[ The first thing John notices is the squawking. It's impossible to miss. It puts him on edge for a moment before he places it as a bird noise, and then relaxes. And then there's Harold, fussing over the source of the noise.
John goes over, looks inside the shoebox. There's a bit of a forboding tone to his voice. ]
It appears to be a baby wren. It hatched from the egg I was given.
[ Harold jerks his gaze up to John with a palpable sense of relief. He hadn't snuck up on him -- Harold is hard to sneak up on in the first place, John probably wasn't really trying, it's their residence and it's bio-coded to keep others out -- but he'd been so wrapped up in staring at the bird that he hadn't given thought to asking John to help him out. Once he sees him in front of him, his course of action becomes obvious. ]
Thank goodness you're here, I need you to fetch some things for me. I can't just keep a baby bird in a box.
[ Obviously he needs a whole set up for it as a responsible parent. And equally obviously he doesn't feel comfortable leaving it alone. ]
[ John wants to ask why he's keeping it at all, but of course Harold wouldn't abandon a baby bird. It's not like John would either, but this is why he didn't take one of those eggs: he doesn't want to be responsible for something like this. But now he can't turn Harold down. ]
[ He wasn't really expecting John to argue with him, but Harold relaxes totally at the immediate, unequivocal support. He finds a grateful flash of a smile for John. ]
Most important is a warming lamp with a configurable temperature. I can-- I'll text you a list for the rest. I need to look up a few things.
I may have gone by Wren more than any other name, [ he says with open disbelief, the kind of personal tidbit he only drops to John and no one else, ] but that doesn't mean I'm a qualified wildlife rehabilitator.
[ Harold's sudden smile softens John to the request. The personal anecdote makes him feel that warm shock every time Harold gifts him one of these confessions. Would he get this back home? If the library was just their workplace and not their living quarters? If he didn't cook Harold dinner more often than not? This closeness is more than he could ask for, has ever asked for. What would Harold think if he knew? Which is why John keeps himself steady, doesn't let his questions or his feelings show. ]
Where do you think I can find that? Kwik Trip? Or should I go digging in the junkyard?
Something appropriate for a reptile would be fine -- normal pet supplies -- so start with the Kwik Trip, I think?
[ Would Harold share this kind of closeness with John if they were at home? He's not sure, but he's inclined to think not. There would be no reason to disrupt the careful, delicate distance they've fallen into, the kind of thin veneer that serves as a gauzy veil to hide what he feels they both know lies beneath. Here there's compelling reasons to tug that veneer aside bit by bit. Harold hadn't said anything but he of course noticed the sudden appearance of his usual wardrobe, and it'd flustered him greatly.
He knows John cares, that's impossible to miss, but there's knowing... and there's the sudden equal footing they find themselves on here. ]
[ He actually finds what Harold is looking for at Kwik Trip, including the list he texted on the way over. It takes a little while longer to return, burdened as he is, but John does his best to make good time. Once back at the library, John opens the door to more squawking. ]
How long is that going to go on for?
[ The errand was good, being outside in the fresh air cleared his thoughts. He got to focus on the snow crunching, the cold air in his lungs, the way his body moved as he hurried his way over. Now he has the room to be annoyed by the baby bird instead of mired in his thoughts about Harold. ]
[ By the time he returns, Harold has several hefty books laid open and a notebook out where he's taking notes. It's really so ridiculous to be living without the internet. Harold never thought he'd have to return to the pre-world wide web dark ages. At least he's old enough to know how to use a library properly, and isn't at a total loss.
The bird is, of course, still squawking away, making plaintive chittering noises from its shoebox. ]
Until I release it, I expect it, [ Harold says dourly. He loves birds but he's never tried to keep one, for good reason. ] A few weeks. Though it may settle down a bit once I feed it.
[ Harold has a plate of very plain scrambled eggs -- no oil or seasoning -- that is cooling next to his books. He can at least manage to scramble an egg on his own. ]
The tweezers, please? [ That was on the list. He's not going to put his computer tools near a baby bird; they can be astoundingly gross. ]
[ John deposits the contents of his excursion out of the way of the shoebox and book setup and digs through the bag for the tweezers. Once found, he extracts them from the packaging and hands them over. ]
Why did you accept that egg in the first place?
[ It's not accusatory, but it's not... not. John had enough sense not to do such a thing, but now he's stuck with a baby bird regardless. ]
A moment of human weakness. [ It's said flippantly but with a long-suffering self-aware truth behind it. ] I was curious.
[ Harold takes the tweezers and the plate of scrambled egg and approaches the chirping box. There's what looks like a gaping hole with a beak around it pointed straight upward that the faint screeching is coming out of. He uses the tweezers to carefully drop a piece of cooked egg into the chick's mouth, which it gulps down whole. ]
[ Of course Harold would be curious and accept a thing he has to care for. Despite his reclusive ways, Harold appears to care quite a lot about many things, especially if they're living. Not to mention his extensive sense of responsibility once he's taken on a task. John shouldn't be surprised at all. He doesn't sigh aloud, but he thinks it. ]
Curiosity answered. How often do you have to feed it?
More or less constantly, [ he grouses. ] I've really done this to myself, haven't I?
[ He's not about to ask John to do this for him, but he really will be tied to his desk for a few days...
He puts the plate and tweezers down and shuffles over to take the rest of the supplies, starting to unpack. ] According to the chatter on the network, I should be thankful it's just a bird.
And a small one at that. Not that you'd be able to tell from the noise.
[ Hoe does something so small manage to be so loud? ]
I can help if you show me what to do.
[ He may not be pleased with this baby bird situation but he's not going to abandon Harold to his fate. He can offer to shoulder some of the burden, if only so Harold can get some sleep. ]
I'm not offering to take it over entirely, just to help. Or I could go mop the mystery section again.
