There's a man stood over a young girl, his hand too tight against the join of her neck and shoulder. She looks far more resigned, hopeless and scared than anything else, and she is visibly trembling.

"Please," her voice isn't entirely clear, and what she's asking for isn't either, but it obviously isn't what the man wanted to hear, because his hand tightens visibly, and his arm starts to exert pressure downwards.

As she slides pliantly down to her knees, it might become apparent that underneath her too thin shirt, she is starting to show as pregnant.

...well, fuck, not if he can help it.

He turns into the alley and approaches them.

"Hey!"

The man shoots him an irritated look. "Do you mind?!" he snarls.

The girl's gaze has skittered to the newcomer's boots, and her shaking has increased, her arms wrapping around herself.

"Yeah, I fucking mind."

He's not usually inclined to use it, but he does have the advantage of being fairly tall and visibly well-built.

He looks down at the girl and his expression changes immediately.

"How old are you, kid...?"

The man takes the hint, and leaves, looking simultaneously miffed and terrified.

The girl is silent for a moment, weighing up her options.

"How old do you want me to be, sir?" she asks. Her tone almost manages sultry, except with the fact that it's trembling, and she looks more desperate than inviting.

Oh, shit. Bad. He shakes his head.

"–no, hey, I'm not picking you up. I'm buying you lunch. Come on."

He holds out his hand.

She stares at the hand. (She can't afford to pass up a meal. She's sure he'll want paying back.) She hesitantly reaches out to takes the hand, her other hand using the wall behind her to push herself up to her feet.

"Okay," she mumbles.

Poor kid.

He ducks out of the alleyway and leads her towards a somewhat beat-up but well-maintained car.

"You okay?"

She's following pliantly, if a little unsteadily. "Yes, sir," she says simply. (It doesn't exactly seem like the truth, given the way she's curled in on herself, but she seems to think it is.) She eyes the car a little warily, but doesn't try to escape.

He looks back over his shoulder, just to make sure they weren't followed by her disgruntled customer–

Oh. Not hers, his. Guy doesn't look too happy that he walked off.

He ushers the girl quickly into the back seat and hops into the front.

She goes tense as she's ushered into the back seat, and then blinks in confusion when he doesn't follow her, but gets into the front.

She's watching him (his shoulders) more than what's going on outside, but she catches a glimpse of the man who was following them, and can't quite put the pieces together right.

He drives away as quickly as he can manage while maintaining a basic level of safety.

"...hope he doesn't spread that around."

She doesn't say anything but a confused noise escapes before she can stop it. She flinches back and presses a hand over her mouth.

He looks at her in the rear view mirror with some concern.

"It's kind of, uh, frowned-upon to run off and rescue a kid when someone just picked you up."

"You-?" she starts, surprised, then stops, flinching again. "Sorry."

Then she realises what he's just said, and her mind goes briefly blank with panic. (He's definitely going to want paying back for the lost client if he's...like her.)

"Sorry," she repeats, a little desperate. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. I-Sorry."

He wishes he could turn around without crashing the car.

"No, I swear it's okay! I'll figure it out."

He heads for the nearest place he can think of that has cheap food and isn't particularly interested in the lives of its customers.

She doesn't exactly calm down when he tells her it's okay, but she does stop talking. She wraps her arms around herself instead, rocking slightly.

(She is paying attention to where they're going, she expects to have to find her way back on her own.)

It's not long before he parks and gets out of the car to open the back.

"...uh, sorry for kind of kidnapping you. I can just take you home if you don't want to hang around."

...no. nonononono. She ran away for a reason. She wasn't going back. She shakes her head desperately.

"Please. I can-" she starts, voice shaking, and then stops. She has no idea what to offer here, but she can't go back. "I can be good?"

...oh, shit.

"Okay, no, I'm not taking you home. It's okay."

He reaches out a hand to help her out of the car.

"Let's just get you something to eat."

She relaxes, fractionally, when he says he's not taking her home. Only to flinch slightly as his hand comes towards her. When she realises it's not about to grab her or strike her, she hesitantly takes it to help her out of the car.

She keeps herself hunched in on herself, trying to be unobtrusive and a smaller target. She doesn't verbally respond, watching him without looking directly at him, waiting for him to lead. She tugs slightly at the hem of her shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric.

He leads her gently towards the restaurant.

It tears him up, looking at the way she’s acting. He recognizes what it looks like when somebody’s badly broken.

“How’d you get into this mess...?”

She continues to follow pliantly, and gives a very slight shrug. "Didn't-" she wraps one arm protectively over her stomach. "No choice."

“For the kid?”

He gives her a slight smile. Loving someone is, he supposes, not the worst way it could happen.

