Starling counted, quite obsessively, many nights since the day she made peace with his presence. Then one evening, she fell asleep quite early, her head just barely touching the soft cotton of the pillow and her eyes closed without her permission. She slept deeply, soundly. Her slumber was often devoid of dreams, up rise from her subconscious suppressed with some of the most profound denial and freakishly controlling techniques known to mankind. The portion of her body still untouched by the guilt and pain that she simply could not begin dealing with couldn't bear to have such an onslaught on its peace, its supposed tranquility built upon the very foundation of hiding, the exact opposite of her headstrong no-nonsense character.

So unsurprisingly, that night she slept.

But peculiarly enough, as she slipped gently into the realms of absurd reveries and mournful traps, it played like a film, only without the grain, without the script, and though she hadn't recalled memorizing anything, she knew exactly what to say.

In a world where anarchists sip the finest champagne and the nobles still find themselves tortured by burning wounds festering from a long lost love's searing bite, whether or not one is truly of patrician blood fades out of context, and out of mind.

Once, she was a queen of justice, and wielded her royal staff with deadly certainty.

With no purpose left within her bones, she could only wish, subdue that wish, and walk on digesting the pain until it left her body. Whether that was soon, eventually, or perhaps never.

Immeasurable beauty. Slick hands, glistening with sweetened death, cold to the touch and bitter as last week's tragedy. He writhed with acid underneath his azure skin, but upon the surface his movements remained erratic, bulging eyes straining to take everything in.

Starling put a hand gently on his shoulder, and his fickle gaze settled upon her as if it was the first time he had even noticed she was there.

"Can't you relax?"

"This grass is itchy, and the damn yellow sky looks like it may rain sulfur. It's not safe Starling, we need to get out of here."

His paranoia surprisingly did nothing to rattle her. She remained strangely placid as she merely glanced into in the sky, remarking it's bizarre hue before turning to gaze back at him, eyes half lidded in a repose she could not even begin to describe.

"I think it's nice, weirdly enough." Starling said softly, voice tilting in mournful ease.

"To each their own." He retorted in bitterness, blackened nails scratching at his skin protectively.

"This is my dream." She said, glaring pointedly at him. Suddenly his eyes widened, as if he couldn't believe what she had just uttered.

He stuttered, surprised. "What did you say?"

"I said this is my dream, and what I say goes. I say this place is nice, therefore you should feel nice."

Stork stared for a long time, blank, emotionless, as if she spoke a different language. "You're not supposed to like it here. Not just yet. It's empty right now."

"You're saying you know where we are?" Starling asked, doubtful.

"No, but I will, and so will you."

"...You know, having you throw this cryptic nonsense in my face while I'm lucidly dreaming really doesn't help my sanity."

He smiled, his elongated face split in half by a strange demure glint. "Would you have it any other way?"

She stared at him for a moment, which could have been four hours in the real world, then turned away, shrugging.

Starling's beryl eyes revealed themselves slowly, squinting in slits as the light from her lamp untouched from the evening before shined into her dilated pupils. It was early morning, very early, and even the ship in all of it's noisy regularity seemed to quiet itself out of reverence in the moments darkest before the dawn. She stared at her ceiling, the lamp still shining brightly and reflecting eerily in the glass of her window leading outside to the endless sea of clouds. The scenes of her dream played over and over behind her eyelids each time she blinked, trying to decipher the nuances of his movements, the inflections of his words, her words, and just why on earth she seemed so comfortable around him within her own mind rather than reality. Even more perplexing, why was she dreaming of him in the first place? The fact initially made her sick to her stomach, mostly because the thought of Stork ever finding out such humiliating information infected her brain like a tiny conniving virus.

Give me a break.