[ He is offering, and he knows it'll be easier for Harold to give him something to do when he sees it as a gift. John knows Harold isn't satisfied with how much excessive time John spend caring for the library. ]
[ Harold feels negligent every time he catches John mopping. It's abnormal and means he needs something to do, which he hasn't forgotten. He keeps trying to come up with something... ]
We could take shifts, [ he admits reluctantly. ] The first few days will be the hardest.
[ As predicted. He knows Harold well enough and doesn't feel bad about manipulating him in this case, even if he rarely does so. They truly rarely do that to each other. Harold speaks plainly to him and John follows along easily, or on the rare occasion he goes against Harold he simply does so without justification. That's comfortable, between them. Usually it doesn't come to this, even in innocence. ]
[ Of course he offers nonetheless, without any fanfare. Harold's expression is soft and appreciative as he turns toward John. ]
Thank you. It's really nothing complicated, it's just annoying frequent...
[ And he runs through how to feed a baby bird, and what temperature it needs, and how to clean up after its bizarrely tidy defecation habits, and after a few minutes it falls into something natural and easy, like it's the simplest thing in the world between them. ]
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John goes over, looks inside the shoebox. There's a bit of a forboding tone to his voice. ]
Finch, what is this?
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[ Harold jerks his gaze up to John with a palpable sense of relief. He hadn't snuck up on him -- Harold is hard to sneak up on in the first place, John probably wasn't really trying, it's their residence and it's bio-coded to keep others out -- but he'd been so wrapped up in staring at the bird that he hadn't given thought to asking John to help him out. Once he sees him in front of him, his course of action becomes obvious. ]
Thank goodness you're here, I need you to fetch some things for me. I can't just keep a baby bird in a box.
[ Obviously he needs a whole set up for it as a responsible parent. And equally obviously he doesn't feel comfortable leaving it alone. ]
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What do you need?
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Most important is a warming lamp with a configurable temperature. I can-- I'll text you a list for the rest. I need to look up a few things.
I may have gone by Wren more than any other name, [ he says with open disbelief, the kind of personal tidbit he only drops to John and no one else, ] but that doesn't mean I'm a qualified wildlife rehabilitator.
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Where do you think I can find that? Kwik Trip? Or should I go digging in the junkyard?
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[ Would Harold share this kind of closeness with John if they were at home? He's not sure, but he's inclined to think not. There would be no reason to disrupt the careful, delicate distance they've fallen into, the kind of thin veneer that serves as a gauzy veil to hide what he feels they both know lies beneath. Here there's compelling reasons to tug that veneer aside bit by bit. Harold hadn't said anything but he of course noticed the sudden appearance of his usual wardrobe, and it'd flustered him greatly.
He knows John cares, that's impossible to miss, but there's knowing... and there's the sudden equal footing they find themselves on here. ]
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[ He actually finds what Harold is looking for at Kwik Trip, including the list he texted on the way over. It takes a little while longer to return, burdened as he is, but John does his best to make good time. Once back at the library, John opens the door to more squawking. ]
How long is that going to go on for?
[ The errand was good, being outside in the fresh air cleared his thoughts. He got to focus on the snow crunching, the cold air in his lungs, the way his body moved as he hurried his way over. Now he has the room to be annoyed by the baby bird instead of mired in his thoughts about Harold. ]
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The bird is, of course, still squawking away, making plaintive chittering noises from its shoebox. ]
Until I release it, I expect it, [ Harold says dourly. He loves birds but he's never tried to keep one, for good reason. ] A few weeks. Though it may settle down a bit once I feed it.
[ Harold has a plate of very plain scrambled eggs -- no oil or seasoning -- that is cooling next to his books. He can at least manage to scramble an egg on his own. ]
The tweezers, please? [ That was on the list. He's not going to put his computer tools near a baby bird; they can be astoundingly gross. ]
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Why did you accept that egg in the first place?
[ It's not accusatory, but it's not... not. John had enough sense not to do such a thing, but now he's stuck with a baby bird regardless. ]
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[ Harold takes the tweezers and the plate of scrambled egg and approaches the chirping box. There's what looks like a gaping hole with a beak around it pointed straight upward that the faint screeching is coming out of. He uses the tweezers to carefully drop a piece of cooked egg into the chick's mouth, which it gulps down whole. ]
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Curiosity answered. How often do you have to feed it?
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[ He's not about to ask John to do this for him, but he really will be tied to his desk for a few days...
He puts the plate and tweezers down and shuffles over to take the rest of the supplies, starting to unpack. ] According to the chatter on the network, I should be thankful it's just a bird.
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[ Hoe does something so small manage to be so loud? ]
I can help if you show me what to do.
[ He may not be pleased with this baby bird situation but he's not going to abandon Harold to his fate. He can offer to shoulder some of the burden, if only so Harold can get some sleep. ]
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[ Harold pauses in his unpacking to frown mildly over at John. ]
I'm the one who accepted the egg -- I won't foist the responsibility off on you. [ Extensive sense of responsibility it is. ]
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[ He is offering, and he knows it'll be easier for Harold to give him something to do when he sees it as a gift. John knows Harold isn't satisfied with how much excessive time John spend caring for the library. ]
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[ Harold feels negligent every time he catches John mopping. It's abnormal and means he needs something to do, which he hasn't forgotten. He keeps trying to come up with something... ]
We could take shifts, [ he admits reluctantly. ] The first few days will be the hardest.
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Show me what to do.
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Thank you. It's really nothing complicated, it's just annoying frequent...
[ And he runs through how to feed a baby bird, and what temperature it needs, and how to clean up after its bizarrely tidy defecation habits, and after a few minutes it falls into something natural and easy, like it's the simplest thing in the world between them. ]