like it was made of acid) shows how completely gullible you are about people. Or just me. I can take care of myself! In fine, I'm always fine. Bad people are always fine so jeah!"

I shook my head, growling. I didn't know anything about a Florence Nightingale but I would definitely look up what she was accusing me of. But everything else was unjustified and she was talking herself into a rage and I didn't want that. I had really wanted to check on her. It wasn't just to stop her from blooping again or to discipline her. I wanted to pitch her my idea and I was convinced she would like it. Or ... at least not hate it? Not burn the whole room down in blind anger? Something that swung more towards the more positive end of the Nora Sykes anger barometer than the negative.

I raised both hands, making her stop, and took advantage of her stunned, pissed-off stare to gesture past her and open the next door. Nora huffed but took the bait and followed me. She stopped in the doorway while I pushed forward into the room, which was twice as big as the one with the machines and crammed to the ceiling with clothes. On shelves and clothes rails and in the corner was a big old scratched work table that I went to. There I pulled a linen cloth from the machine with no little dramatic effort. On the shelves there were some small handy sewing machines in case one of the older ladies wanted to sew something or someone wanted to learn how to sew. But this was a-

"A Juki MO-3500 Sumato overlock," Nora said with a critical but not angry frown. She came closer, let her eyes glide appraisingly and serious over the machine that some of our boys had fished out of the trash and repaired years ago. I knew it was a good sewing machine and certainly more expensive than the other plastic gizmos on the shelves simply because it looked more complicated with its four bobbin hangers on top. I didn't know why it was so important for me to score points with Nora (and what was I supposed to do with those points?) but at least I wanted her to stop being so miserable. Maybe then she would be less nasty to others. A little more self-satisfied than usual but also unfoundedly nervous, I watched Nora obviously give the machine a nod and wander around the room. She let her fingers glide over this fabric, felt this hem, lifted that skirt or examined the lining of that leather jacket with surprisingly taciturn, serious and prefessional interest. Before she asked quietly:

"Are these all donations?"

I nodded.

She huffed, a disbelieving but for the first time mild smile and oh, that suited her better than I would have thought. She had a plump face to a soft body and for the first time I saw gentle features in her expression. That was ... an overall picture that reminded me of my mother again, of old memories with just her and me that had been warm and intimate and full of gentle touches. Hands with calluses in places that spoke of diligence and affection for something or for the person for whom you were doing that something.

"These are ... some really okay clothes," she told me quietly. She looked at me in disbelief and raised an eyebrow at my shit eating grin because I had known she would like it. Another train rushed past, now separated from us by only one wall, causing the ground to tremble and the previously low background noise to become almost deafening for a few long seconds, full of shrill engine screams and rattling. Nora looked up as if to see if chunks of concrete were falling on us. Which was not the case. We evacuated and reinforced rooms or sealed them completely if reinforcing didn't help.

When it was quieter again, she stated: "This room needs to be connected to the heating and air conditioning system, but with its own thermostat. Around 68°F and with not that much humidity. That way your clothes will get moldy. Some things have to be sewn and if you choose some of the better clothes - they should be fitted to the wearer so they don't look like a sack. And the clothes are hanging too close together and you should - wait a minute!"

She turned to me again but looked incredulous at first and then grim.

"- Is this it? Is this supposed to be some kind of diguised fucked-up punishment?" she asked quietly and at my low-key shoulder shrug and intense urge to grab my tablet (but being slightly too scared to turn my back on her) to put it nicer because I really meant it nicer, Nora looked really hurt. Before she unpacked her snarl.

I see," she purred with sarcastic sweetness.

"What a clever idea. As far away as possible without actually kickin' me out or lockin' me up. What, are your cells already full of better misfits?" I pinned my ears back in bewilderment. How did she know we had cells? Had someone told her before she scared everyone off? We hadn't used the cells for years, except to sober up someone who had been aggressive.

Nora had pushed me back to the door by now and yes, she was only a woman and an injured one at that, but she had a rage in her eyes that compelled me to wish for an athletic cup to protect my vulnerabilities!

"You thought this was a good idea? Your idea? You think you're a do-gooder, you furry encroaching fuckface? Oh, that makes me feel really integrated. Sides, why does that even bother you?! You want peace and quiet in your little freakin kingdom and I'm disturbing it! And now you're exiling me to clothing nirvana so I don't fuck no one up. What a damn glorious Samaritan! They'll erect monuments to you for banishing the monster. I can totally go along with that, because I'm not overly keen on spending my time with the down-and-out losers of New York!"

