Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The storm howled over the island with an unprecedented hostility. The branches were violently shaken by the wind, and the heavy drizzle made it difficult to see anything in the already darkened landscape. The ground seemed to tremble as large mounds of rocks and dirt fell from the mountains. The lightning strikes in the distance offered only brief moments of light amidst all the chaos, and the air was thick with the sharp scent of moisture and electricity.

A tiny figure zigzagged between the trees, tripping over the wet branches and leaping over the rocks. His paws were caked in mud, his fur soaked, and the biting cold in the air numbed his body fiercely. Despite it all, he didn’t stop.

He was small for its age, with an extremely slender and elongated silhouette, likely due to some sort of nutritional deficiency. His beautiful red fur was dirty and tangled, his muzzle trembling from the cold and fear.

A fox.

Too young to be alone.

He dodged a large fallen trunk with a leap, allowing himself to pause for a few seconds to exhale deeply, trying to regain some of his lost, meager energy. He felt his limbs stiffen from the icy breeze, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the uncomfortable, wet warmth of his own blood soaking his fur from a recent claw mark on his side. All of his senses screamed at him to run because he knew the predator was close. So, as soon as he heard those deep growls in the distance, he began running once again.

But his mind wasn’t focused on the present.

He thought back to a couple of weeks ago, when his mother and siblings were still alive, although he wouldn’t exactly say it 'missed' them in the conventional way. He had been born weaker than usual, and his family didn’t miss an opportunity to rub that fact in his face whenever they could. He was the smallest, the slowest, the most vulnerable, and still, his mother had committed to teaching him everything she knew about survival so her son wouldn’t have to rely on her protection throughout his entire life, though her methods were, to say the least, questionable. Her treatment was cold, harsh, and her lessons exhausting. The wild nature of the island would make no exceptions for him because of his limitations; the larger predators wouldn’t hesitate for a second to hunt him down if he didn’t have the agility to defend himself, and they were the last foxes on the island. No one beyond his family would accompany him, and in fact, he should be grateful that his mother hadn’t abandoned him at birth.

But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t made to survive.

And yet, here he was. Spending the last of his strength running from a bear because he thought venturing into his territory for some food wasn’t such a terrible idea, considering he wasn’t ready to hunt, and thought he had been too long without eating to torture himself any longer.

Bad idea.

On its own, hunger clouded his judgment, and his legs trembled as he felt his senses dull. The darkness of the storm didn’t comfort him at all; the lightning only amplified his fear. The rain soaked his fur, and the cold began to weaken his bones.

And he only wanted to know why. Why had nature chosen to spare him and not his mother or siblings?

Why, if he was so shy and fragile, could he easily be the least fit to live in such an environment, and now had to face the world alone?

It almost seemed like a cruel joke.

And he wasn’t sure he could do it.

Sometimes, it even seemed like the best thing would be to give up. It appeared easier in his eyes, but he was too cowardly to die. Even when his body screamed for him to stop and surrender, he clung to the faint spark of life left.

What kind of life awaited the last of their kind on a savage island?

He wanted to force himself to stop.

He heard loud, heavy footsteps. The predator was near.

He didn’t have the strength to keep running, so he let himself collapse against a tree, exhausted.

He wasn’t long before he felt the humid and unpleasant breath of the larger creature suffocating his small body.

It was over.

And suddenly, the entire reality faded away.

And he woke up.

_____

Fink’s breath was still rapid from the recent nightmare, his senses on high alert, and his body stiff, just like every time he felt at risk and was torn between hiding or confronting the threat.

But there was no danger.

And, strangely, he felt like he had just run across the entire island.

Again.

Tired, he allowed himself to fall back onto his bed, at least until his heartbeat steadied a little and his breath decided to give him some oxygen.

When he did, he finally looked around.

He was in Roz’s cabin.

Roz…

He quickly glanced toward the usual place where she used to 'sleep', though in reality, she just powered down at night, when she didn’t have the sun to power her energy panels.

After all, she was a robot.

But she wasn’t there.