“Fucking awful that somebody did that to you in the first place, though.”

She nods, biting at her lip, but then shrugs. "They didn't- it was fine. Just. Couldn't. Be sure she'd be safe." (She owed them, and maybe she shouldn't have run, but her baby didn't deserve that. Maybe...Maybe she could go back once the baby was born. Apologise. Surely they'd understand?)

“...how old are you, again?”

She keeps her head ducked, considers evading that question. But.

"Fifteen," she mumbles. (Nearly.)

“Jesus.”

He turns his head so he can look furious at the wall for a second.

When he turns back he looks calm again.

“I guess this stuff can wait until you eat something, huh?”

He holds the door for her before he goes into the place himself. It’s a tiny Chinese restaurant with a few faded pictures of glazed chicken and rice bowls in the windows. There’s a disinterested teenage girl behind the register (apparently, you order at the counter).

She seems to have noticed his anger and put some space between them. (Enough that she's not in arm's reach.)

She stares blankly ahead of herself, not really taking in the menu - the pictures make as much sense to her as any of the words do. (She'll eat whatever she's given, what other option does she have?)

“D’you know what you want?” he says after a minute.

She freezes and then gives a rapid shake of her head. "Sorrysorry."

"It's okay. Do you like spicy stuff?"

He might as well order two of something he knows is good.

She shrugs again. "Whatever is fine." (She does look painfully malnourished, so too spicy is probably to be avoided if possible.)

He puts in an order for his own (spicy) favorite thing, and picks a citrusy chicken dish that the cashier assures him (with very little emotion) is “great”.

He goes to sit after that, watching her to make sure she’s following.

She is following, arms wrapped around herself, head down, eyes fixed on the back of his knees to be able to. She stays behind him, and only just in arm's reach. (She seems to be watching him for any cues as well.)

He pulls out a chair for her before he sits down.

”Do you have a place to stay right now?”

She slides into the seat, but stays perched on the edge of it.

She shrugs slightly. "Here and there."

It's easy to make a decision from there.

"Well, I have a couch."

She manages to hunch in on herself further, and is an impressively small figure on the seat, she shakes her head slightly. "I-" she looks at him from under her eyelashes. "...why?"

"Cause you need help, and I can help."

She slides one hand up to gnaw at her nails. He must want something, she just can't figure out what. And asking...

"S'fine, sir," she mumbles. "Not worth it."

"...'worth it'?"

"I-" she doesn't know how to explain it. "you won't think I'm worth it."

That's both awful and so familiar it hurts.

"...you're worth it. I promise."

She looks down, nods silently - it isn't really an answer to his question, more an acknowledgement. (She supposes he would know best what her worth was to his preferences.)

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna make you or anything. But...I don’t want you to have to go back out there not knowing where you’re gonna sleep.”

It wasn't about what she wanted. It was about what she owed him already. (No-one just bought someone a meal. Especially not is that someone was her.) And beside that, it seemed like the right answer was yes.

"Okay, sir," she murmurs.

"You can call me Z, if you want."

Being called 'sir' is pretty unsettling, anyway.

"...shit, I haven't even asked your name yet."

She looks sideways at him, trying to gauge what that offer even means.

She shrugs a little when he asks her name. "I- Blaze? Or. I. Whatever you want?"

“Blaze. Pretty name.”

He’s going to try to ignore the implications of the rest of it.

The girl behind the counter calls “Uh...’Zee?’”, and he gets up for a second to return with their food. 

Her skin darkens a little at the compliment, and she bites at her lip.

She doesn't move when he does, although her eyes to track his movements. She also makes no move towards the food when he returns, watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting.

He puts hers down in front of her and sits down with his. It’s a rice bowl with orange chicken and vegetables.

“I hope this was a good guess.”

His is beef in a sauce that smells spicy from across the table.

"Thank you, si- Z- sir," she says, cautiously reaching out to pull the bowl closer to her, her other arm wrapping around it to protect it. She's obviously trying not to eat too quickly, but she's also clearly ravenous, and concerned the food will be taken away from her. She eats a little of the chicken, but of what little she actually manages to eat, it's mostly rice and vegetables.

She still barely manages to eat a quarter of what's on the plate before she's full enough to be nauseous. She flinches a little when she realises just how much food she's wasting.

It’s heartbreaking to watch her eat, too. He thinks he’s going to need some superglue for his organs by the time he gets her home.

He finishes most of his food by the time she’s unable to eat any more. When he sees how concerned she looks, he hops out of his seat and comes back with a styrofoam box.

“Here, we can take it home, okay?”

She seems a little bit relieved at that. "I- sorry. Thank you?"

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

He sets the box in front of her so he can finish his meal. Either he was incredibly hungry, or he needs quite a lot of food.