She swiped her brow in frustration, taking a long deep breath inward to nourish starving lungs. She had given up trying to dissect why she felt this way toward the Merb, why this and why that. The fact of the matter was that she did feel this way, and she was driving herself mad by running in circles in an ocean of unanswered questions. The truth was, she could simply deal with the problem at hand. Or...or was it even a problem? What if it wasn't an obstacle? Rerouting her mode of thinking, she began to think about him in the most unbiased way she possibly could. His awful posture curved what would have been an even gawkier body, so perhaps he was agile, perhaps even durable. Hands twice as big as her own and three times as thick, they really did have a forte for picking apart any breed of mechanics, like a masterful surgeon in fact. His sense of humor, when peeled of its annoying layer of endless retaliation, had a dry witticism that she would not have minded during any other occasion. And she...supposed it was amusing how he was a walking contradiction, both urbane in his own right and an undiscovered clown caked to a near death experience with his own lethal paranoia. Her thoughts flicked back to her bizarre dream, remembering the scene that kept appearing behind her eyelids of the two of them sitting together like they had been inseparable companions for ages. As strained as it felt in the real world, it felt so natural being with him like she was, sitting beneath an orange sorbet sky filling the stifling air with endless quips. Even as she thought back to each of their interactions in the past, it wasn't as if their rare time together was truly that contrived.

The seconds ticked away steadily while the sun rose regally in the distance, and Starling kept entertaining the possibility of making the experience in her dream a reality. It was a very weird thing to notice really; the more she thought about him, the less foreign and freakish he seemed to her. In fact, in a way he was oddly fascinating. She had always been somewhat of an old fashioned woman, never straying too much from the beaten path, because there must be a good reason why traditional methods were used so much. In this case, she began wondering if such an approach was the right one. And though she would have loved to cling like a desperate baby to the confines of dead set ways, if there was one thing she learned being with the Storm Hawks, it was that sometimes the correct way is the most different.

Resting her head on folded arms, Starling smiled. Suddenly she didn't feel so uncomfortable anymore.

~ o ~

Being someone of a marginal need for rest, Starling found she could not get back to sleep, especially after such profound contemplation of her place on the Condor, as well as what sort of comrade she should strive to be for every member of her squadron. When the light settled upon the sky and ship in a sufficient position of illumination, the very sign the planet needed to properly begin its day, she got up and dressed in her casual uniform devoid of the armor she almost always wore even off the battlefield. She felt anxious, but it was a welcomed sensation coursing in surging bouts throughout her nerves. It made her feel alive and invigorated, the refreshing emotion giving her what she needed from now on. She didn't necessarily have a premeditated plan for what she would do the next time she saw him, but such unpreparedness didn't give her the licks of disgust that it once did.

She stepped carefully along the titanium floor and listened as various members of her squadron climbed through the ship's pipes setting their search for loose crystal inhibitors that had been slackened over the months ('and they're just fixing them now?' she thought with a wry smile). The open skies called for her, reconnaissance beyond their ship needed though not desperately, the truth remained that ever since she lost her first squadron, being a loner in the skies felt so much better, because if someone shot at her, only she and not her comrades would fall into the wastelands. Such a morbid thought, but she stuck to it just like all of her other archaic ways that were worthy of being laughed at, but in the end they were worth keeping close to her heart. As she made her way into the hanger, her heart skipped a beat as she saw Stork trying to wrench something out of his mobile. Sweat clung to his brow and his biceps pulsed as the stress of whatever he was trying to dislodge took its toll on his muscles. She wondered how long it would take for him to notice her presence, but a quick glance and a sputtered request for assistance snapped her out of her dream of spying on him while no one else was around as revenge for seeing her in her underwear.

"Hey, can you give me a hand with this?" Stork called out to her, his voice strangled.

Starling tilted her head for but a moment, wondering what on earth he was trying to displace on his ride. She then walked over with brusque steps, not saying a word to his request, taking a deep breath and gripping the seat of the mobile, dangerously aware of how their arms and hands were nearly touching. And how ridiculously clammy his skin felt even inches away from direct contact. Together they heaved and the seat broke lose, sending them flying backwards and onto the floor, where they became somewhat embroiled with Starling's leg brushing against his three toes and his hand dangerously close to her lilliputian bosoms. Before she could disentangle herself, Stork, who seemed oblivious to their precarious position immediately rose, feigning his focus on his mobile but she could see the faintest tint of forest green gracing his cheeks. The scene was nearly laughable, and she almost forgave him for unintentionally copping a feel.