He looked again, this time at the small nest where the gosling they cared for together rested. He wasn’t there either.

He glanced toward the entrance. By now, the sun was already casting considerable light and warmth inside, enough to make him realize it wasn’t just dawn.

He understood he had fallen asleep.

Again…

It was fine. He was a fox, and 'mainly nocturnal', as Roz had once described him whenever she justified letting him sleep too long instead of waking him up.

It wasn’t as if it bothered him. In fact, Fink didn’t have much to complain about in his life shared with the robot. She was helpful, attentive, never asked him to be quiet when he thought he was talking too much, let him ramble on all he wanted, and always got him the food he needed without him asking. She never complained about anything. And Fink felt a little embarrassed for waking up so late considering all the attention he received from Roz, even though she didn’t seem to mind. In other circumstances and with other beings, he wouldn’t have cared, but when it came to her, he felt living at the cost of the robot’s efforts was wrong.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for thinking that way.

On the other hand, he often wondered why she had that effect on him without even trying.

He jumped off his bed with a leap and stretched out on the ground before leaving the shelter. The intense sunlight bothered him; maybe Roz was right about him being more comfortable at night.

It was too early for the robot to have gone anywhere far with Brightbill without telling him.

Roz would never do anything that would worry him. She was probably just somewhere nearby, and he was right.

He didn’t have to walk far to reach the ROZZUM's garden, and it didn’t take him much longer to spot her in the distance, inspecting the growth of the plants while the little gosling fluttered around her and asked her any question that came to mind, which she answered with the same calm and patience that characterized her.

"What are all these, mom?" he asked.

"These are the plants we’ve grown, Brightbill."

"How do plants grow?"

"The seeds absorb water and nutrients from the soil, and sunlight allows them to produce the energy needed to grow."

"Wow! How do you know all that?"

"I have information on the germination process in my data bank, and I also collect information by observing this garden."

Fink couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Roz always had an answer for everything, and sometimes it irritated him a little.

She was so warm, kind, and generous.

And pathetic.

His mother would have probably described her that way if she had been here.

Fink knew that kindness didn’t help to survive. He’d even told her that bluntly when he first met her, and he immediately thought he could take advantage of it to survive, adding a few extra lies along the way.

Goose expert.

Of course.

It surprised him how easily he could convince her of things like that. He didn’t have to act too much for her to really believe that Fink would help her raise Brightbill.

Though, looking back, he didn’t feel good about having approached her like that.

It didn’t matter.

Roz didn’t see him just as a helper in her task anymore. In fact, he was the closest thing the robot had to a 'friend', although Fink still wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual.

He approached to greet her, even though he knew she could detect his presence without seeing him if she paid enough attention to her sensors.

"Good morning, Fink," the robot paused her work to look at him. That made him a little tense, and he began wagging his tail from side to side in an attempt to channel his feelings.

Not because it was bad, but because it still felt strange interacting with another being without feeling threatened in the process.

She would never attack him even if she wanted to.

And he knew he could trust her.

"Ah, hey, Roz…" he said lazily, trying to sound casual. The exhaustion slightly disguised the heavy tone of his voice.

Brightbill chirped happily upon seeing him, fluttering around the fox, looking at him with innocent curiosity. The little one spent a lot of time with his mother, but with the fox, it was different. The anatomical differences between the two were quite evident, and clearly, Brightbill had a fixation on Fink’s fur and tail.

Roz returned to her task.

"Uh…" Fink mumbled, pretending not to be irritated by the little goose's chirps. "You… why did you let me sleep so late?"

Roz didn’t hesitate.

"I saw no logical reason to wake you up, Fink, you needed rest."

Okay, that felt strange.

Was she worried about him?

Fink shifted uncomfortably.

He wasn’t used to someone caring about him.

His ears slightly flattened. His tail moved with more energy.

"Yeah… didn’t need rest, "he grumbled, shaking his now-messy fur.

Roz tilted her head, not entirely convinced.

"But you slept longer than usual."

"Yeah, so what? Sometimes I sleep late because… uh… I have important things to do…"

Brightbill let out an inquisitive chirp.