She watches him for a second, and pushes the end of her meal towards him. (It might not be what he would choose, but if he's still hungry, he would probably be better eating it than them taking it back to his.)

He shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I’m Regen-4, so...basically a bottomless pit, when I’ve been using it, you know? I should probably stop after this.”

He finishes off the last of the rice in his bowl.

"...oh," she says quietly. "I- Okay."

She quickly transfers the remains of her meal into the Styrofoam box. (If he's ready to go, she's going to try not to hold him up.)

...oh, nice. Telling the girl who’s clearly already scared as shit that you’re factor 4 and that you’re the kind of factor 4 that needs healing on the regular. Good job, Z.

He smiles awkwardly.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Heading out to the car.

She follows, hugging the Styrofoam container to herself.

Backseat again, or does he want her somewhere else?

Now that he's had some time to think about it, he opens the door to the front seat.

She slides in, shrinking in on herself a little. (However she does seem less tense than she had been in the backseat, if only marginally.)

Getting from the restaurant to his apartment doesn't take long. It's in a slightly better part of town, but not by much.

He circles around to help her back out of the car and goes to unlock the door to the building.

She glances around a little unsurely, and sticks closer to him than she has been so far, a little more tense now.

There's a couple flights of stairs up to the door of the apartment.

Once it's open, there's a clear view into the living room. It's a little bare, but there is indeed a couch (and a coffee table that looks like it may have been rescued from the side of a road and cleaned up).

It's still better than anything Blaze has seen in a while. She stays near the door, wishing she didn't have the box in her hands so she could wind her fingers together. She settles for digging the nails of her free hand into her palm.

“So, uh, I have a couple private shows tonight, so don’t come in the bedroom while that’s happening...”

He shuts the door behind them with a click.

”But otherwise it’s pretty much okay to go anywhere.”

She nods, a little confusedly (flinches when the door clicks shut) and then looks around for somewhere to put the box. She looks to him a little helplessly and holds it up slightly. "I- where?"

“Oh, kitchen’s over here.”

Just around the corner is a kitchen separated from the living room by a low wall. You can see between the rooms fairly easily.

“Won’t eat it all if you leave it in the fridge. Scout’s honor.”

She moves over to the kitchen, carefully skirting around him to put the box in the fridge.

"S'fine," she says. "You bought it."

He shrugs.

“I guess, but I bought it for you, so it’s yours unless you decide to give it to me.”

She shrugs as she moves out of the kitchen and closer to Z again. (She doesn't have things that are hers.)

...shit. He has no idea what to do now.

He looks down at her, a little lost, trying to figure out what comes next.

She doesn't quite look up at him, stepping not quite into his personal space, eyes still mostly looking down, although they keep darting up to gauge his reaction. Her fingers deftly slip the buttons of her shirt open and she starts to slide it off her shoulders. (She's shaking again.)

He covers his eyes immediately with one hand and steps back out of her space.

“Nope.”

She flinches away violently enough that he can probably feel it. He should definitely feel the burst of heat that comes from her.

"Sorry," she says desperately. "Sorrysorrysorry."

—okay, that was not the sensation he was expecting. He uncovers his eyes.

She hasn't put her shirt back on (although her arms are wrapped around herself enough to give her at least some dignity), maybe in part because there's flames flickering over her skin.

She seems to notice he's watching her, and hunches down further. "M'sorry. I- please, m'sorry."

Oh.

“...hey. Hey, it’s okay.”

He leans down a little.

“Your fire’s gorgeous. But it’s kind of flammable in here.”

"I know, I know. M'trying." (She sounds desperate.)

Not that telling anyone that had ever helped before. (She barely even hears the 'gorgeous' part.)

She shudders, and presses her eyes closed, curling over enough to wind her fingers through her hair and tug. (The flames slowly start to die.)

"M'sorry, please don't, I can-" she cuts herself off.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re doing your best.”

He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t raise his voice.

It takes a little while, but eventually the flames flicker out.

She's eyeing him cautiously from the corner of her eyes, gaze occasionally darting to the door (trying to gauge if she can make it).

"I- I-" she flinches. "'Ll just...go."

He shakes his head vigorously.

“No! I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to...”

He looks down at her hands.

“I’ve never seen that in person before. Do we need to get you a fire blanket? I can do that.”

He seems fascinated, more than anything.

She doesn't make any move towards the door.

She shrugs. "I- Too much trouble."

He shakes his head and waves his hands and...looks almost desperate.

“No, it’s not. Look, I...”

He stops.

“...please don’t leave right after you show me that.”

She flinches away from his waving hands (even if they're nowhere near to her).