"Ah HA!" He cried, awkwardly stepping over to view the compartment beneath his seat. "The eject function was screwed up for ages, and I found the culprit!" He said, a slightly crazed triumphant gleam in his eye as he immediately dove down into the mechanics arm first, pulling out the tiniest bent screw from the depths of his machine. Simply throwing it behind him, she heard it clink as it hit the floor, and she couldn't help but smile gently. Mechanics were always the unstable ones, she thought fondly, a memory of her own squadron caressing her frontal lobe for but an instant.

"All that because of a bent screw?" Starling challenged. "Perhaps you're not as good of a mechanic as everyone says you are." She smirked.

That actually seemed to offend him. He glared at her, picking up a wrench and pointing it at her as a teacher with a ruler would do to misbehaving child. "You're new, so I'll let that slide."

Starling didn't want to stop though. This was the first time she had ever spent so much time in his general vicinity without feeling like she was about to vomit from anxiety. She wanted more of his derisive tone, more of his personality to bleed through his xanthous eyes and awkward posture. "If it was in there in the first place, perhaps old age of the machine isn't the one to blame."

"Hey." He said, this time shaking his fist at her. "Don't make me read you some of my suicide inducing poetry."

In good nature and intentions, Starling could not help it. She laughed, truly laughed at such a hilarious threat, and before she could staunch it so it died away in her throat, Stork smirked.

"I knew it." He said in an almost whimsical fashion. "You're all bark and no bite."

"Oh? You're sure about that?" She said, her voice still heartily amused, but this time it adopted an almost lethal edge in its tenors.

"Not completely, but this is one of my few hunches that isn't caused by paranoia." He said with a crooked smile cut in half by the mantle of his greasy hair. "That has to count for something."

"It doesn't count for anything, Stork." Starling replied, voice turning icy. "You know nothing about me and you never will."

"Not true." He said, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his index finger. "I know that you prefer being alone, that you hate doing dishes, that you despise potty humor, and last but not least..."

He waved his wrench tauntingly in her face. "You're afraid of me."

"No." She retorted, lips pursing. She didn't like being made fun of.

"Admit it."

"NO!" And without thinking, she pushed him, and amazingly he barely lost any of his balance.

"Oh C'MON, that's just not fair!" He said, rubbing his chest where her painful shove made impact.

Starling outreached her hand and made a come hither motion. "I think it's perfectly fair. Why don't you show me that you're just as strong in your fists as you are with your runaway mouth?"

Stork rubbed his temples. "Women are insane..."

"We may be, but we also kick more arse."

She leaped at him, her dainty but powerful fist aiming for his face. Stork moved aside, his body so strangely curved that she was amazed he could incorporate such agility into what she thought were spindly limbs. As Stork whirled around and attempted to subdue her, she plunged her elbow into his ribcage, using the momentary pause of his pain to slam him against the wall. They both breathed heavily, Stork still twitching over the pain spreading like lightning bolts from the spot where she had elbowed him ruthlessly.

"I've finally got you." Starling said, suddenly noticing how much taller he was than her when he straightened his posture.

And in that moment, he surprised her, grabbing her arms with both hands and switching their positions. Starling gasped as her bath made impact with the wall, and then she was left to stare up into the face of a strained and rather confused Stork. They stared at each other for a few pregnant pauses, breathing heavily and watching as the sweat ran from both their temples.

"Everyone underestimates me. Even you." Stork said, labored breath falling from between his thin pasty lips.

"Yes...I did." She said, and she was unable to look him straight in the eye. She had lost.

"It's funny." He said, shaking his head as though he had trouble believing what had just happened. "You're the weirdest person I've ever met. And coming from me that's saying something."

Unable to control herself once again, she laughed. This whole business was so foolish and childish, that she could not help but laugh, which was finally a truly lyrical sound as she was amazed how her stress melted away from being at his mercy. He wouldn't hurt her. He was a Storm Hawk, and no matter how ghoulish his interests were, he never harmed the innocent.

Though I can't exactly be called innocent.