"What important things?"

Bad memories.

And because he avoided sleeping as much as possible to avoid dealing with another nightmare.

"None of your business."

Another chirp.

Not exactly confusion, but it didn’t mean the little goose had quite understood the harsh tone.

Roz didn’t say anything, but Fink could tell that he had picked up on her interest. As if it mattered.

He wasn’t used to that, so he did what he knew best: Pretend.

"Ugh... Never mind, not your problem. Anyway, tell me, Roz, why are you here so early?"

Roz looked back at her plants.

"I’m checking the state of the berries. Some are ready to harvest. Others need more time."

"Wow, how interesting," said Fink sarcastically.

Brightbill, on the other hand, was excited.

"Roz says I’ll get to help harvest them soon!"

"And what’s fun about picking herbs?"

"Humans consider such activities pleasant. Taking care of something and seeing it grow can be gratifying."

Fink furrowed his brow.

He knew that to her, it was just reciting a concept stored in her data base, but the way she said it made him think Roz understood what it meant to care for another being.

It still made him uneasy to digest that, somehow, he had become the father of the little goose.

Roz was learning something from all this, too.

And that made him feel even stranger.

It wasn’t worth thinking about.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to think about how easy everything felt when he was near them.

He didn’t want to think about the fact that, for the first time in his life, maybe he wasn’t alone.

He exaggerated a yawn and stretched again before turning toward the cabin.

"Well, this is boring, I’m going to go back to sleep. I don’t want to be here watching the leaves rot."

Roz just nodded.

"Rest, Fink."

Brightbill gave a couple of little hops of goodbye before returning to his mother.

Fink sighed in false annoyance and walked casually back toward the cabin.

When he was halfway there, the fur on his tail bristled, his body tensed, and, instinctively, he perked up his ears.

Just like every time his instincts told him there was danger.

Strange, nothing was in sight.

Besides, he doubted anyone would come near this corner of the island with the robot around.

He sniffed the air.

And smelled the presence of something unfamiliar.

It wasn’t Roz’s scent, nor Brightbill’s.

Something else was there.

Pretending to keep walking toward the shelter, he turned behind some rocks and climbed them until he reached a high point, hidden among the bushes.

From there, he saw the lynx.

Barely visible through the shadows of the foliage, crouching, waiting for the perfect moment to attack the robot and the goose.

Fink felt a chill run down his spine.

Roz could withstand the damage and even defend herself, but she didn’t have combat instincts.

And Brightbill…

No.

Fink tried to convince himself it wasn’t his problem.

He could stay right there and watch what happened.

He could return to the cabin and pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

He could...

Before he could think it through, his paws were already moving.

Idiot, Fink. You’re an idiot. He cursed himself.

Chapter Text

Fink didn’t know what to think about his situation.

He had spent most of his childhood and all of his adolescence and adulthood in loneliness. No one had helped him learn, adapt, or defend himself. It had been a long time since he’d remembered what it felt like to be important to someone. Over time, he even started to think that trust was a ridiculous trait, since the only certainty he had was that in his life, he would only have himself as an ally.

He was predator enough to the weakest animals, and prey enough to the more hostile ones. No creature would want him as a companion, and he understood that.

Until he met Roz.

She was everything he never thought he’d see in that environment. In a bad way.

She was too innocent, too gullible, too slow to understand what was going on around her.

So kind, it was almost condemning.

He thought maybe she wasn’t even fully aware of the effect she had on the island when animals scratched and attacked her, though most of them just avoided her, seeing her as a threat. With all the fear her presence generated, the robot couldn’t wander around for more than a couple of hours looking for a task before needing to run away from a predator trying to harm her.

Roz didn’t have any true survival instincts, but one of her priorities was staying functional for as long as possible, so she’d learned to recognize dangers and escape from them.

Just like him.

He thought about how he had felt when he found himself alone and realized that he had to survive on his own because no one would help him. How fear, insecurity, and insufficiency merged and overtook his mind without him even noticing. How each day drained his energy and the little innocence he had left.