He...wants her to stay? But he didn't- didn't want that. Or hadn't right then which didn't make sense. And even after he'd seen...

She can't really curl in on herself any more but she tries. "-I. No-one. They. I can't always...stop it." (Surely that would change his mind.) "They- didn't like it."

“...people don’t like it, sometimes. But...”

Pause.

”You’re...Pyro-3, at least, right?

She shakes her head, more helplessly than in disagreement. "I- don't. Know. I. They said I was too strong. But. Never. How strong?" She winces. "Sorry."

This is getting even more concerning than it was previously.

"Who are these...uh, wait, do you want to sit down?"

He nods to the couch.

She looks sideways at the couch. "I- please? If you- don't mind? I-i'm fine if-" She bites at her lip.

"No, yeah, definitely, go ahead."

He walks toward the couch himself, sitting down on one end and watching her.

She cautiously steps towards the couch herself (shirt clutched to her chest, she hasn't put it back on yet), and perches herself the far end from him.

He'd ask her to put her shirt back on, but he thinks there are bigger concerns at play here.

"So...who was telling you you were 'too strong'?"

She shrugs again. "I- The. My guardians?"

"Who were your guardians?"

She doesn't want to tell him. He's going to send her back. She doesn't want to go back. (She can't go back.)

"I- they-" She names a fairly local church. They aren't known for progressive thinking, and are very vocal about their feelings about high-factor destructive abilities.

“...the guys who think the Berlin Baby was the antichrist?”

It’s not like he keeps up with local churches, but they’re...sort of hard to miss.

Berlin Baby: the first known high-factor individual, born in Germany in 1979 and posthumously classified as Pyrokinetic-5.

She bites at her lip and nods hesitantly. (As if she hadn't given him enough reasons to throw her out already.)

“...shit. That’s a really rough way to grow up.”

It would be bad for any high-factor kid, but for a pyro?

“So...the baby...”

He looks down at her stomach.

She flinches and curls over to protect and hide her stomach from his gaze. "I- Don't. She's good. And- they wouldn't have-" (Let her keep her child, one way or the other, and her baby didn't deserve that, any of that.)

“...it was them that did it in the first place, too, right?”

Sometimes he wishes his abilities weren’t so...defensive. Sometimes he just wants to walk into a building and burn shit down.

“...I’m sure she’s good, though. Yeah.”

She looks at least a little confused. "...who else-?" she stops herself - it wasn't like she could identify the father.

"Yes," she agrees quietly - it perhaps wasn't obvious to him given where he found her. She does relax the tiniest fraction when he agrees her baby is good.

“I mean—usually it’s a boyfriend, or something.”

She just...didn’t seem like the type to even have one.

“So you ran away. Are they looking for you?”

For a moment, she looks completely confused - apparently she has no idea what a boyfriend is.

"I- don't know," she admits reluctantly. "M'sorry sir. But- I. They. might be. I. owe them."

Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. He hopes he’s misreading this horribly, but...

“...owe them?”

She nods, and seems surer of that than she has of anything else. "I- they. Didn't have to look after me," she says earnestly. "But they did. even after I kept screwing up on control. And it wasn't much. What they were asking."

His face goes in his hands for a moment. When he comes up he's a little more sure he'll keep it together. Doesn't want to scare her. 

"...nobody has to look after anybody. Doesn't mean they get to ask you to..."

He trails off.

She's silent for a moment. "But how else do I pay them back?" she asks helplessly.

"You wouldn't ask your kid to pay you back."

"I- but. It's different?" It has to be. They didn't have any duty to her. She did to her child. She's shaking again, and her hands wind into her hair again, tugging in a way that looks painful.

Oh, he doesn't know how to do this, he really doesn't.

(Where do you even start?)

He just shakes his head.

"You decide to take care of a kid, you agree they don't owe you. That's how it works."

...it should be, at least.

That- can't be right. It isn't right.

"As you say," she murmurs instead of trying to argue. (She doesn't have the words or the energy.)

Somehow, her agreeing with him doesn't make him feel any better.

"So, uh. If they're looking for you I guess you staying here is definitely the best option, as long as I don't get kicked out."

"I- yes sir?" she agrees quietly. Then, after a pause. "But. You. If it's- I can help? With- paying?"

He shakes his head.

"Probably too early for you to go out and get a part-time job or anything. I can handle it."

He is pointedly excluding the other possibility.

...but she doesn't have any other skills. She nods anyway. She can...probably find something to do around here, even if he doesn't want that.

She watches him out the corner of her eyes, twisting her shirt in her hands, wanting to put it back on, but not wanting to shift from her carefully curled position while he's looking at her.

Why is she–

Oh. Oops. He shuts his eyes and looks away.

"You can, uh, put your shirt on."

