This is my first Host fan fiction so cut me some slack. I'm not going to nail every chacter to a T that way Meyers job - who, by the way, owns all of this book , not me.

Summary: Wanda is still getting use to her new body. This one, unlike Melanie's, is soft, which makes it hard for her to do the work she use to - like work in the fields, ect. In her quest to prove herself, Ian is constantly worrying. Will she get hurt? What would happen if she did? Multiple POV's.

I really hope you enjoy this story. Sorry if the summary really turns you off, but I promise that this story will be good - I hope. Thanks for reading and have a great day!

Wanda's POV:

"Pet, time for dinner!" mother shouted, her voice echoing up the stairs.

I swiftly jumped off the top bunk, landing with a quiet thud. Mother said she was grilling chicken and had stayed up half the night making her famous mashed potatoes. My mouth watered just thinking about it. Not only was I looking forward to the incredible meal we were about to eat but also to what new I had to share. I was more than excited.

The kitchen was brightly lit with candles and oil lamps, since the house we were staying in was built back before us souls came to Earth, they had no electricity. Someone once told me that it was build in the 1800s, but I told them they were fallacious; nothing was alive then, it was took early for humans to be living. They even went as far as asking their teacher. "I don't need school," I told them, my nose high. "I'm seventeen."

Thankfully we had a mechanic soul to help us install a stove, some plumbing, and other necessities.

I took my place at our square table. "It's an antique," mother had told me once. I didn't know what an antique was, but I liked how it sounded on my tongue.

"Elbows off the table, Pet," mother chided. A shameful blush crept up my cheeks.

The chicken was pre-cut - mother was so efficient. She had said to me one time that if she didn't cut it herself she might as well count me as good as choking.

"Thank you, Mother! This looks wonderful." She accepted the compliment with a hushed 'thank you' and gently placed a piece of chicken on her tongue.

Even since Mother's host's husband died, Mother has been . . . depressed - that's the word. She rarely spoke anymore, knitted incessantly in complete silence. She once told me that she loathed knitting. Cooking was her only enjoyable pastime. It felt sad, because I couldn't do anything, because we never talked anymore, because she would stare at something for an unlimited amount of time, until her eyes glazed over. That was why I came up with my proposition.

"Mother?" I asked, mustering up a genuine smile.

She barely turned her head. I sighed.

"Mother, I was thinking of staying with Aunt Marian for a few weeks, is that alright?" I wanted her to say no, that I couldn't go because she didn't want me to leave her. I wanted her to beg for me to stay, stay with her, to take care of her. But instead I got the slightest nod.

My eyes started to sting.

Someone was shaking me.

"Wanda?" I heard someone whisper."Wanda, wake up. It's just a dream." Ian.

I groaned. Ian sounded relieved.

"Wanda, honey, are you alright?" Wet tears were sliding down my cheeks. I swiped them off, embarrassed.

Instead of answering, I curled up against his chest, wrapping my slight arms around his waist. I buried my blazing face in his neck, betting he could feel the warmth radiating from my cheeks.

"Morning," I mumbled into his shoulder.

He chuckled. My breath hitched. "Good morning, Wanda."

Oh, Ian. He is so sweet. How did I deserve someone like him? Even when he just said good morning, I swear my heart skipped a beat. The guilt of almost leaving him forever knotted in my stomach. How could I think to doing something so irrational?

He brushed a few strands of my golden curls out of my face, leaving his hand to linger on my pink cheek. I snuggled closer.

I almost jumped when he whispered right into my ear, "Will you tell my why you were crying?" My blush made a second appearance.

I pulled back so that I could look at his face - okay, his eyes. His ocean blue orbs as concerned as always. I kissed his nose.

"Just another memory about Pet's mother." The worry line between Ian's eyes thickened.

"Another one?" I had been remembering some of Pet's life for the past couple of days now. It was normal but Ian was still anxious.

"I told you it is very common to be remembering some of Pet's life - don't worry, even though you are very good at it." I rubbed the crease from his eyebrows with my index finger.

He nodded, faking the excuse I'd told me.

The stars were gone, replaced by the shining sun. I looked around the room thinking, "What a mess."

I had moved into Ian's room right after my reinsertion into Pet. Her body was awkward at first. I was use to Melanie - strong, tall, muscular. Pet was soft and small, delicate Jamie had put it once. We were sitting in the middle of Ian's - our - twin sized mattress. Normally that would be much too small for two people to sleep on, but since I was pocket-sized, it worked out perfectly.

"Time for work," I said, reaching for Ian's hand after standing up. I heard his mocking sigh.

"Do we have to?" He made me laugh, his sounding like a whiny toddler.

"Come on - get ready." I helped him up - not really, he was about twice my size and could eat me in one bit if he wanted to - and got ready for bread making.

I didn't want to make bread all day, what I really wanted to do was work in the fields and carry boxes that I could sleep inside of, but everyone - Ian - maked sure that I can't or don't. Maybe this body is fragile and delicate but if I ever want to work in the fields again - which I do - they - Ian - are going to have to start letting me try - or at least carry the gigantic boxes.

