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Mealtimes were awkward affairs at camp, for Laney. Breakfast was never so bad -- some people grabbed food from the mess tent to take with them, and others skipped it entirely, so there was no real drive for people to sit and break bread together -- likewise lunch. Dinner, though, was more of a community affair: people often ate in shifts, and they often ate together. Sharing a hot meal was comforting, and moreso with friends. It was a time to laugh and relax and allow yourself to take a break from your duties without guilt.

Or, if you were Laney, it was a time to sit in your tent with a can of Slim-Fast and try to choke back a reasonable amount of nutrition, if you even bothered. She didn't like sitting in the mess for meals. It looked funny, and she had to tilt her head all the way back to swallow, and there was no way to hide her face, the horrible macabre smile that Labyrinthite had given her.

Everyone had scars, she knew. Some of them were heavily disfiguring, and not as easily covered as hers. It didn't make her much less self-conscious about them. Laney could always feel someone or another, staring and wondering.

The arrival of the little manx cat at her tent, then, was met with mixed emotions. She loved *********, and was always happy to see her, if disheartened that one of her favorite Mauvians had lost her little Pillsbury doughbelly -- but the reminder that other people were eyeing her diet tended to kill her appetite despite the burbling acidic protests of her empty stomach.

Rising from where she'd been sprawled out on her air mattress, she pulled her kerchief back up and unzipped a tent flap to let ********* in, closing it again behind her.

She waved a greeting, then gestured for the Mauvian to take a seat wherever she liked.

Laney didn't mind ********* making herself home at all. Her air mattress was one of her most precious possessions, and she was scrupulously careful about making sure it didn't get punctured by errant little cat claws by keeping it covered in a few layers of cloth at all times, but ********* was one of a few Mauvians that was always welcome to share her space while she slept. She was a friend, and in the cold winter months, a potential ball of warmth.

Better than yesterday, she signed. Better than they say the North Fork cave's doing with that strange diphtheria outbreak. Herger and I are doing a supply run tomorrow morning for antitoxin. The whole thing is a mess. How was your day?

It wasn't entirely a cruel question -- and Laney knew ********* hadn't meant it that way. There were actually some taste buds in the throat, she'd learned. And she still had the very back of her tongue; there was a little cluster of fungiform papillae back there where she could vaguely taste things as they went by. So it wasn't entirely an off-base inquiry. It was just, even if she had been able to taste things more than residually, she couldn't necessarily taste them well enough to have a preference between Slim-Fasts.

I was going to go for the white one, she signed drily. Apparently they're calling it Vanilla.

In all these years, the sight of a cute cat doing cute cat things had not quite lost the power to make Laney smile. The expression wasn't much to look at anymore, but in response to ********* playful roll off the bed and perfect cat landing, she pulled down her kerchief and let her tiny friend see it anyway. Mostly she kept her face hidden -- but she had her exceptions.

I can't tell the difference either, she agreed.

********* was rolling one of the cans in her direction. Her once-plush haunches had gone so lean underneath her gray fur.

Laney stared down the Slim-Fast once it lay next to her foot. I'm not that hungry, she signed. I might just have a little and save the rest for later. She hoped that would be enough to satisfy the Mauvian.

Any news from Iris? she asked, before picking the can up and cracking it open.

Laney shifted slightly so she could make a better seat for the tiny Manx cat in her lap, then raised an arm to let ********* climb aboard. She settled her free hand loosely in ********* soft fur as the Mauvian spoke, petting her soothingly.

It wasn't a bad place to have ********* -- with the cat in her lap, she could take swigs from the can, then do the awkward back-head-tilt that she needed to get the fluid to the back of her throat to try and swallow properly -- and she could do it all without being too closely observed. She coughed -- she always did, at least a little -- and swiped at her mouth with her shirtsleeve.

********* fur really had gotten thinner. It was depressing to think about. She was already so tiny, and...

It didn't bear thinking about. ********* would always be here. Curled in her lap, or cajoling her about meals, just like this. Surely.

With ********* in her lap, it wasn't practical to sign things at her -- reading them backwards and inverted would be hard, she was sure. Instead, Laney picked up a pen and paper from her card table and started writing.

Some people have trouble talking to the people they love most. Iris will come around someday, you'll see. Till then, we just have to do our best for her, so she knows she always has a home to come back to, right?

********* got up, leaving a little chilly spot in Laney's lap.

She thought about all the people she loved and the wounds she carried for loving them: the ones who'd turned her aside; the ones in pain, who suffered constantly, that she couldn't heal; the ones she loved, who'd never returned her feelings the same way; the ones who'd died, leaving her behind to miss them.

The heart doesn't heal, she signed. Not the way other organs do. But it goes on beating.

Pain cuts into happiness, not love.

However far Sailor Iris had drifted from all of them -- however remote she'd set the island of her heart -- Laney still believed she loved *********. She had to. Gruff as Iris could be, they'd always been a team, always been partners.

Laney knew what it was like to be pushed away by the person you loved most. She knew that some people tried to protect their loved ones by breaking ties with them and withdrawing. She'd been on the receiving end of that kind of care.

She feared it was crushing the little Mauvian just as it had once crushed her.

A feast, she promised, opening up her storage tub to fish out the items she'd bartered for earlier in the day. Today was a good supply day.

Laney produced a small can of tuna and an even smaller piece of cornbread, wrapped in a cloth napkin. Not quite cake, but --

Will this do?, she asked, checking before opening the tuna.

Laney smiled and upended the can onto a plate -- she didn't want ********* cutting herself on any sharp edges or pushing the can along the ground needlessly to get to its contents. Then she unwrapped the little heel of cornbread and set it alongside, like a tiny dessert.

She set down the little meal with a nonchalant enh! sounding noise and a close-mouthed smile, to show what she felt about any accusations that it was possible to spoil ********* with food.

The little Mauvian was frequently the best company Laney had. She felt a little guilty profiting from Iris's absence, but so many people seemed to have close companions they could turn to for comfort when they were feeling down. Tara wasn't herself half the time, and hardly in a position to bolster Laney's spirits. *********, though, was a reliable presence. Laney would've fed her all the puddings and fishcakes of the world, if she could.