She quickly pulls her shirt back on, and then quietly clears her throat. "Thank you."

He opens his eyes and nods.

"Oh, uh...do you have any other stuff we need to get from somewhere?"

She shakes her head - she'd run with the clothes on her back and nothing else, even the clothes she was wearing felt like theft.

"Didn't have anything to take," she admits.

He nods.

"I know a couple good thrift stores. Shouldn't be too much to get you some clothes."

She shakes her head rapidly. "I- can't. Please. Not when m'not...helping."

"...how about if I find some stuff that doesn't fit me anymore?"

It feels wrong, to just give her that, but it's better than nothing at all.

It...it still feels like too much she'll owe him. But. It's better than him spending anything on her. She nods hesitantly. "I- please? Thank you?"

He nods.

"It's no problem. I've got an old phone lying around, too, if you want it...doesn't have a SIM or anything, but..."

She shakes her head. "S'fine. Don't need." (Why would she need one? She didn't have anyone to contact?)

"Hey, it's fine. It's just collecting dust in a drawer right now."

She looks up a little, confused. "I- don't have a use for it? No-no-one to call."

...they had her really sheltered. Does that mean she actually doesn't know what a boyfriend...no, he really, really hopes not.

"I mean, it's not just for calling people, it's for playing music and getting maps and–hang on, I'm going to go get it."

He hops off the couch and disappears briefly into another room.

She has no idea how to respond to that, so she just...stays still. Almost completely, barely even breathing, but her hands are twisting together in her lap, fingers being tugged at odd, painful looking angles.

He comes back shortly with a smallish but sleek-looking smartphone.

"...you okay?"

No. Obviously she's not.

She stills her hands, folding them together neatly. "I- yes?" she says, looking up not-quite-at him.

He puts the phone down in front of her.

"Have you, uh. Used a computer before?"

She shakes her head. "No, sir, sorry."

"No, it's okay..."

He has no idea how to teach this to someone.

He does turn on the phone in front of her, and apparently it holds a charge well, because it starts booting up in short order.

"This is...basically a handheld computer."

"O-okay?" she says quietly. "I- you- you don't...have to? S'fine?"

He shakes his head.

"Everybody should know this stuff. It's not a problem."

Some text comes up on the screen.

"O-okay," she says, staring blankly at the screen. (Is he expecting her to be able to read that? Her fingers are twisting together again.)

He was going to tap through to the next screen and help her set the thing up, but...something about the way she's looking at it makes him pause.

"...something wrong?"

"I-" she starts, shakes her head frantically. "No point. Won't- can't use it." Not if it needs her to read things.

"...do you know what it says?"

Oh, please, let them have at least taught her to read.

She flinches and shakes her head. "M'sorry. I- no point. Too stupid." (Not to mention the risk of her burning anything.)

...he stands up mechanically.

"Okay. Gonna be right back."

He leaves into his room.

From the noise that follows he is probably screaming into a pillow.

...oh no. She-

She should just leave before she upsets him any more.

(He asked her not to, but surely he'll have changed his mind now?)

She slides off the couch to curl against it, burying her face in her knees, and wrapping her arms around her legs, shaking.

After a minute or two he comes back.

"...Sorry, uh, I guess I still freaked you out..."

He sits down cautiously back on the couch.

"We should...teach you to read, yeah?"

She looks up at him, a little disbelieving, a tiny bit hopeful.

Than she shakes her head. "I- Don't...tease. too stupid. Know that."

He shakes his head firmly.

"Did they ever try to teach you?"

She shakes her head slowly (not entirely sure what the relevance of that is).

"If nobody teaches you how to read, you can't learn. You don't just...know."

"I- there." She shrugs a little. "They. Said I. Wouldn't. Be able. That I wasn't. Smart enough. And. I. Didn't- need to know." (She's speaking a little rapidly.)

This is so fucking awful.

"...I promise you're smart enough. Okay? Even...if you weren't smart at all, pretty much everybody can learn."

"I- don't want to- You-" She doesn't want to be...work. And surely teaching someone is work? But...

"If you don't mind?"

He nods.

"I definitely don't mind."

He hops up off the couch again and returns with a few pieces of paper and a pen.

"Uh...I'm probably not gonna be the greatest teacher, though."

"Prob'ly better than I am student," Blaze mumbles in response. (And then flinches realising that could be seen as an insult.)

He just laughs.

"I guess we'll see which one of us is more terrible."

He starts writing down letters, uppercase and lowercase side by side.

She shuffles over slightly to get a better view, almost inaudibly murmurs the letters she knows.

She is an attentive and focused student (and not nearly as bad as she seems to think she would be).

After a little while, though, she starts. "Y-You said you had. Shows? I-" (She's shaking a little.)