Ian kissed me full on the lips good-bye but pulled away too soon. I pouted.

"Oh, Wanda," he said, lifting my chin to look in his eyes, his deep blue eyes. He suddenly became serious like every time we were separated.

"Keep yourself safe, don't go wandering off somewhere and get hurt, please." He kissed the top of my head before heading toward his work.

The kitchen was sort of in the middle of everything, at least it was the place everyone came together - unless we were in the game room playing soccer or holding trial, which I was rarely invited to any more because of my 'lies'. I usually just told Jeb that the person was innocent no matter what. This was a house of humans and I was an intruding soul. I gave them every right to hate me.

Lily was waiting for me when I took my rightful place at the kitchen counter.

Poor Lily. She was still terribly torn over Wes's death just under a year ago. And I still felt horribly responsible. Lily was so sweet, telling me I was foolish to believe that I had any part in Wes's death, but deep down I knew she agreed with me. Her eyes were still sad, sometimes even red, tear marks distinguished simply on her dust covered cheeks.

"Morning, Wanda. How did you sleep?" Lily asked politely, grabbing some dough from underneath the counter top.

I shrugged,apathetic. The dreams weren't as important as Ian perceived them to be. "Fine, and you?"

She could detect my lie; she raised an accusing eyebrow but let it slide. "Suitably, thank you."

We kneaded the dough in silence, listening in on other peoples more fascinating topics, something we wouldn't have thought to talk about.

". . . They were shaking hands! I thought we were watching a show about wrestling, but the buggers weren't even fighting!" Brant was ranting.

And then I heard Sharon whisper to Maggie, ". . . Can't believe they have . . . Wanda working in the kitchen. What if she poisons the food." I shook my head in disbelief.

Still, after all this time, they still couldn't receive me as 'one of them'. Even as Melanie, their own family, they couldn't imagine me living in peace with them. Well, they kept their distance and I was glad to keep mine.

I was becoming restless after kneading bread for two hours, I wanted real work. Hard, invigorating work that left me completely exhausted at the end of the day. But, no, it was all about my safety. What about his safety? What would I do if something happened to Ian while he was working in the fields or on a raid or cleaning the mirrors in the central tunnel. What did he think I would do if he got hurt - or worse, died. I flinched. Did he think I would just get over him completely, move on. How naive! I could never move on if something ever separated Ian and me permanently.

Lunch was approaching and everyone from the field was congregating in the mess hall. When Ian walked through the door, I dropped my dough and ran into his arms. He held me protectively around the waist, spinning me in circles until my head reeled.

"How are you?" he asked anxiously, again.

I playfully slapped his chest. "Fine, fine. How are you? Working in the fields is a much more difficult job than kneading bread all day." I sighed.

"Hot and sweaty," he laughed. I smiled a big, pearly white grin.

We ate lunch together, my hand in his. I was in heaven. Meanie and Jared joined us shortly. Jamie even managed to squeeze onto the four seater bench. We were a family - all five of us - it was nice to have real people to trust. I had finally found where I belonged.

All too soon, Ian - with Melanie and Jared - had to go back to the field. I smiled, nodded, pretended to be okay with going back to my easy jobs of making bread and cleaning around the kitchen, but he saw right through me every time.

"I know you don't like working in there" - he jerked his thumb toward the kitchen - "but it's the safest place for someone of your stature."

I tried to come up with a plausible argument. "Is it? I mean, I could easily slip and hit my head on the oven, or maybe burn my hand, or even cut off a few fingers. The kitchen is a dangerous place."

He puckered his lips, and I hoped for the best. "You're right." I almost cried out with satisfaction, but then he added, "Maybe we should just store you in a box with packaging peanuts for the rest of your life; you couldn't be hurt then." He laughed at his own joke.

"Fine, fine," I huffed, sending him on his way.

Right after Ian left for the fields, Jeb came to me with a rag and a pail of water. It was kismet.

"Do you think you could help me with a chore, Wanda?" Jeb asked with a toothy grin.

I nodded a bit too enthusiastically.

"What are they making you do in there?" he joked. "Boil onions." I laughed with him. Whatever got me out of that kitchen into some real work, I was game.

"What chore, Jeb?" I wondered out loud as Jeb led me to the central tunnel. He rubbed his neck, habitually.

"I need ya to clean the mirrors for me, alright?" Yes, finally something my small body was good for: standing on a ladder, washing windows . . . Okay, so it was not ideal, but it was better than boiling onions.

"No problem," I said, my voice full of confidence. What's the worst that could happen? I took the rag from Jeb's open palm and started up the ladder.

Okay? So? Do you hate it? If you do, please tell me. I want to know if I should stop this story now, before I get too involved.

If you do like it, be warned that I have a ton of school work so it will take me a little time to update, but I won't give up on this story - don't worry.