Fear of Falling [Treasure Planet Fanfic]

Chapter Eight: Shadow Puppets, Mount Dish, and Maps

The crew members that weren't working at night resided in the gallery, filling it from wall to wall not only with their bodies, but their laughter, hollering, and cheery attitudes as well. A fire roared in the pit and mugs of hot drink were passed around. When it was Silver's story night, no one wanted to waste a second on idle conversation, preferring to get right to the tale of epic proportions.

Vanessa sat on a low step by the entrance with a blanket loosely hanging around her shoulders. It was a cool night, a great night for cozying up by the fire. She could feel the heat of the flames across the room, but barely. She shivered and pulled the blanket closer, a frown plastered on her lips.

Jim appeared from the crowd, his fingers curled around the handles of two chipped mugs. He smirked at her expression, "What's the frown for?"

"I-I h-h-hate being c-cold," she said, her stuttering heightened. He handed her one of the mugs. The instant she felt the warm ceramic of the cup she felt better, and her whole body tingled as she took the first scorching sip. The liquid tasted like a sweet, sugary treat, and was so sweet she couldn't take more than little sips at a time. Despite how hot the drink was, it did not rid her of the chill. She shivered again.

"Here," Jim set his drink on the step beside him and opened the side of his jacket, gesturing her to come closer, "I'm frying actually, I think you'll cool me down,"

Vanessa bit her lip, her eyes grazing the space between his torso and the jacket with her honey brown irises. While she knew he wasn't going to hurt her, she was still afraid of anyone touching her.

Jim sighed, "You gotta get over it, Vanessa. Physical contact is a natural part of life, you can't live without it. Not everyone is going to hurt you,"

"I-I know," she murmured, denying his hands by taking up her mug, "I'm trying, I just . . ."

"Too soon?" he guessed, and she answered with a nod, "That's totally okay, just know that it's not something you can avoid,"

The sound of Silver's voice directed their attention inside the room, where the crew had gathered around a single table as he began his tale. Vanessa couldn't pay attention, however. Every now and then she'd glanced over at Jim's face, watched him cheer and laugh with the rest of them. A few things she hadn't noticed before in the earlier months of their voyage came into view, like how she could see flecks of green and gold in his eyes, and he had a small scar on his cheek. Jim was . . . kind of handsome. The bad boy look worked out in his favor.

She must have been staring for a while, because he turned to look at her, "What?" he asked.

"Um . . . n-noting," she stated quickly, feeling her face heat up.

"Warmer?"

"Yes . . . erm . . . I'm k-kind of tired, I think I'll g-go to b-bed," she rose from the step with one hand holding her blanket around her and the other balancing her mug.

Jim raised an inquisitive brown eyebrow, "You sure? Silver's going all out on this one, must be exciting," he pointed to the cyborg, who had begun telling his tale with the use of his mechanical arm. The shapes he made translated on the walls, creating convincing shadow puppets that anyone anywhere in the room could see.

"I'm s-s-sure," she muttered, trying desperately to will the flush away and not look at him, "I'll see y-you in the m-morning,"

.-+*+-.     .-+*+-.     .-+*+-.

The artificial air was laced with smells of a dinner Vanessa regrettably missed, but still had to help clean up. The sight of the kitchen, however, did not match the delicious scent. There were pots and pans supporting used water, and left over ingredients sat forgotten on the counters. Plates with left over crumbs and juices piled up on the long tables, which she was picking up and carrying over to Jim. With so many dishes to wash, one person had to sit and wash while the other cleaned the rest of the kitchen. Vanessa had wiped off the last of the surfaces when Jim stacked the final clean dish on a stack of them piled to the ceiling.