Sitting up from another short, efficient rest, I pause.
…There it is again.
That familiar weight.
I glance down to find Sasha sprawled across me, her arm lazily draped over my torso, her breathing slow and even. Her head rests just beneath my collarbone, completely unguarded.
Humans.
…Strange creatures.
Carefully, I lift her—slowly, precisely—and place her back atop the bed so as not to interrupt her rest. She shifts slightly but does not wake.
I rise and move toward the cooking area.
The device used to preserve food—the 'fridge'—stands against the wall. Primitive in design, yet effective. Humanity compensates for its lack of biological advantages with tools.
Opening it, I retrieve a slab of raw meat, encased in a thin, transparent material.
I inspect it critically.
"…Preparation required."
The act of 'cooking' remains unfamiliar. Inefficient in some respects, yet humans insist upon it.
I turn—
—and pause.
My gaze shifts back toward the bed.
Then, after a brief moment, I walk back.
Extending a hand, I move to wake her—
—but before I can make contact, her hand shoots out, grasping my wrist.
It has no effect on my movement, of course.
Yet I stop.
"…Explain."
"Come back to bed…" she murmurs, one eye barely opening as she squints toward the glowing 'alarm clock.' "It's four in the morning, Thragg… ugh… I'm sure you can use a bit more rest as well…"
Normally, I would dismiss such a suggestion immediately.
Yet—
Something in me hesitates.
A strange, unfamiliar impulse.
Not command.
Not obedience.
…Consideration.
I frown.
Confusion threads through me.
Then—
I turn.
Return the slab of meat to the fridge.
And lay back down on the bed.
Sasha immediately reclaims her position atop me, settling against my chest as if this outcome had always been certain.
Her breathing evens out again.
I remain still.
Allowing rest to take me once more.
My final thought lingers.
…Did I just follow a human's directive?
—
Sitting beside Sasha within a 'church,' I find my expression fixed in a deep frown.
The structure itself is… peculiar.
High ceilings. Colored glass. Rows of humans seated in quiet formation. A symbol—a cross—displayed prominently at the front.
Humans sing.
In unison.
Their voices rise and fall with the accompaniment of instruments designed solely to produce 'music.'
It is… loud.
And unnecessary.
"Beings born of science and evolution seeking answers in faith," I mutter quietly.
Sasha nudges me.
"Hey. Be respectful," she whispers.
"I am observing," I reply.
"That sounded judgy."
"It was."
She sighs.
Figures at the front speak of a being called 'God.' Another named 'Jesus.' Concepts of forgiveness. Salvation. Love.
I listen.
Attempt to understand.
Fail.
"These humans place faith in an unseen entity," I say under my breath. "They attribute creation, purpose, and morality to it without empirical evidence."
"That's what faith is," Sasha whispers back. "You don't need proof."
"…That is illogical."
She gives me a small look.
"Not everything runs on logic, Thragg."
"…It should."
She smiles faintly.
"Yeah. You'd think."
A pause.
Then—
"I come here sometimes when things get… heavy," she admits quietly. "It helps."
"…How?"
"I don't know," she shrugs. "Feels like… I'm not alone, I guess."
I study her.
"…You are not."
She glances at me.
A small, surprised smile forms.
"…Yeah. I guess I'm not."
—
I remain seated for one hundred and sixty-five minutes.
Not because I value the experience.
But because Sasha does.
And that… matters.
—
As the service ends, I stand beside her, adjusting the restrictive collar of the 'suit' she insisted I wear.
Another instance.
Another compliance.
Displeasing.
And yet…
I follow.
Sasha moves to speak with the 'pastor,' a middle-aged man with a calm demeanor.
"Sasha, it's good to see you," he says warmly. "You've been away."
"Yeah, things have been… complicated," she replies.
His gaze shifts to me.
"And this is?"
"Thragg."
"…Just Thragg?"
"Yes."
The pastor nods slowly.
"Well, Thragg, you're welcome here anytime."
I study him.
"…You allow any individual into this establishment?"
"Everyone deserves a place," he answers simply.
"…Even those who have committed 'atrocities'?"
He meets my gaze.
"Yes."
…Fascinating.
Sasha gently pulls me away before I can continue.
"Okay, we're not unpacking your entire moral code in church," she mutters.
"…He invited it."
"Yeah, well, we're leaving it."
—
Returning to Sasha's living accommodations, I immediately remove the restrictive attire.
The moment the fabric leaves my body—
"Thragg!"