"Oh! Yeah, thanks for reminding me, I've got an alarm..."

He taps his phone.

"But I should probably set up just in case."

"...You did good, though. I'll see if I can dig up some real lessons before next time."

She blushes a little, ducking "I- next time?" She's something between bewildered that he'd do this again and hopeful.

He nods as he stands up.

"Tomorrow, if I've got a little time. That okay with you?"

"I- yes? Please?" Blaze agrees eagerly.

Nod nod.

"For sure."

He disappears promptly into his room, from which one can hear the sound of cleaning and, briefly, the moving of furniture.

She waits a few moments after he's gone before she looks around. Then, she gets to her feet, rolls up her sleeves, and sets about tidying up, and if she can find cleaning supplies, cleaning as well.

Cleaning supplies are conveniently stowed under the kitchen sink!

After a few minutes he pokes his head out the door, not really looking around, just to say–

"Oh, uh, earplugs are in the little box on the shelf if you want 'em. Sorry in advance."

–loudly enough for her to hear wherever in the apartment she is, and shut the door again.

She blinks. Decides that was...probably an instruction to put them in, does so, and goes back to cleaning. (She does, in fact, mostly enjoy cleaning.)

Provided nothing too disturbing happens, she'll keep going until the areas of the apartment she can currently access are immaculate.

Nothing too disturbing happens in an area of the apartment she can access.

There some noises of enjoyment(?) coming from the other room after a few minutes, though, and the volume is...considerable.

...she. Isn't sure what to make of that. (Doesn't entirely understand why he turned her down if...) But.

She resolves to ignore it. (For now.) Eventually the apartment will be clean. She pauses for a moment - Z had said he was, effectively, always hungry. She had, on occasion had to cook. She hesitates, and then investigates whether there's anything she could use to make a meal for Z for when he's done.

There's some staples in the kitchen: canned beans, pasta, a couple of jarred sauces, some sausages in the fridge along with a couple of vegetables at various levels of freshness.

He has a weirdly well-stocked spice cabinet, considering the general bareness of his apartment.

She considers the options. She doesn't want to use everything, but...

She nods to herself, and gets to work. Oven on, vegetables and sausages chopped up and tossed in liberal quantities of spice (she remembers what his meal at the restaurant smelled like), and put in the oven to roast at a low heat. Pasta gets put in a pan ready to be boiled. Then she looks between the sauces, and chooses one with a picture she recognises. (She'd be happier if there were the ingredients to just make the sauce, but she can work with what she has.) The sauce gets appropriately spiced, and left to simmer. She isn't sure how long Z is going to be, but once the sausage, vegetables and pasta are cooked, they can be added to the sauce and left over a low heat until Z is ready to eat.

He walks out of his room fairly soon after that.

"...oh my god."

He's just gonna...take a minute and look at the spotless living room.

Blaze flinches a little at the words (but she's never been punished for cleaning before). She hurries to find a bowl and ladles some of the pasta into it, finding a fork, and taking it over to Z, holding it out, more than a little nervously, but her hands are strangely steady. (Maybe she shouldn't have done this? But- but it was something useful?)

"...oh, you so didn't have to do all this..."

He takes it from her and beams.

"Thank you so much."

Blaze ducks her head, a tiny, shy smile on her lips, and blushing. "I-" she bites at her lip a little. "Like being busy."

He nods.

"I get that. But...still, thank you. Didn't have to be busy on my behalf."

There's a little table in the kitchen with a couple chairs at it – he puts the bowl down and gets two sodas out of the fridge before he sits down, nodding to the other chair.

"I wanted to," she mumbles nearly inaudibly as she perches on the edge of the seat, folding her hands together in her lap.

He nods.

"Then it's good you did it."

He takes a bite of the pasta.

...mmmm.

That reaction gets the shy smile again, and some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders. She can do this, it's useful, it's a way to pay him back (even if he bought the ingredients in the first place.)

She definitely turned the premade sauce into something that could almost pass for homemade.

"M'glad you like it," she whispers.

He decides immediately that he wants to make her smile as much as possible. That is so cute.

“You’re a really good cook. I should get you some ingredients to play around with when I get to the store next.”

He thinks for a moment, and then follows that up– “And that way I get to eat your awesome cooking. Win/win.”

...and now she's blushing as well. And was that sound a muffled giggle?

"I- You. Don't have to?" she says quietly. "But- I. If you do I'll cook?"

...aww.

He nods.

“For sure.”

He takes another bite. Excellent and appropriately spicy!

...wait a second.

“Did you put any aside for yourself? This is pretty hot, and I know I’m a fan of that, but...”