He thought about that, and about how maybe Roz had felt something similar when she woke up on that beach.

He was so different from her.

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel connected to the robot by something they both experienced relentlessly: uncertainty.

At first, Fink had approached her simply because he thought Roz was naive enough to believe his lies. And, being one of the few who bothered to get to know her, having understood that she wasn’t capable of harming anyone even if she wanted to, he thought this was the perfect opportunity to leave his past behind.

All he had to do was pretend to know how to take care of baby goslings, which, honestly, wasn’t too difficult. Clearly, Roz didn’t know anything about caring for the little bird, and Fink knew enough for her to believe he was an expert.

He didn’t even have to prove it. She believed him right away.

For a while, he had no intention of living with her and Brightbill beyond what was necessary. He was a predator, he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, allow himself to feel affection for an innocent robot and her hyperactive gosling.

And that’s how it was, at first.

Dealing with Roz was a bit... complicated. Often, the fox grew frustrated when it came to teaching her basic things like ‘improvising’ or the simple concept of ‘fun’. She knew what they were, of course, but it was hard for her to implement those traits in her behavior. Most of the time, Roz didn’t understand his sarcastic remarks and took what he said too seriously, though apparently, she couldn’t be offended in the full sense of the word, but it was still disappointing. Sometimes, Fink even got the impression that she did it on purpose to annoy him, like when he placed a pine cone on her palm and told her it was her turn to throw it at someone, only for her to throw it at him without hesitation.

It could easily have been a miscalculation, but she was a robot from the latest generation, it was impossible for her to have made a mistake, which meant she did it on purpose.

She probably thought it would be funny.

She probably stopped doing that once Fink told her it wasn’t funny.

And, for some reason, thinking about it made him feel a little guilty.

Guilt...

He hadn’t felt that in a long time.

It was strange.

Guilt.

Guilt for what?

For having deceived Roz? She was too gullible; anyone could have done it easily.

For having made her believe he was a goose expert? Her blind trust wasn’t his problem.

For having told her that her way of having fun was nonsense?

And seeing how she stopped trying.

...Damn.

Fink growled softly and turned brusquely on his bed to groom a paw, as if that could also clean the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind.

He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

So it was best not to think about it.

He tried to focus on something else. Anything else.

He looked at the entrance to the shelter from his position, analyzing the visible stretch of terrain with squinted eyes. It was a habit he still hadn’t managed to abandon completely, no matter how ‘safe’ the meadow he lived in was.

Roz was probably still in the garden with Brightbill, completely unaware that she had just been inches away from being attacked by a lynx.

And Fink...

He didn’t want to remember what he had just done for them. Doing so would be like admitting that Roz and Brightbill mattered to him.

And definitely...

He shifted uneasily.

The adrenaline still lingered in his body, thanks to the risky maneuver he had to perform to get the predator away from the robot and the gosling.

Nothing that put him directly in danger, but in a wild environment, he couldn’t expect to come out unscathed when it came to defending others.

Defend.

The word sounded strange if he used it to refer to someone else.

He had spent so much time facing danger alone, and for himself, that his mind didn’t know how to process doing it for someone else.

Him. The small, the weak. The one who shouldn’t have survived.

And yet, here he was.

He could still hear Brightbill’s excited voice asking Roz about whatever impressed him, and her responding with the usual neutrality, almost as if she could never get tired of the gosling’s energy.

Fink sighed.

Roz would never know what he had done.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because, if she ever found out...

If she started to see it as something more...

What would she do with that?

Would she talk to him about it? Would she thank him?

Would things be different?

The possibility of that happening unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t want to think about why he did it.

It didn’t mean anything.

He just needed to rest.

He curled up again, wrapping his body with his own tail and closing his eyes.

He tried to ignore the feeling that something inside him had changed.

Deep in his chest, right in that area he often pretended not to have, something pulsed. Unknown, but warm.

And terrifying.

Something dangerously close to belonging.

_____

Brightbill kept chattering nonstop, flapping his wings with excitement and pecking at any branch or stone that caught his attention.

It was hot, but the cool breeze made the weather pleasant, though it seemed that his mother didn’t care about things like that.

She never complained about the temperature, or about tiredness, and she never seemed angry or sad when something didn’t turn out as she expected. She never said things like “I’m busy” to push him away when he came with something he wanted to ask or show, like other mothers. This translated into a greater attachment to the robot... and Brightbill’s lower capacity for silence when the slightest trace of curiosity crossed his mind.

So, naturally, he didn’t think twice about staying quiet when he spotted some birds flying in the distance.

“Mom, mom, do you think I’ll ever be able to fly really high?” he asked, flapping his tiny wings while continuing to watch the sky.

Roz took a moment to process the question.

“It’s possible. With time, your wings will get stronger.”

She skipped over the fact that the gosling had been born weaker than normal, which likely meant it would take him more effort to learn.

It wasn’t a detail that would help strengthen his determination, so she didn’t think it was necessary to mention it.

Yet.

Brightbill looked down at the robot.

“Like you?”

Roz blinked.

“I don’t have wings.”

“No, but you’re strong in your own way!”

Another blink, and a tilt of the head, as she considered the statement.

Brightbill chirped excitedly.

“Like Fink! He’s strong too!”

She didn’t respond.

Her systems processed the gosling’s statement.

Fink was... a special case.

Roz hadn’t seen another fox on the island, so she had no examples with which to compare his abilities.

There was only him, with his cynicism, his sarcasm.

And that facade of toughness he constantly tried to maintain.

Fink didn’t seem to realize it yet, but Roz’s sensors could see through his sharpness. His heart rate, his breathing, and the tension in his body that he thought was imperceptible revealed more than the fox would have liked.

She knew he sometimes felt fear, even though he didn’t say it out loud. And she’d gathered enough data to know he would deny it completely if she ever mentioned it.

He was generally solitary, sometimes going out to roam the territories without letting Brightbill or her accompany him, and Roz pretended not to notice the scratches from thorns or his paws hurt from a bad jump or some bumps when he returned.

His vital signs often indicated fatigue.

Still, Roz noticed how he acted as if danger was always nearby. How his ears moved to sounds she hadn’t detected yet. How his paws always seemed ready to run.

How he always acted as if he were alone, even when he wasn’t.

Roz wasn’t capable of feeling emotions, at least not like Fink or Brightbill. But she had information. Data. Behavioral patterns.

And when it came to Fink... something in her processes paused for a split second.

As if there was something in him that she still couldn’t understand.

Brightbill didn’t seem to notice her silence. And if he did, he probably took it as an implicit affirmation.

She watched the gosling’s face light up, and she knew that an idea had crossed his mind.

“I’m going to ask Fink how to be strong!” he declared, turning toward the cabin with awkward steps.

Roz watched him walk away, and for the first time, she felt her systems generate a new kind of data.

A data that wasn’t in her original programming and couldn’t be measured or rated conventionally.

One that seemed... like concern?

Not for Brightbill.

For Fink.

Roz didn’t entirely understand why.

But something about the way he looked at her sometimes, as if unsure whether to leave or stay...

Something about how he responded with mockery, never with the intent to be cruel...

Something about how he preferred their company even though he denied it...

Something in all of that told her that maybe Fink wasn’t as apathetic as he appeared.

The robot paused in her task and allowed herself to watch the sky for a moment, letting the sunlight resonate through her systems.

She still wasn’t fully capable of understanding what that feeling meant.

But if there was one thing she had learned in her time on the island, it was that some processes couldn’t be calculated.

Some things simply... happened.

And Roz was learning to let them.

_____

Inside the shelter, Fink had managed, for a brief moment, to find a vague balance between wakefulness and sleep. His breathing had stabilized enough for him to forget, for a moment, all the chaos swirling in his mind, and though his body refused to lower its guard, at least it seemed he had found an acceptable point between rest and alertness.

Until he heard Brightbill’s disordered steps approaching.

“Fink!”

Oh, no.

The fox growled without lifting his head.

“What?”

