Page 20 of Monsters and Mocha

She looped the stethoscope over her neck again. “I think you’re a little too big to be pocket-sized.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I actually don’t.” Her expression was frank. “I understand that it’s an adjustment, that your body will work a little differently than before. But it’s still your body, and you’re still you. Your soul and your mind haven’t changed a bit, and—most importantly—you’re alive.”

Fitz scoffed, “I’m more metal than man.”

“Not true. Given the weight of your remaining body and comparing it to the weight of your new limbs, I would say you’re at least twice the amount of man than metal.”

Her voice was still infuriatingly cheerful and upbeat, completely unfazed by his persistent arguing. Even more annoying, the longer he listened to her, the more Fitz found himself wanting to believe her. Wanting to believe that, despite how foreign and strange his body now felt, he was still the same man as before.

Wanting to believe that he wasn’t a monster.

With a rustling of feathers, Raven flew over and landed on his left shoulder, talons making little metallic clinks against the metal. He bobbed his head. “Make it work.”

“An excellent idea, Raven,” Darby chuckled. She gestured to Fitz’s arm. “While you’re sitting, we might as well test your arm. Can you stretch it out?”

Fitz pressed his lips together in concentration as he focused on following her directions, lifting and twisting and bending his arm through as full a range of motion as he could. It was still odd, to see his arm moving, to know that he was the one directing the motion, and yet to be unable to feel any sensation from that part of his body. Darby seemed to be satisfied with her handiwork, smiling and offering him encouragement the whole time.

“Alright, now we come to the tricky bit.” She grabbed his wrist. “I want you to open and close your hand.”

The fingers only bent halfway. “I can’t.”

“Hmm.” Darby bent over his hand. “I think I might need to loosen some of these screws. Hold on a minute.”

She hopped to her feet with surprising energy and started searching her shelves, muttering under her breath as she shifted and moved more and more things around, obviously unable to find what she was seeking. She turned and glared in his direction with a hand on her hip. “Did you hide my papers again?”

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking to the bird still perched on his shoulder.

“Raven!” she repeated, a little more forcefully. “Where are my papers?”

The caw with which Raven answered sounded almost like a laugh. “It’s mine. Good Raven.”

“No! Bad Raven! Where are they?”

The bird snapped his beak at her. “Make it work.”

With a frustrated huff, Darby threw her hands in the air. “Fine, I will.” She shoved a few different turnscrews into the pocket of her coveralls before returning to her spot on the floor before him.

“Does he really understand everything you’re saying?” An amused smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, and, for the first time since the ambush, Fitz was starting to feel more like himself.

She grabbed his hand and a turnscrew no longer than her palm and talked while she worked. “I’m not sure if Raven actually comprehends everything that I’m saying, but he’s about as intelligent as a two-year-old. He understands basic commands and prompts—though whether or not he listens is an entirely different matter.” She grinned up at him ruefully. “He’s also as mischievous as a toddler, so you never know what he might be up to when he’s quiet. One day he stole all of my tools and lined them all up on the top shelf just far enough back that I had to go in search of a stool to reach them. It’s not the first time that I’ve had papers or projects go mysteriously missing for a while.”

“So you’re saying that sometimes he’s a rather fowl friend.”

Darby’s hands stilled. Her jaw dropped, then slowly spread into an elated smile. “Why, Fitz. You do have a sense of humor.”

He could feel the blush that must be coloring his face, and Fitz ducked his chin, unable to look into her sparkling eyes any longer. “Sometimes.”

She chuckled as she resumed working. “I get funny looks from people when they learn that Raven is my friend, but it’s not nearly as bad as how they would react if he brought a whole group of his crow friends around here.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” she spoke slowly and dramatically as she lifted her head, “if he did, this place would be a murder scene.”

Fitz snorted a laugh. “How often do you get to make ‘murder of crows’ jokes?”

“Not nearly often enough. Alright.” She pocketed the turnscrew. “I think I made the necessary adjustments. I want you to try squeezing my hand.”