I raised my hand in a low grumble. I didn't want to threaten Nora. I just wanted her to come down. She was shaking by now, her breathing heavy and her voice loud and forced so she wouldn't screech.

"I'm not afraid of you, CLAW! I don't need your fake pity! I don't deserve it or want it. Why should I? What a self-sacrificing idiot! Wake up and think about yourself. And now leave me alone with the job, man!" She slammed the door in my face so hard it almost broke my nose. I stared at the door for a few seconds. And thought ... that it had gone better than I thought.

.

.

I didn't see Nora for lunch. Perhaps her sometimes uncanny clairvoyance, which she usually used to guess what I was trying to express, had taken hold elsewhere this time because it wouldn't have been a pleasant lunch for her the way people were talking about her. I brought her a sandwich in the afternoon. In fact, I knocked on the door to the laundry room, put the food on the ground and took a few steps back before she opened the door. She looked at me with a narrowed gaze, then at the tray with the sandwich and a can of cola and water. She pulled the tray towards her and muttered a thank you. It really was like feeding a ferocious feline.

Nora also made herself scarce for dinner and spent the whole day in the clothes room.

It wasn't until late in the evening, when I had helped to clean the kitchen area and had flown patrol with Delilah (still looking for Nora's brother, who seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth), that I set off again to check on her progress. Simply because I wanted to see how far she had gotten in the chamber. She had said the clothes needed to be sorted into unsalvageable "crap", things that could be re-sewn into something usable and good stuff. I didn't think I would really find her there, after all it was past midnight. But there she was. Only the lamp by the sewing machine was on. She was lying under a thin blanket on a pile of jackets from the collection, asleep. I took a deep breath. She looked so at peace when she was ... well, not awake.

Why was Nora lying here? ... and not.

I closed the door again as quietly as possible.

Noiselessly, I wandered to the other end of the Labyrinth and to the women's dormitory. It wasn't late enough for me to feel awkward about it. Some women were still outside watching TV, playing cards or reading. It was remarkable how much a person's day-night rhythm changed when they had no job, lived underground without direct daylight or in a large community. Some were in their beds, using the colorful curtains between the beds that were drawn against the walls during the day for a modicum of privacy. I nodded to Latoja, as usually a book on her lap. She smiled kindly but I could feel her gaze between my shoulder blades.

Then I was at Nora's bed. I had seen from afar that something was wrong with it. But I had approached anyway to take in the sight. I knew - almost all the people in the labyrinth were good people. Just slipped through the grids of the system. Bad decisions or just unfortunate times in their lives. And maybe ... Because they were "good" people, Nora Sykes' bed was dripping with yellow-orange liquid. The intense smell of orange juice tickled my nose.

Her bedside cabinet had been broken into - not completely destroyed, just so that the lock would have to be changed. Just like Nora's locker. Her clothes lay in an orange-soaked heap on the floor. I assumed that wasn't everything she had arrived with. Her pillboxes lay there, opened and empty. It had been placed like this. I walked up to Latoja's bed, who looked at me neutrally over the rims of her glasses. She correctly interpreted my look as a question.

"I didn't approve of them wasting good orange juice on that. But the lesson has probably sunk in. Michael is everyone's child," she said frigidly, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and lowering her eyes to her book again.

I nodded without her seeing. Yes, that message had probably gotten through.

.

I knew Nora wouldn't be able to have a quiet night in the women's dormitory, even if Derek gave a lecture to the community about whatever. It was tragically ironic that Nora had fled underground to escape further danger and was now facing wrath from a section of the more proactive community. Of course, it was her own fault, no question there. But her behavior had to be a mixture of her character and her disorder, so she wasn't fully culpable - that's how I saw it. But rewarding her for her antisocial outbursts with a private room (apart from the fact that they were all currently occupied and we had waiting lists!) would double and triple the antipathy towards her. We couldn't make such an example. But sleeping in the laundry room and almost barricading herself in there during the day couldn't be the solution for Nora. Running away from something was never a solution! I had to discuss this with Derek and Maggie in the morning.

But knowing Nora Sykes would spend even one night on the laundry room floor where she would be woken up every 10 minutes by the rumble of the trains - I wouldn't be able to sleep myself. She was still injured and perhaps, though she would certainly never admit it, scared if the orange juice thing, her broken lockers and her stolen possessions and drugs would be all the payback she had to fear. I wasn't comfortable with the only thing I could think of at the moment but it was better than anything else. After preparing a few things, I went back to the laundry room. Just as I entered, another train had rattled past and heavens, it seemed so much louder than during the day. I wasn't surprised to see Nora open her tired eyes and blink at me.

