Work Text:
During the three weeks she has known him, Roz has detected several patterns in Fink’s behavior. She has become accustomed to predicting his emotions by the position of his ears and the visibility of his teeth – this is vital for the success of her task, as she needs to know when he is being playful with Brightbill and when he is not. As a result, the number of times Brightbill has ended up in Fink’s mouth has dramatically decreased. She has also collected data on how he acts when he is hungry or tired or cold, as she has with Brightbill. To complete her task, she will need them both alive.
Another pattern she has picked up on, is the fact that Fink becomes noticeably more active when dusk falls. Ninety percent of playing occurs during this time. Ninety-six percent of hunting occurs slightly later than this time, as Fink usually only leaves to go hunting when he’s realized he cannot play with Brightbill without harming him. His own explanation for this behavior is that he needs a different way to burn off his energy.
This evening is another one of those evenings. Brightbill had invited Fink to play, and Fink had played a bit too roughly, pushing Brightbill over with his paw. His ears lay flat on his head at the startled sound Brightbill made – but he hadn’t bared his teeth, which would have indicated aggression – and he had left less than a minute afterwards.
He has not yet returned, which is unusual. Normally, Fink would return before the sun has fully set; Brightbill theorizes he likes to watch over him and Roz as they sleep, although they are both still gathering evidence to support that theory. Now, though, it is entirely dark outside and Fink has not yet come back. Brightbill insists on staying awake until he’s back. Roz finds herself postponing shutting down for the night as well, for the same reason. Brightbill busies himself with drawing on the ground as he waits – he is attempting to become as good at drawing as Roz is, even though he lacks the proper equipment for it.
Roz is distracted from watching him by a noise outside, and the next moment, Fink walks through the entrance of their home. Brightbill greets him cheerfully. Fink returns his greeting, his tone not matching the cadence Roz is familiar with. His ears are still lying flat on his head. He is lifting his left front paw off the ground.
“Good evening, Fink,” Roz greets him. “I am detecting an abnormality in your behavior.”
Fink freezes. “Huh?” he asks. “No, you’re not. No abnormalities here.”
“I am also detecting an abnormality,” Brightbill says. It is unclear whether he actually does or if he’s simply mimicking Roz.
Fink looks between the two of them. “Everything’s normal,” he says, tone rising. “How about we drop the subject and go to sleep?”
Roz tilts her head at him. Her programming tells her she should obey his request. She ignores that part of her programming.
“I am detecting an abnormality in your walking pattern,” she says, increasing the volume of her voice by three percent. “Please let me see what is causing it.”
“Leave it,” Fink starts, baring his teeth, but Roz has already reached out a long arm and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He snarls at her and scratches at her arm.
“Please hold still,” Roz tells him as he wriggles. “I am trying to scan you.”
He does not hold still, but she manages to complete the scan regardless. Fink growls at her the moment she sets him down. “I told you to leave it--”
“You have suffered a laceration to your left front paw,” she interrupts him. “You are experiencing minor bleeding.”
Brightbill turns to him with a worried expression on his face. Fink stares back at him, then sighs. “Well, you caught me,” he replies, scowling. “Can we leave it alone, now? I’d like to die in peace.”
“Die?” Brightbill asks, the worry on his face increasing.
“Yeah. That’s just how it works around here, kid, and you’d better get used to it as soon as possible. If you’re hurt, you’re dead.”
Roz observes him, observes his wide eyes and the tension in his brow. “You appear upset,” she says. “Is my observation correct?”
Fink bares his teeth again. “Of course I’m upset! I’m not going to be happy about--”
“I believe your emotional response was caused by a miscalculation on your part,” Roz says. “According to my own calculations, your chances of survival are between seventy and eighty-four percent.”
“Yeah, well,” Fink snarls, “I believe math has nothing to do with this at all.” He makes a frustrated noise. “Look, I just know. If you get hurt enough to bleed, you die. You just do.”
“Does your programming tell you that?” Roz asks. As she’s learned, programming can be incorrect.
“No,” Fink says, “my experience tells me that.”
“It seems highly improbable to me that you have experienced death before,” Roz replies.
“No, of course I haven’t, I meant--” Fink winces even though there is no reason to wince, then continues: “My mom. Okay? She got hurt, she knew she was going to die, and she never came back to her litter because the smell of her blood would’ve attracted predators which would’ve killed all of us. My siblings and I had to hear the story from the possums.”
It takes up quite some power to process that. In the silence, Fink’s shoulders and tail droop, and he raises his paw to lick the cut.
“You do not need to fear predators,” Roz says eventually. “I will protect you.”
“I’ll also protect you,” Brightbill adds earnestly. “Would that be helpful?”
Fink seems taken aback by that. He looks away. “I guess. A little.”
“Would you allow me to provide medical care to you?” Roz asks. The data she has was based on humans’ pets, but it will have to do. “I estimate it would improve your chances of survival by three percent at least.”
“I have no idea what that number means,” Fink replies, but he limps closer regardless.
Roz has to improvise a little to compensate for the lack of nearly all necessary supplies. In the end, she manages to clean Fink’s paw with water and wrap it with a long, broad strand of grass. Her hands weren’t made for gentle touches like this, but she has been getting better at it. She only makes Fink wince thrice and only makes him growl once. Brightbill helps; his actions slow down Roz’s efficiency – as they often do – but they do appear to return Fink’s distress to a satisfactory level.
Eventually, both Fink and Brightbill settle down against Roz, appearing significantly calmer. Roz is overheating slightly from all of this processing. She knows her exterior is warm.
It is quiet, and she thinks they are starting to go to sleep, but then Brightbill speaks. “Fink?” he asks. “Requesting permission to ask a personal question?”
Fink opens one eye to look at him. “Yeah, whatever. Ask away.”
“Well,” Brightbill says, “you said your mom stayed away from her litter when she was hurt because she didn’t want to draw predators to you and your siblings. Did I summarize that correctly?”
Fink closes his eye again. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Then… Why did you come back to us?”
It is a good question – Brightbill has correctly identified a piece of information they were missing. Roz tilts her head at Fink, waiting for his answer.
It takes a long time before he replies. “I’m not sure,” he says eventually, quietly. “I figured, you know, since I was going to die anyway, I might as well do it here. I… imagined that I’d never get to see you again, and I didn’t like that at all.” He snorts. “In a way, I ignored my programming, I guess.”
“That is not a bad thing,” Roz tells him, and Fink just smiles sleepily in return.
They fall asleep not long after that, Fink curled up against her and Brightbill next to him.
Roz postpones shutting down for the night a bit longer, just to watch over them like she promised.