I turn.
Sasha stands there, eyes wide, face rapidly turning red.
"Don't just change in front of me!"
I tilt my head.
"I fail to see the issue."
That earns me a firm strike to the chest.
I do not react.
"It's not okay to just strip naked anywhere you want!"
she insists.
"…Why?"
Her face deepens in color.
"Because—it's—private!"
"Define 'private.'"
She groans.
"Things people don't want others seeing!"
"…We are not mates. Your physical form holds no relevance to me."
That does not help.
At all.
Her face is now intensely red.
A shift.
Immediate.
Noticeable.
My instincts trigger.
I move instantly.
Closing the distance, I pull her close, shielding her with my body, scanning the surroundings.
Threat?
Heat?
Toxins?
My muscles tense.
A low snarl begins to form. Fury I've kept buried since arriving here Returning in a surge
"Sarah," I say sharply, "your skin has altered
pigmentation. Are you overheating? Is there a hazard present?"
She struggles in my grip, hitting the side of my head repeatedly.
"Put me down! I'm not dying—I'm embarrassed!"
I freeze.
"…Explain."
She huffs as I release her.
"It's just—ugh—never mind!" she says, running a hand through her hair. "Yes, humans blush when they're embarrassed. Happy?"
"…Noted."
Her face slowly returns to normal.
Then—
She starts laughing.
Loudly.
"Wow… you were actually worried about me," she says between laughs. "I didn't know you could make that face."
"I do not feel worry."
She gives me a look.
Then laughs harder.
"Sure you don't."
—
Later—
We lie across the bed.
Sasha atop me, as usual.
A large bowl of 'popcorn' rests nearby.
I consume it methodically.
It is… unexpectedly acceptable.
She flips through channels on the TV.
"There's nothing good on," she groans.
The screen shifts.
A towering structure appears.
"What is this?" I ask. "A primitive communication tower?"
"It's the Eiffel Tower," she says. "It's a monument."
"…It serves no functional purpose?"
"Not really."
"Then why construct it?"
She pauses.
Then shrugs.
"Symbolism. History. Tourism. The French built it to commemorate the 100 year anniversary of their revolution or something
I consider this. A massive infrastructure built in memories of a major event. Like Lord Argalls statue
"A structure built to represent victory."
"Yeah… kinda."
Her eyes light up slightly.
"I've always wanted to see it in person."
She goes quiet for a moment.
"…Never could afford it though."
Then—
She looks at me.
Slowly.
"…Wait."
I already know where this is going.
"Thragg…"
"No."
"You can fly."
"No."
"Thragg."
"No."
"THRAGG—"
"…Very well."
—
Moments later—
We are airborne.
Sasha clings tightly to me, arms wrapped around my neck, her entire body pressed close.
Below us, Gotham fades rapidly.
Above us, the sky opens.
"Thragg… I trust you," she says suddenly.
I look at her.
…Trust.
A dangerous concept.
Yet—
"…Very well," I reply. "Provide direction."
"Since were in gotham france should be Northeast!"
I adjust.
Then accelerate.
At minimal output.
Still—
The world blurs.
The ocean stretches endlessly beneath us.
Sasha laughs.
"This is AWESOME!"
I wince slightly at the volume.
…but a small, involuntary smile twitches at the corner of my mouth—
—and disappears.
—
We arrive.
Hovering above the Eiffel Tower.
Sasha stares down, completely awestruck.
"Oh my god…"
Her grip tightens slightly.
"It's gorgeous…"
I observe the structure.
"…I see.
"It's almost unreal" she says softly.
I glance at her.
Then back at the tower.
"…It is… significant."
She leans her head slightly against me.
For a moment—
I say nothing.
My mind drifts.
Unbidden.
To memory.
Lucan.
Kregg.
Conversations long past.
The way their expressions shifted when speaking of their mates.
Not weakness.
Not distraction.
…Something else. Something I viewed as a poison. A weakness.
Something I dismissed.
Something I—
I cut the thought off.
Immediately.
"…We will return," I state.
"Already?" she pouts slightly.
"Yes."
"…Okay."
She doesn't argue.
—
The return is silent.
Faster.
More direct.
—
Moments later—
We stand once again within Sasha's apartment. We landed in an empty nearby alley and avoided any possible witnesses.
She steps back, still smiling faintly.
"…That was amazing."
I say nothing.
But I remain.
And for reasons I do not yet fully understand—
…I do not think I wish to leave.