She looks away. "I. Didn't think to?" It isn't a lie, but it seems to be leaning more towards not knowing she was allowed to than simple absent-mindedness. (And perhaps a little not expecting to be allowed to eat it.)

He nods.

"You're not–in trouble, or anything. But it's always fine to keep some for yourself, okay? At least with me."

"O-okay," she agrees, a little unsteadily, and not sounding entirely like she truly believes that.

...well, it's probably gonna be a process.

For now...today was pretty light on the self-injury, comparatively, but he is definitely hungry again, and this is good pasta. He eats with great satisfaction.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye, gaze mostly focused on the table top, that small smile curled on her lips. (She did something good.) Her fingers are twisting together again, but there's no uncomfortable looking angles.

So cute.

"Hey, you have food in the fridge, right?"

"...I. Guess?" she agrees, blinking. (She still hadn't really accepted that he meant that those leftovers were for her.)

"Well...dunno if you like eating with other people, but you can come eat with me if you want."

She hesitates for a moment (she is hungry), before fetching herself a bowl, and a small portion from the meal they brought back, and rejoining him at the table. She keeps one arm curled protectively around the bowl as she eats, but she does eat.

He keeps his eyes on his own food, and polishes off the bowl fairly quickly.

"...I should probably jump in the shower before I hang out here longer."

He's thrown the clothes he was wearing before back on.

She shifts unsurely, not sure exactly what he means by that. (Does he want her to...?)

“Do you want me to put a show on my laptop or something before I go? Must be kind of boring in here.”

She shrugs. "I- it's. Fine. I. Don't mind."

He nods.

"Well...let me know later, okay? And thanks for the food."

He pulls himself reluctantly out of his chair and disappears briefly into his room.

When he comes out again to walk to the bathroom he's holding a bundle of bloodied towels and some carefully folded plastic sheeting.

Her eyes widen as she sees those, and she starts to her feet. "I- are you- are you hurt?!" From the way she flinches back and apologises, she hadn't meant to ask that.

Oh, shit. Guess she didn't make the connection earlier.

"No, no, it's okay! I heal, remember?"

It's kinda hard to talk without gesturing and dropping all the stuff he's carrying.

"This is just, uh...work-related."

...oh. Oh. "oh."

She blinks at him. "I- you. I'm sorry. You said. I- stupid of me."

She doesn't want to think what he means when he says work-related. She doesn't think he intends to- do something like that to her. (She hopes.)

She sinks back down to her seat, arms wrapped around herself again, looking at the floor.

"Hey, no, it was kind of stupid of me to walk out here with my blood all over the place..."

She bites at her lip, shrugs. "I- do you. I can get those?" she gestures at the towels.

He shakes his head.

"I've got a thing in the bathroom for 'em."

Plus there's a few things wrapped in one of them for discreet transport that he would rather not show her.

"I- okay," she says, nodding.

She gathers up the bowls from their meal, she may as well tidy up the kitchen then.

...he’ll let that happen, this time. Honestly, if it were him, he might prefer cleaning up to being completely bored.

He goes and dumps his towels and clothes in the hamper and cleans what items he needs to clean, and then steps into the shower and scrubs all the dried blood off his skin.

When he comes out in his towel, there are rapidly fading scars visible on his arms and chest, mostly long, straight slashes. The most notable one is the name “JACK” dug into one side of his chest.

She's done all the dishes - although she's left them draining instead of drying them - and the end of the pasta is cooling in a tupperware container on the counter. She's back sitting at the table, hands twisting together in her lap.

She goes tense when he leaves the bathroom, very aware that he's only wearing a towel (please don't want anything, please). She watches him out of the corner of her eyes, shaking again, wrapping her arms around herself. She...isn't entirely sure what to make of the scars, especially not the letters. (But they're healing.)

He ducks into his room as quickly as he can and comes back in a loose shirt and sweatpants. Way better for interacting with traumatized teenagers than the other outfit, probably.

He just...looks at her, once he's in the room. He doesn't really know what to do.

She does seem to relax a little when he comes back more dressed, but shifts uncomfortably when she realises he's watching her. "I- did you-" (want something) "can I-?" (do something for you).

He rubs his head.

"I, uh..."

"I've got to take care of you and I don't really know how."

"I-" she shakes her head. "Don't want to be a bother. 'll be fine, sir."

"...please don't call me sir."

It's a little halting.

"You don't...have to call me anything."

"I- sorry." (He's said something about that earlier.) "I- habit?" She isn't sure that's the right word, but it might... might make it upset him less, if he knew that.

He nods.

"It's okay."

(She's not sure it is, she doesn't want to upset him.)

She opens her mouth to say something, although she's not entirely sure what, but is cut off by a wide yawn. (Followed by a flinch.)

