incomingchoppers | IC INBOX

She won't push back on the idea of home more than she has to. Her own feelings on the subject are buried deep, deep, and if she thinks too hard there's a risk they'll float up into Radar's perceptions. So instead, she takes the apple and does as he instructs, holding it out slowly. Careful, careful - and when Danforth does take it from her, she laughs at the feeling of it, watching him go for the treat with as much eagerness as she tends to attack a fresh made bun from Max.

"I like fruit too," she confesses to the horse, pulling her hand back when it's clear he doesn't need her to hold it anymore. "If I'd known, I would have brought some to share, and thereby win your favor that way."

If this is common, she'll bring some to the horses she's meant to drive. An offering, in hopes of a decent event. And it's sweet, this moment, almost too sweet, enough to make the bile rise in the back of her throat and be swallowed, because to give any quarter to what's in her head is to make it known, and her present company doesn't need that. So she folds it into the smallest form she can, holds it down, the way she does around Valdis. It can rage all it likes later, if she's allowed a peaceful moment now.

He hears her laughter like birdsong above the nervous electrical hum; hears something else flicker, and be shoved away before it becomes truly audible, like the distant grumble of a jeep passing by. Radar couldn't chase after it even if he wanted to. He doesn't know how, and might not ever learn.

Besides, knowing what he knows about Fever, he doesn't want to hear it. If it's another one of those awful thoughts she can't control, it's not gonna do anybody any good if he overhears. The way the thought goes small and quiet and too far away to pick up means she's probably doing that thing she's been doing all along: hiding it for Radar's benefit. Trying not to scare him.

It's a kindness, he figures. Not a trick.

"Most horses like that kind of stuff," he says. Danforth stretches his neck to try and lip Fever's shirt. "Apples, carrots, berries, sugar cubes -- oh, if you get peppermint sticks at Ambrose's shop I bet the horses you're working with'll love 'em. Here, I got the rest of the apple if you wanna give him more -- "

Danforth snorts and starts trying to nibble Radar's shirt instead.

Her shirt yields no apples, nothing suitable for a horse, but she's laughing anyway as he tries. Laughing, and keeping the thought in check, as surely as sitting on it might do.

"I'll make a stop just for their sake."

She likes Ambrose, anyway. What she's spoken to him about in the back, hot mug of tea and honey in her hand, remains quiet. The war's scars still linger, physical and mental, but coming on Degas's recommendation had opened a little door, offered yet another soul to talk to. And the results of his craft were superb.

"Here, give me that quick, before he starts eating you in protest-"

She has to save Radar from a stallion who thinks he's being held out on.

Radar's free hand scrambles through his pockets. Laughing harder as he tries to scold the horse, he tries, "Danforth, no, you gotta wait a second, that tickles -- "

Danforth blows another raspberry, unmoved by Radar's protests. Apples should never be subject to the whims of mere men! How dare you imply otherwise, good sir!!

"Here," and finally digging out the remaining three-fourths of the apple, he quickly passes it over to Fever.

The shhhk of Danforth's teeth crunching the apple heralds Radar's freedom, and Fever feels fine to reach out and stroke his mane again.

"What does he do around here? Aside from be a handsome beast?"

"Oh, he hauls stuff and he's good for riding." Gently, Radar rubs Danforth's velvety nose, then grins. "But being a handsome beast really is part of his job, too, on account of him bein' a stud horse. In fact he's already gonna be a dad next summer, aren't you, boy?"

Danforth, too busy finishing up his prize apple, does not deign to comment.

"...there's going to be a baby?"

Her mind can only picture Danforth but about a fifth of his actual size.

"Yeah." His smile grows. "Helga got pregnant a couple months ago, so the foal's gonna look a little like her too, but yeah -- they come out about this big," he gestures, right about at that one-fifth mark next to Danforth, "all ready to run and everything."

There's a question that comes to Fever's mind. Probably something Radar can hear easily, so simple and direct as it is, though she has to gear herself up to say it. But she will, almost shy about it.

"...when the baby is born, can I come see it?"

Just born, and ready to run. What a wonder.

Overhearing what she's gonna say, Radar starts, just before she does: "Yeah, of course you can come see it soon as it's born, I'll call you first thing. Helga'll probably be fussing for a while but it'll help if it meets a whole lotta new people early on. That way it's more used to 'em later."

When she's told, she'll find a way to make time. The idea fills her with the same wonder as knowing a chrysalis would hatch into a butterfly. She still would need to be so cautious - but looking would do no harm. New life.

"I'll bring something for her too, since she'll doubtlessly be exhausted after all her hard work. In your hands, she needn't fuss too much."

Her wonder washes over Radar like sunlight emerging from behind a cloud. It makes him grin all over again, delight shared at the prospect of more life coming into the world. Just like when the 4077th helped one of the local women through a birth and the baby crying was the sweetest sound Radar thought he'd ever heard.

"I hope so," he says. "She likes me well enough already that I don't think she'll mind me being around. And as soon as you give her a couple carrots and scratch that itchy spot she can never get on her neck, she'll love you too."

IC INBOX

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject