Time

"Lass?"

And she's human, this girl who looks up from the white laptop is. Hair messy, unwashed, and bright orange, glasses perpetually slipping down that long nose. Sweatpants and freckles. "Hey, Fox."

The scarred stitchpunk, never one to deal in pretenses, clambered out of the top drawer of the ornate wood dresser and jumped, slick as one of the girl's cats, onto her long desk. She watched as he carefully climbed over papers and trinkets and buttons, finally stopping just beside her bed. "Hey, Spice." A pause. "Yeh haven' spoken ta me in a few days."

She removed her glasses and scrubbed the back her hand across her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I've just been…busy."

"Yeh've spoken ta Mags."

"Mags is easier to talk to. No offense."

"None taken." They're silent for a moment, then Fox sat on the edge of the desk, legs dangling off, leaning over to pick up a pair of nail clippers and fiddle with them. "We jus'…we get worried. Yeh know how 'tis."

"I know." Spice replaced her glasses and looked over at him with a tired smile. "What's got you out today?"

"We saw on yer friend's pages—"

"You got on my Deviant Art?" She looked at him with a disapproving frown. "I've told you, Fox, there's things on there not meant for your eyes."

"Yeh've jus' been so worried abou' Maerd! We got worried, too! An' then 5-6 wanted ta see Meerkat's page, an' Tethys jumped on ta see Lammer's, an'—"

"And let me guess: you wanted to see Scully's?"

Fox smiled hesitantly, barely more than a smirk. "I won' deny it. Anyways, we saw tha' 56 an' 27 went ta check on their makers, so we decided one of us should check on yeh."

"Why you?"

Fox looked up at her with his brows raised. "C'mon, lass. We all know I'm yer favorite."

"Technically, Zero's my favorite."

"Yeah, but how's yer signin' been lately?"

She looked down, ashamed. "Not so good."

"So yeh wouldnae be able ta keep up a conversation, anyways." They fell silent, then, Spice tapping away at her laptop and Fox still fiddling with the clippers. Finally, he set them down and jumped onto the bed, hoisting himself up onto her knee and sitting cross-legged. "So how are yeh?"

"Tired," Spice replied without hesitating, hanging her head and rubbing a hand across the back of her neck. "Really tired."

"So go ta bed. 'Tis 3 AM, yeh can go ta bed."

"That's not how insomnia works, babe." She reached down absentmindedly, running a finger down the big blue patch on his back. "I'm just…tired."

"Yeh've been tellin' people yer tired fer years, lass," Fox said gently, looking up at her imploringly. "Yeh dinnae have ta lie ta me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. "I don't want to worry people."

"Technically, I dinnae exist. Let fly."

Spice let that sink in for a moment, then nodded and began. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in months. I've been taking depression meds, but I don't think they're working. I start therapy tomorrow, and that terrifies me. I'm trying to find a job. I haven't been able to write or draw for days. Everything I do is crap. And I'm worried about my friends. And I'm lonely. And I…I don't know. Everything's terrible and no one is happy." She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. She'd had enough tears in the past few weeks to last a lifetime. "And I just want a smoke."

"No," Fox said, firmly and instantly. Spice jumped slightly at how harsh his voice suddenly was, the tears shocked out of her. He seemed to realize this and checked himself, repeating, but much more quietly, "No. No, yeh worked too hard when yeh quit. Dinnae throw it all away now."

"But a cigarette—"

"Migh' help in tha short term, yeah. But how will yeh feel when all's said an' done?"

Spice looked down at her track pad and whispered, "Terrible."

"Damned righ', terrible. No smokes." He stood and looked up at her firmly. "An' as fer tha rest o' it: tha meds will take time. Tha doc told yeh tha'. They're not an instant fix. Therapy will be good fer yeh, we migh' get ta talk more after. Yeh'll find a job. Yeh will. Yeh're smart, an' a hard worker. As fer tha art an' tha sleep…." He seemed at a loss for a moment, then rested his hand on her comparatively massive one, prompting her to look at him. "I'm truly sorry abou' yer sleep. I dinnae know wha' ta say abou' tha'. But yer art is good."

"No, it's not," Spice choked out, laughing bitterly. "Look at JJ's. Look at Maerd's. They're light-years ahead of me."

"Jus' because they're better," Fox said, giving her hand a squeeze, "doesn' mean yeh're not good. Yeh are. An' yeh can only get better. Tha writing will come, too, when yeh're ready." He laughed slightly. "Don' tell me yeh think yer writing's crap."

Spice smiled slightly, feeling the warm glow in her chest at the one thing she was truly proud of. "No. No, I'm a pretty good writer."

"Yeh're a feckin' great writer. Yeh can write an Irish accent phoenetically, fer tha Creator's sake." He laughed as she chuckled wearily. "As fer yer friends…is it still Maerd yeh're worried fer?"

"Yeah."

"Yeh dinnae worry 'bout the others so much."

"They don't give me much cause," Spice said with a half-smile, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Meerkat and Lammer and Scully…they're doing okay. They have problems, yeah, but nothing they're not strong enough to handle."

"Wha' abou' Zeebs?"

"I see Zeebs in person. I don't worry so much about her. She's much stronger than people give her credit for. Than she gives herself credit for."

"An' Maerd's not?"

"I didn't say that." Spice sighed, resting her forehead against the heels of her hands. "I know Maerd is strong. But…she seems so lonely right now. And she's on hiatus, so I can't check on her. She gave me a heart attack when she almost pulled the others from the Movie House."

"Aah, 56 would never leave," Fox said dismissively.

"Yeah, maybe. Still." She pulled her hand back through her short hair. "I'm a worrier, you know that. I get myself into tizzies over my friends. And…Maerd is very dear to my heart. If Scully or Lammer or Meerkat were going through the same thing, I'd be just as worried."

"I know yeh would." Fox stroked her arm, imparting affection in the only way he knew how. "But they're all righ'. An' Maerd will be." He paused, waiting for her to meet his eyes. When she did, he murmured, firmly, "An' yeh will be, too."

Spice was silent, then, her eyes glistening with tears she really didn't want to shed. She gently picked the stitchpunk up, nuzzling him with her cheek and whispering, "Thanks, Foxy."

"Think nothin' of it." He rubbed against her cheek with his forehead once, then disentangled himself and jumped back onto the desk. "Now, get some sleep. Yeh'll be all righ', lass. Jus'…give yerself time."

"Okay." She gave him one last fond smile, then switched the lamp off, rolling over and falling into a dreamless sleep.