"Did you see what those assholes did with my stuff?" she asked and I didn't know if her exhaustion was just physical. It was kind of scary when she didn't act angry but rather lethargic.

I nodded and crouched down in front of her.

"They stole my meds, I have to go to Doc Fran first thing tomorrow and get new ones or I'll drop."

I nodded again, even though I wasn't quite sure what she meant by drop, but I had a pretty good idea. Gently, so as not to freak her out, I plucked at one of the coats she was lying on and pointed behind me.

"You have another place where I can sleep without running the acute risk of being beaten black and blue with bars of soap stuck in pillowcases? ... That was a jailhouse joke in case you didn't catch it," she said with a grin. I smiled too and nodded.

"I don't suppose it's a single room?" she asked over the noise, which was getting louder, and grimaced as another train rattled past while I shook my head. Then she got up with a sigh.

"Okay, I won't sleep a wink here. It can hardly be worse than here. Take me to paradise, Stripey."

I rolled my eyes and took the lead, knowing full well that I would regret my generosity.

.

"Wow, living the life of the fucking elite," Nora said as she stood in the middle of my room.

I tried to see it through her seemingly ever-critical eyes and couldn't tell for the life of me if she meant her comment to be friendly in some way I couldn't figure out, or snarky and ironic. Okay, the walls almost wallpapered with children's drawings didn't look so great - but they were gifts from Michael and Benny when they were younger and from the little labyrinth dwellers, that I had received over the years and they gave me such a wonderful welcoming feeling. Something you always needed in spaces without a view or sunlight, which is why we tried to have so much color in the furniture, fabrics and walls in the labyrinth. I'd tidied up as well as I could in the short time I'd had, made up my bed (which really wasn't easy with such big hands, even with retracted claws) and stuffed my books on the shelves and put lots of my potted plants and UV lamps to one side. I had dragged in one of the better mattresses and covered it with pillows and a thin blanket. Furthermore I had retrieved a large folding screen from one of the storerooms, covered with fabric but opaque and only open a crack every 30 inches where it bent.

Yes, it was a larger room, which had probably belonged to one of the chief scientists or one of the commanders or whoever else had claims to it in the days of Cyberbiotics. At first I didn't want to take it. I thought it was more decent if the room with its OWN bathroom had gone to a family in need. But Maggie, Derek and the whole residents' council had voted and I hadn't wanted to go against this kind gesture, mainly because they had argued that I was a big guy who would want to stretch my wings in my room or turn around in the bathroom without bumping into things. In addition, the room was a little further out, almost in the labyrinth sector of the gargoyle clones, and everyone had reasoned with me that I would be able to react quickly to problems by staying here.

"Wouldn't have taken you for a plant guy," Nora muttered, looking over the rather neat rosemary bush that, like everything else here, I had nurtured to a good size with much affection and UV lamps and with no small amount of pride about it. I regretted that she didn't see it in full bloom. Most of the plants were herbs. I liked being able to add fresh herbs to the dishes. It gave me a sense of self-efficacy where my different appearance, wings or muscles didn't matter, only how well I could take care of something. I was a caretaker in every sense of the word and my newest recipient just caressed the lemon thyme with a curious, sensitive gesture and then smelled her fingers with a barely perceptible smile. My face got all hot at the sight and I didn't even know why. I would have loved to hide under my wings like I hadn't done for years, but by then Nora had turned her attention back to more important things.

"Do I get the mattress on the floor or-"

I pointed to the bed and her surprised face made me smile rather pleased with myself. But at the same time sheepish by her surprise at the proposition. Of course she got the bed. She was despite everything a woman and hurt.

"Have you changed the sheets?" she asked, looking at the smooth orange sheets (because yes, I shed hair and so it was less visible, all my sheets were orange).

I nodded, wishing she wouldn't make this so weird, though of course it was weird, and Nora sat down on the bed and feathered a little, then looked up at me with her mouth open in disbelief.

"That's not a - 101 how to get into the panties of the socially isolated, fat mid- thirty-something - fad, is it?"

