Pip's Ophidian Book 1: Beatlebug & The Provider

Chapter 8: Evasive Techniques

They managed to avoid capture for almost a week.

Pip kept wondering, sometimes at night, lying in the overheated tangle of blankets that was "the nest" if he should be doing something, something to mess that up, get them caught. He was pretty sure that so long as he was given time to explain, they wouldn't be harmed. He voiced this/thought this out loud on more than one occasion, and was always ignored at best.

Besides. It was oddly freeing, being their captive.

Very strangely home-like, being onboard this alien spacecraft with only one other human. He didn't have to regulate his reactions, because this was an emergency, an ongoing emergency. Also, none of them seemed to care if he flapped his hands or shook his legs or paced or even made the calming drone sound that had been very thoroughly trained out of him, back home.

If anything, they seemed more comfortable when he did those things. The feeling he projected when he contained this part of himself was uncomfortable to them; plus, he quickly learned, "lying" was neither acceptable nor understood.

The punishment for doing so, for not "acting out" when he felt the urge, was simply to have Jesse tell him he should just flap his hands. Which she did with exasperation, annoyance, and, eventually, what he felt clearly as affection.

It was amazing. It was freedom. It was terrifying, how quickly he felt comfortable here. The kitchen was an ancient mid century dealio that looked nothing like the modern sleek lines of the one in their family quarters aboard The Provider. It lacked the organic matter of Lil's plants, but it was overflowing with art, old children's drawings and then geometric trim stenciled by Jesse, as well as ornate scratches in concentrated bursts he realized when he rested his hand on one contained bundles of feeling, sometimes even whole small stories. He touched a low one and immediately was transfixed by a memory that was not his own: Jesse and Mel, the Ophidian only slightly taller than her in the memory, bolting around this very kitchen playing some game.

Even in these saved memories, Mel felt warm, and Pip felt... what? Not whole. He was whole. Found, though. As if he hadn't known this piece snapped into place against him.

Scary.

Terrifying, really.

Intoxicating.

He spent most of his time with Jesse by default. He'd quickly picked up on the psychic language, but Sharp was normally busy tracking and evading those that were trying to follow (Pip's family, he had to remember, that this is who he had to want to go back to), Pops seemed to spend most of his time in isolated corners of the ship (Jesse claimed that was on par for Yellows), and Mel seemed to, while simultaneously ensuring at all moments Pip had everything he needed, avoid him like the freaking plague.

At night, though, they all slept in the nest, together. Aside from the mysterious 'Jesus,' who slept in her own nest room, separate as spiritual leaders were supposed to be. He slept in a quiet corner where Jesse had joined him, it seemed at Mel's insistence. Far from the heater, where it was too hot for human comfort. Far from Mel and the egg, who rested just beside that heater every night.

Pip felt him there even from his far off place. Like a kite string, trying to wind him closer. More than once he woke up having rolled closer, body pointing towards Mel like a plant leaning towards an askew grow light. When he caught himself at it he'd quickly correct it. When Mel caught him, he stood up, moved away. Moved away.

Put up a wall between them, sometimes literally, going into the kitchen. Sometimes though, it was like Pip felt it, inside: a wall, solid between their minds, which–he never realized until said wall was up–were more than a little entangled.