Miles reads to Paige

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Set Tuesday, late afternoon. Paige isn't to have company, especially with her new husk, inside her room. But they never said anything about outside her room...


It was quiet in the medlab at this hour, and Miles stared ahead at the door at the other end of the room, clutching a book tightly to himself. A hand squeezed his shoulder gently and Miles looked up, hope and worry mingling in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The nod that answered Alison's question was instant, determination taking over in a heartbeat. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Miles started to walk down towards the door as Alison headed for one of the offices nearby, well within reach if need be.

Finally reaching the door he placed one hand on it, hesitantly. And after a long moment, finally turned around and leaned against it, sliding down to sit on the floor with his back against it. The book was opened and ruffling through the pages, Miles looked for where they'd left off last.

This time though, he would be doing the reading.

Inside, Paige jumped, eyes going wide, at the thump-drag that was Miles getting comfortable. She issued a typical warning, a low growl that sounded more like nails on a chalkboard, and waited for her attacker's approach.

But, none came.

Instead, a low humming sort of noise filled her ears. In confusion, she shook her head, seeing if that would loosen the sound, but it only paused for a moment before getting a little louder. Confused, Paige wrinkled her nose, giving a distressed whuffing noise, and clung to her bed, itching to go closer.

Concentrating on each word, the achievement of no longer tripping over any of them dimmed by the simple need to read things out as truly and precisely as possible. Trying to do that made listening for any sound on the other side of the door very hard, though Miles did try to do so now and again, leading to slight pauses in the reading, which was otherwise only broken by the sound of a page turning.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Paige slowly slid one long, near-black leg off the bed, toes making a soft clinking noise as they made contact with the tile. Balancing, she shifted her weight over before swiftly falling into a crouch, eyes shifting for any notice that someone might have heard her.

Leaving a trail of powder behind her, almost the same texture as graphite, Paige crept closer to the sound, picking up vowels now. She was convinced that no one had heard her, but still moved as silently as possible, pausing occasionally to listen again.

The little boy's voice wavered through to her as she paused, filtering through the door just enough for her to make out the words.

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real." "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

Miles took a deep breath at that, and unable to help it any longer, paused just long enough to listen, turning his head to rest his cheek on the door.

There was silence on both ends for a long, drawn out minute. Paige let her hand drop, which had out in front of her, fingertips reaching, stretching, towards the door. Not daring to move more than that, in case she scared the voice away again, she made the motions of licking her lips nervously, trying very hard to keep her breath even.

"Keep going," Paige said, more of a plea than an actual order.

Eyes widening a bit at the hoarse voice, the merest glimmers of Paigeness to them for him to recognize, Miles bent over the pages once more, reading on.

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Pausing once more, Miles turned to lean on his side against the door, one hand pressed against it. In the soft tones one used to confide the most important of secrets, he went on. Not reading from the book at all, this time.

"Paige is Real to Miles."

Laughing a little, not a laugh like at a joke, or like when you can't believe something, but just a pure laugh because she was happy, Paige found herself resting against the solid isolation door, tiny scratches in the metal where her cheek lay, or her shoulder blades met.

"Thank you, chickpea," she said gently, tired, always tired, but pleased. "Your reading has improved so much, Miles. I'm so proud of you. Could you read me a little more?"

He did.