I gave Nora a horrified look and roughly pulled the room divider between us shut, almost tipping it over, before I could trip over my own paws in embarrassment. But of course ... Nora Sykes took the awkward-o-meter to new heights, and not even intentionally I hoped, because she just kept babbling while I heard clothes rustling and didn't imagine with hot ears that there was a woman in my room taking off her pants. She had brought two or three T-shirts from the clothes-room and some comfortable cotton shorts.

"Good," she said cheekily. "Because even though, like everyone, I appreciate a broad chest and a steely ass on guys - I wouldn't know what to do with the wings. Or the muzzle with the fangs. And no offense to the mutant stuff but yeah even if you look super fluffy - at an average of 86°F in the uncooled tunnels - I get hot flashes just seeing one of you furries and that's not premature menopause- I hope- and not horniness. I can't really understand these bestiality horny people. The ones who gush about hanky-panky with gargoyles and mutants and brrr. Doc Fran is cool but man there must be some unprocessed kinks under her skin and-"

I fled to the bathroom to escape her rambling.

It didn't really offend me because it was hard to offend me but THAT was clearly the wrong topic for me. I wasn't asexual - at least I didn't think so, because I could fantasize about sexual and romantic things and sometimes I even masturbated. But not really to real women like the ones in the labyrinth or the ones in magazines. My fantasies were about loving touches. Caresses. Gentle kisses, where my appearance didn't matter and not even my lover had identifiable features, so I couldn't even say what exactly "my type" was or if I even had one. Maybe I was really weird and a wet blanket in that department. So far. And had she called my chest broad and my ass steely?! I showered colder than usual and tried not to think about Nora Sykes super soft plump body that I had pressed against me earlier to keep her away from Michael. Her super soft plump body with the quivering chest and her hands that could be so gentle when they weren't being used for violence and had the calluses in the places that made me so longing and melancholy for my mom. God, I had to have a few more therapy sessions, even though Derek loudly condemned this offer of help from Xanatos, accusing him of exploiting the data he obtained.

Half an hour later, Nora was lying in bed and I was on the mattress, with the room divider between us. Still a little nervous but a little more relaxed by her silence, I wiggled my toes, which were sticking out over the mattress. The darkness wrapped itself around us both and I hoped it had a calming effect on Nora and not an upsetting one because she was lying in that darkness with a man/being like me. And maybe the darkness gave her something she wouldn't have found in the glare of artificial or sunlight. Her voice sounded soft and hyper-cautious. Not as if she were afraid. But tentative, like she was really reaching blindly for something she didn't know if she would find or not.

"Stripey? I mean uhm - Claw?"

I grumbled questioningly, aware of every breath she took, every tiny rustle of the covers like no human could have been. Heard her take a deep breath.

"Sorry ... for calling you an encroaching furry fuckface."

Even if I could have spoken, I wouldn't have known how to respond. Or if at all. What brought me the least amount of biting snark? I was aware of how special an apology from Nora was, having never heard her apologize before. Was that a reason for reverent silence or should I let her know how much I appreciated her words and that I understood her anger to some extent and that my interference might have been interpreted as encroaching? Just as I had picked up my tablet, she spoke again-

"I ... don't want to be such a huge asshole most of the time. I don't want everyone to think I suck. I ... don't really think I'm any better than the bums or freaks and- fuck, I know the words are off limits, don't rat me out to big Black or Mags, she always looks like she bit into a lemon when I see her anyway. And hell, she has a reason, everyone has a reason not to like me. I'm not completely stupid. My brain just doesn't tell me when to stop and my mouth keeps saying what I'm thinking. I know that doesn't make it any better."

"Yes. I think it does," I made my tablet say and my roommate flinched and gasped softly at the unexpected electronic HAL voice.

"You fucking asshole," Nora whispered with feigned indignation, almost giggling where I huffed and puffed with laughter.

Two chapters in a row as an early Christmas present for you, kittens.

This was actually one big chapter but it was really too long and a lot of exposition dumping regarding Nora. But she's a complicated character and yes, an asshole and not very smart and asocial- that's all true. But there is no one who is just "bad" and Claw sees that sooner than others. But he is also the only one who makes an effort to look. I try not to make him quite as naive as the Klaus who was mutated in 1995 but he tries to see both sides. He's spent most of his life isolated in various ways, but he`s not childishly naive like back then - he was born in 1959, so he's 50 years old in 2009 (although the mutation keeps him fit and buff for a very long time, did you see what Claw looks like in the Future Tense episode?- I know Puck could have made that up - but MAN, 2036 Tigger`s a burning hot beekeeper king! - Giggity ^^)

Have a good holiday or at least not so stressful.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.