A thought pulsed through her disquieted mind, something that would truly shock and abhor him, herself included. But in an instant she went for it, going back years into the past to a time when she was just a girl longing for justice, longing for something more than her impoverished existence, a time when impulsive behavior threw food for thought to the wind and the elixir for rationality down the drain. His eyes widened as she leaned her head forward, her own colorless lips, thin and gentle though chapped from neglect, pressed against his own. It didn't last long though, because Stork retreated backward, though not freeing her from her spot against the wall.

"Woa, WOA. Time OUT."

"What, too afraid to handle something as simple as a kiss?" Starling said, hiding her disappointment behind a veil of false bravado.

"How can you say that it's simple? I thought you hated me!"

"You fascinated me, that's all." She said simply, still burned from his initial rejection. She had thought it was meant to frighten him away, so why was she suddenly so hurt from his reaction?

"Women really are insane..."

"Personally I've grown to like these stupid games we play."

Stork said nothing to that, just stared everywhere but at her expression, eyes darting in all directions as though there was a typewriter in his mind trying to catch up to his thoughts to document them correctly.

"...If I kiss you, will you act normal for once?" He asked, eyes finally settling upon her and narrowing in consideration

"Are you sure you want to? Who knows what sorts of things I could be carrying. The possibilities, the risks." Starling said, squeezing one last bit of amusement out of the predicament before things turned serious and strange and inexorable.

"You're sick." Stork said, one of his faint brows quirking just slightly.

"And you're gullible."

So she leaned forward again, knowing that the 'stupid games they played' would soon no longer be filled with childish mirth. Their lips met, pressing against one another in an awkward display of a strange and bizarre truce conducted between both their puerile flaws. Starling had always been a mature woman, forever a mother hen whose stern and loving quintessence could handle anything. They pulled away, neither looking at the other, just lost in the haze of confusion and an unforgiving obscure feeling of inglorious misplacement.

"I..." Stork started.

"You..." She said, cutting herself off once she realized that neither of them had anything to say about what had just occurred.

And so she chose not to say anything at all. Firmly she pushed Stork's arms that had earlier pushed her against the wall away from her, and she left the hanger, hyperventilating as she frantically ran for her room. When she got there, she shut the door, locked it, and stood in the center of her room, heaving for several long minutes before her brain was finally able to properly evaluate what had just happened. She stayed there, standing, staring aimlessly for a long, long time. The sun's position had moved. Her name was called several times for assistance, but she dared not go outside the sanctity of her room again until she had some time to think. What was wrong with her? She had no right, and before then, no desire to anything like that with the Merb, and yet as they scuffled with their conversation wrought with challenging mockery, she felt shaky and uncouth with the knowledge that she now knew just how clammy a Merb's lips were. Her trance slowly receding like an ebbing tide against the shore of a black sand beach, she turned her head to the side, eying her bed, and like a zombie she sat on the edge.

The tussling sound of paper against steel reached her ears before she saw a familiarly folded piece of paper slip under her door. The seconds were long and tedious as she waited to retrieve it, knowing exactly who it was from and didn't know whether she wanted to read it. And yet, knowing that he had written her so soon, her body that felt like it had risen from the dead sparked and crackled with appreciative exhilaration. Unfolding it carefully, his handwriting was even more illegible than before, most likely due to the bizarre nature of their last encounter.

- I didn't mean to scare you away. I've never done this sort of thing, and frankly the fact that it was you kind of weirds me out. I'm not saying you're undesirable or anything (actually...heh, quite the opposite),but it seems you truly gained a step ahead of me. Congratulations.

Stork. -

Did she really do it just to catch him off guard? She wasn't so sure. So she tore away another piece of parchment and replied. Things were different now, change once again glaring her in the eye. She wasn't fond of change, and yet she instigated it. The irony was lethal.

~ I didn't only do it to scare you. Just give me some time. I need to think.

Starling. ~

She slipped it under her door, knowing he was nearby, watching, waiting just like she was, so she had no reservations about the risks of anyone else taking the letter and using it to exploit her through immature songs about kissing and tree houses.

Eventually the answers will come. I just have to be patient.