It looked like she’d stopped halfway through, and given the time, he wondered if she’d gone down to the kitchen in search of something to eat.
His own painting also sat half finished, he’d abandoned it rather abruptly when he’d gotten a text from Steel telling him to drop everything and come to the study.
They had an identity.
The DNA samples they’d provided to Prey had wound up leading them to the case of a fourteen-year-old girl who had been abducted one day while at the mall with her friends. Maya Newell had been missing for thirteen years. She had parents who had never given up on her, and two brothers, one older and one younger, who were both married now with children of their own. Nieces and nephews she’d never been given a chance to meet.
Knowing her name when she hadn't told it to him felt wrong somehow, but Thunder knew they needed the intel to help her heal and feel safe. It was clear since she hadn't told them her name willingly, and he knew she was perfectly capable of writing it down if she’d wanted him to know it, that she wasn't ready to face her family yet.
Part of him was glad about that, although he knew it made him selfish.
Maybe she wasn't ready to seek comfort from her own family, but she was getting more and more comfortable seeking it from him.
Since no one had let him know that Maya was already in the kitchen, which was where everybody had headed after their meeting, he assumed she’d already eaten and maybe retired to her room to take a nap. Slowly, she was starting to recover physically. He was sure that eating regular meals for the last few days helped to fill her out, and while she was still very pale, her skin was getting more of a natural sheen, but she still tired easily.
As he headed to her bedroom, Thunder tried to decide if he should let her know that they knew who she was. He didn't want her to feel as though they’d broken her trust in going behind her back, but he also didn't want to lie to her. Surely, she would understand that they had done the same thing they would do for any other unidentified victim they’d rescued.
Well, that wasn't entirely true.
If Maya was anyone other than a victim of Dr. Gardner, she would never have been brought there. This place was Delta Team’s sanctuary, and they didn't allow just anyone in.
Only Maya wasn't anyone. She was …
Thunder didn't know how to describe what she was to him, but she was something. She was important. She felt like home in a way that nothing in his life ever had. His life before the military hadn't been good. He’d had a dad with anger management problems who took out his rage on his wife, who took out her helpless frustration on him. His fists had been the answer to every problem back then, because violence as a solution was all that had been modelled for him.
That lesson had never completely been unlearned. Because just years after joining the military, he signed up for the experimental drug program, spurred on by a desire to become more than his past, better than his parents. But that program had only led him to become convinced he was a monster just like his father had been.
It was only in these last few months, as he and his team began to accept that Dr. Gardner had never made them into monsters, that he realized he was his own person. His parents and his past no longer had the same power over him, and with Maya around, he felt this need to prove he was a better man than his father had been. He had learned that using his fists wasn't the solution to every problem.
Still unsure on the best plan of action, Thunder decided he’d wing it and take his lead from whatever vibes Maya was giving off. As he reached her room, he couldn’t not smile when he saw her curled up in the armchair by the window. She seemed to be lost in thought, staring out at the forest, because she didn't turn when he propped his shoulder up against the door jamb.
“Have you eaten lunch already?” he asked when she still didn't seem to register his presence.
No answer.
“Thought maybe we could eat if you haven’t, then take our easels outside, do some painting out in the forest, it’s a beautiful afternoon.” The first hints of spring were starting to creep into the air, although he knew more snow would come before spring officially arrived.
Still no answer.
Something felt wrong. Something was off with her.
Guilt prickled at him because he knew he was keeping a secret from her. Already, he’d been unsure whether to let her know he knew her name, now, he was simultaneously more confused and more guilty.
“Babydoll, everything okay?” he asked as he stepped further into her room. In the reflection in the window, he saw her gaze shift to his reflection, but she didn't turn her head, or respond to his question.
There was no doubt something was going on, but he didn't know if he should push her or give her a little space.
Actually, he did know. He had to ask her what she wanted. One thing he’d assured her of was that she was in control of herself while in this home. She was no longer a prisoner, and if she wanted space, then she would get it.
“What do you need, babydoll? Do you want me to sit with you?”
When she still didn't answer, he had to fight against the urge to go to her, haul her into his arms. Pull out his penis if that was what she needed. Although it seemed she only needed that when she was panicked. Now she was subdued, clearly upset, but she made no move to reach for him.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, praying that once again she didn't answer.
No answer meant he was staying right where he was, even if she didn't want to hear him talk.
But this time she gave a single nod.
