"I don't know where to find another weapon in this town. But... maybe I can show you." She holds out her hand.

        "Lennah."

"Not a demonstration, Mom. We can sort of – talk to each other, and not just in words. Weapon/wielder thing."

        "...fine. But you're doing it in front of me."

"Fine."

He'll take her hand.

"Feels like it'll work even when not touching, eventually."

And she closes her eyes, and – sends –

—her first crush, bright and desperate, on a boy she hardly knew, and the struggle of not understanding her feelings or what they meant or what to do about them—trying to work up the courage to talk to him, and when she finally managed to approach him she bungled it, pressing shame heart racing feeling blind and dizzy, hardly able to think—months later, the realization that he had never been who she had imagined him to be, the directionless teetering uncertainty—

—her first kiss, with a different boy, furtive and clumsy and eager and scared—a later kiss, warm and intense, and embracing—finally daring to ask if he would be her boyfriend, and the mixture of relief and vertiginous terror when he said yes and she realized she had no idea how to be girlfriend and boyfriend—the dark hot passion in her chest as she pinned his wrists to the wall to kiss him—the unexpected nameless elation when he returned the favor—

—discovering him kissing another girl, older and prettier, the screaming sense of betrayal like her heart being ripped out of her chest, leaving her empty and cold inside—

—she startles, opens her eyes – her mother has just put her hand on her shoulder – she takes a sharp gulp of air, lets go of his hand –

– takes his hand again, and sends again, the long slow recovery, regrowing the hurt place, scarred but not broken, hugging her parents, her grandparents, learning to be warm and soft inside again. (It's not the same kind of love. It doesn't have the same intensity. But it's there, and it lets her know that she's healing, that she's healed.)

— Her second boyfriend, and their amicable parting when his family moved to Wichita Falls, bittersweet, a meaningless sadness that she couldn't even feel angry about.

— and her feelings, now, for him, warm and solid-stable-safe and laughter-joy-exaltation, the joy of friendship, not the fierce need of desire but wanting to be with him, to have him in her life, to share life with him — and the familiar uncertainty-confusion about her own feelings, about this strange new thing not quite like friendship and not quite like her love for her parents or even her grandparents and not like romantic love at all —

"– that's why I said you can't explain it in words."

"..."

He bounces back - what he feels. For the people he half-knew as an unawake weapon. For her. For her mom, and the glimpses of people reflected in her memories. For the concept-of-humanity.

It's all the same emotion. He likes them. Sees little bits of himself reflected, wants to know them better and share their pain and their joy and every moment in between. Wants them to be happy and secure and the best themselves.

His brain does not, in fact, seem to distinguish between types of love. It's all a big jumbled mess, and he likes everyone with the same intensity, it's just - like sometimes there's specific people he's looking at, and some people he gets frustrated or angry at even as he likes them. He's frustrated with her mom. He's mad at that first boyfriend. He wishes neither of them poorly.

His feelings to her are more trust and admiration than a more intense like. She's nice, and he's getting to know her. She's reliable and heroic and smart and does the right thing even when it's hard. She makes him happy, too, just to be around.

(It's still not really clear to him why kissing's a restricted thing, but he recognizes it's important to her, and that since it's important to her if someone's in a restricted-kissing relationship with her they shouldn't break that promise. His brain's nebulous on whether he wants to be in a restricted-kissing relationship with anyone.)

"I think we're good."

"Good!" He laughs kind of awkwardly.

There's the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. Lennah goes to get the door.

He'll... Wait. Kind of awkwardly. But -

To Lennah's mom: "Is there anything I can - help with?"

        "Well, aren't you sweet. You don't have to do anything, you're our guest." Pause. "I suppose if you really want, you could help me set the table; Jack'll be in in just a minute."

And indeed a man comes in, wearing shirtsleeves and loosening his tie; he puts down his briefcase, hugs Lennah – "I'm glad to see you're all right. You know your mother and I worried—" and then he spots the newcomer.

    "Have we met before? I'm Jack." He holds out his hand to shake.

"This is Grandma's sword, Dad. He woke up when we were at the dunj."

    "Well. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Hi! I'm a sword! Nice you meet you!"

        He smiles indulgently. "And I'm a human. You don't have a name yet?"

Lennah rolls her eyes, but she's smiling too.

"Nope! I don't think 'sword's a name."

"Hmm."

He exchanges a series of meaningful looks with Livia.

"It seems to me," he says slowly, "that you've been in this family longer than I have."

Oh.

Oh.

She takes his hand, so that she can share what she's feeling, the same feeling for him as before but clearer now that it has a name.

Brother.

Jack takes his hand, clasping it between his own. "You're family," he says, "and you'll always be welcome in this house."

Livia comes around to stand beside her husband. "Always. And – I hope you'll accept – I'd be proud to call you my son."

Lennah is beaming at him.

"Oh - oh wow - thank you!!!" Hug?

Hug. So much hug, all four of them together.

Hugs! Are great! Family hugs are even better!!!

They really are.

(She feels a thought creeping in around the edge of her mind, retroactive mortification at having overshared at her brother about her love life. She pushes it down; she can deal with it later. Right now, hugs.)

He's not going to be the one ending the hug, even as more questions bubble up in the back of his mind.

"So who wants dinner?"

! Food!

"Oh me! I've never had food before, what're we having - "

"Oh, you're in for a treat, Mom's quiche is great," Lennah says.

        "You need to eat some vegetables too, it's not healthy to go without. That's asparagus," she points, "and that's broccoli, and the salad's a salad."

"Do swords get unhealthy like humans do?"

        "Not helping."

"Sorry, Mom."

        "Anyway, that quiche has bacon and onions and mushrooms and Swiss cheese, and that one has spinach and red peppers and cheddar. You can have four slices all together."

"She usually only lets us have three," Lennah stage-whispers to him. "I think she likes you better than me."

"Those sound good!" He's going to try some of everything!

To Lennah, whispered really badly: "Being a sword's a lot of energy!"

"Well, that is what eating is for."

Grace is short and to the point, and everything is (as advertised) delicious.