Well, he doesn't seem upset anymore. He actually laughs.

"We should get that couch set up. Probably had a long day, huh?"

He disappears briefly into his room and returns with a thick, soft blanket and a pillow.

She flinches again when he laughs, not entirely sure what caused that. (It didn't sound mocking.)

"I- yes?" she agrees.

The pillow and blanket seem to surprise her, but... But she hasn't been warm since she ran away. And he brought them out. And she doesn't even have the energy to argue that she might set them on fire.

"Th-Thank you."

He nods.

"It's no problem."

He puts down the pillow and blanket on the couch and switches off one of the lights in the living room, leaving the lamp by the couch on.

"You can come grab me if you need to, ok?"

She nods, a little hesitantly - although she has no intention of disturbing him at all, that was definitely Against The Rules.

"I- sleep well?"

"You too."

He disappears into his room for the night.

She hesitates, and then practically creeps over to the couch. She wraps herself in the blanket and curls up.

She sleeps fitfully, wakes early, and perches on the edge of the couch waiting for her host to wake-up.

It's later in the morning that he finally emerges from his room, rubbing his eyes.

"...'ve you been up a while?"

She nods rather than says anything, twisting her fingers together again.

"Did you get any sleep?"

He thought he heard some tossing and turning last night.

"I- yes si- I- Z. I did," she confirms quietly. Looks sideways. "I- would've made breakfast but..." (wasn't sure when you'd be up.)

"Well, good that you slept. And, uh, you don't have to make breakfast, but I don't know if you like Pop Tarts or not."

And there's the look of someone who has no idea what Z is talking about. She shrugs instead of anything else.

"Never had a Pop Tart?"

He makes his way towards the kitchen.

"Uh, n-no?" she says, standing up to follow him. (She's not sure why, but...)

“This will be your introduction to crappy prepackaged toaster strudels.”

He opens one of the cupboards and retrieves a couple of foil packets.

“I make pretty decent eggs, too.”

She shrugs a little. "I- Whatever's easiest?" There's an offer in there that she can cook if he wants her to.

"We can do both. Pop tarts are less than zero effort, and you cooked last night, so it's fair."

He pauses.

"Unless you want to."

She shrugs again. "I- you've. Done a lot." (For me.)

"...let's cook together?"

She looks confused for a moment, and the nods. "If- If that's what you want?" (She is not exactly opposed to the idea.)

He nods.

"It's been a while since I helped somebody out with cooking."

He opens the fridge to contemplate its contents.

Blaze steps closer to see for herself what the contents are - she might be able to offer suggestions on what can be made.

Mostly the same as last night. Eggs are relevant in the morning, though.

"...scrambled eggs or omelette?" she suggests quietly.

"I like omelettes."

She gives a shy smile and reaches, a little hesitantly for the eggs. "I- do you like anything in them? I left some of the vegetables..."

“Oh, yeah. I’m never awake enough in the morning to do veggies when it’s just me.”

"I- I could-?" she offers hesitantly.

“I can get some of ‘em if you beat the eggs. It’s different when there’s two of us.”

He pulls out some of the vegetables and grabs a cutting board from next to the sink.

She smiles a little, nods, and sets to work. She seems fairly content as she does (she knew this, she could do this).

It doesn't take her long to have the eggs beaten together.

He’s pretty quick with a knife — he has most of the veggies done by then, and he’s pulling cheese out of the fridge.

She starts heating a pan. "...butter?" she requests.

She recieves a stick of butter almost immediately.

Well, butter, into pan, and: omelette making!

Omelette!

He passes her veggies, eggs and cheese in the correct order as she cooks.

She thanks him quietly each time, and, in short order: they have food!

Food!

He grabs a couple of plates for them and takes them out to the table, grabbing pop-tarts out of the toaster as he goes.

Spicier omelette for Z! Unspiced omelette for Blaze!

Suspicious look at the pop-tarts.

"Fan of sweet stuff or not?"

He tosses them on a plate and sits down.

She shrugs. "Never really- had anything sweet?" she admits.

"Like...never?"

He takes a bite of the omelet. It is, as expected, delicious.

"Wasn't allowed it."

She starts to eat her own omelette.

People are terrible.

He breaks a piece off one of them and nudges it towards her.

“It’s still gonna be pretty hot inside—uh, I don’t know if that’s a problem for you...”

"Not- not normally." She picks it up, blows on it anyway. (Anything to seem more normal.) She bites on it, and makes a slight face - it's too sweet, overwhelmingly so - takes another bite regardless, unsure whether or not she actually likes it.

"...don't force yourself. They're pretty sweet."

"Yeah-" she agrees, setting what's left of her bit of pop-tart down and going back to her omelette. "Thank you."