back at the entirely happy witch in front of him. And did what foot soldiers do. "Want to come have some breakfast?"
Bringing joy home would make the major general very happy. And he was always up for more breakfast.
-o0o-
Nell snuck out the back door, bagel in one hand, strawberry smoothie in the other. Time for a morning snack and some noodling in her hammock hideaway.
Distracted by the gears cranking in her own head, she didn't notice the hammock's existing occupant until she nearly sat on him.
"There's room for two." Daniel caught her neatly and shifted, managing to deposit them both more or less safely within the canvas confines.
Nell handed him her smoothie and wiggled until her perch felt a little less precarious. "Hiding, are you?"
"No." A smile crinkled his face in the patterns she loved. "Waiting for you."
"What are you, psychic?" She took back the smoothie, wondering what the tell had been. It never took much.
"You come here to think." He slid her fingers into his, swiping half her bagel in the process. "And ever since you got back from hanging out with Lauren this morning, you've been one big ball of think needing to happen."
For Daniel, everything in life made more sense in ball form. "I went to visit Jacob, the autistic boy she's been working with."
"Ah."
Her husband had thus far been very silent on the subject of one Beth Landler. "I haven't done very well with Beth so far. I was hoping that learning a bit more about what it's like to live with an autistic brain might help."
"Hmm. Interesting." Daniel munched on her bagel for a minute. "Did it?"
"Yeah." And it was still rocking her mama heart. "Lauren piped me into Jacob's head for a bit."
Sympathy spiked in her husband's eyes. "What was that like?"
She took a deep breath. The whirling, chaotic jungle of the small boy's brain would haunt her for a very long time. "It's kind of like trying to code while watching gaming live on five different screens."
"We do that all the time."
"Not when it really matters." She'd get her pants beat trying to seriously game that way. "His mom walked in while he was playing with his blocks. And there was all this stuff flying in his head - colors, sounds I couldn't even hear, gravity tugging on each of his fingers, the seams in his socks. I don't know how he even noticed her."
"But he did."
He had. This time. "Lauren says sometimes he doesn't."
"Ooph." Daniel's fingers clutched hers reflexively. "That must be awful."
"His mom loves him so much." She'd felt it - huge, deep oceans' worth. "And some days, even that isn't enough to get through."
Her husband laid his head back, pain tracking in his eyes. "Tab and Lauren do really important work."
They did. And she was pretty sure a perhaps-not-very-useful fire witch was going to be visiting the Center again soon, even if all she could do to help was clean up blocks. "Sometimes, I look at Aervyn and think we have the hardest job in the world." She looked at her husband, tears threatening to spill over. "We don't."
Daniel didn't speak. He just tugged her into his lap.
Exactly like Jacob's mama had done. "I don't know how he opens his eyes in the morning." And yet he did. And he was learning. Talking. Playing sweet, giggly games with people he clearly loved.
Her husband's voice rumbled beside her ear. "He sounds brave."
Yes. The distinction between fragile and different was blindingly clear to her now. "To him, it's normal."
"Mmm. A little bit like a small boy who likes fire trucks and teleporting and mostly ignores his hearing aids."
Yes. And no. Nell tried to follow the thread that had been tangling her up for hours. "Kind of, but Aervyn's different. It's sort of like game points. Most people have a certain amount. With hard work, you can get more, but they're still limited."
Daniel chuckled. "Some of us aren't fond of limitations."
How well she knew - but very few people had her husband's gaming skills. "If you use too many of your game points on your wardrobe or fancy buildings, you don't have enough left for weapons."