“How do you get strong?”

Huh?

“What kind of question is that?”

“It’s an important one!”

Fink huffed, wrapping himself tighter in his own fur.

“Go bother Roz.”

But Brightbill didn’t give up.

“Mom says I’ll be able to fly high one day, but I want to be strong too. Like her.”

Fink let out a dry laugh.

Did he really think…?

“Roz isn’t strong.”

“Yes, she is!” Brightbill protested. “Not like a bear or a deer, but she always knows what to do.”

Fink felt a strange weight in his chest.

Memories of his own mother, which he thought were lost and blurry, flooded his mind with a clarity that left him stunned.

He had thought the same of her.

But that didn’t stop nature from taking her away.

Almost unconsciously, he moved his tail aside, just enough for Brightbill to see him.

“That’s not strength.”

“So, what is it?”

The fox clenched his jaw.

“Being strong is…”

He paused, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it.

Whatever he said, maybe the gosling wouldn’t understand.

So his mind searched for a quick answer. Something simple and meaningless that would satisfy Brightbill.

“Being strong is... is not letting anything affect you…”

Brightbill blinked.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The gosling stayed silent, trying to process the concept. Then he tilted his head.

“So, are you strong?”

The fox felt a lump in his throat.

It was a question to which he still hadn’t found an answer.

“Why does it matter to you so much?”

“Because I want to learn.”

Fink snorted and covered himself with his tail again.

“You can't learn to be strong.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because you either are or you aren’t.”

Brightbill frowned.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Fink buried his face in his paws.

The little one was starting to look like Roz.

“You don’t need to understand it. Just go.”

He didn’t obey.

You either are or you aren’t…

“My mom says I’ll be strong.”

Uh-huh.

“Good for you.”

“Do you think I will be?”

The fox’s body froze. He didn’t want to answer.

He didn’t want to say yes.

Because Brightbill was still too small and innocent to understand what it really meant.

And he didn’t want to say no.

Because… because a child didn’t deserve to hear that.

Brightbill waited, patiently.

Fink sighed.

“...Yes.”

The green eyes of the little goose lit up.

“Then tell me how to do it!”

Fink cursed inwardly.

He wanted to growl, he wanted to push him away, he wanted him to leave him alone. But it was clear that Brightbill was too excited to accept his rejection.

And for some reason, Fink didn’t want to see him disappointed.

“Ugh, fine…” He rolled his eyes and lazily sat up. “First, you need to stop asking annoying questions.”

“Why?”

“Because yes!”

Brightbill laughed.

“That’s not a logical reason.”

Fink suppressed a snort.

“You also need to learn to listen.”

“I am listening!”

“Then shut up and listen more.”

Brightbill nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

Fink blinked.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“...”

“...”

“Then why do you keep staring at me?”

“Because you haven’t finished explaining.”

Fink closed his eyes in frustration.

This is what I get for talking too much…

He sighed and laid his head back on his paws.

“Brightbill…”

“Yes?”

“Go to your mom.”

The little one seemed a bit discouraged.

“But, what about the lesson on how to be strong?”

“Tomorrow.”

Brightbill stayed silent for a moment, as if debating whether to give up or insist.

“Do you promise?”

Fink looked at him.

The little goose was looking at him as if there was no doubt in his mind about the answer.

It made him feel… strange.

The fox sighed.

“Yes. I promise.”

Brightbill smiled, satisfied.

“See you later, Fink!”

And he ran out of the cabin.

Fink didn’t move.

He was aware that he had promised something without thinking.

Aware that Brightbill expected him to keep his word.

Aware that the idea of breaking that promise bothered him.

He closed his eyes and buried his muzzle deeper into his paws.

Idiot…

Chapter Text

A faint pink and orange light filtered through the cabin’s entrance, painting the walls in warm hues. The soft, cool breeze swept through the space, disarranging the floral decorations on the shelves. The growing darkness of the shadows was a constant reminder that night wouldn't be far off. Even so, the scene was filled with serenity and calm, making it seem like quite a peaceful afternoon to anyone who might happen upon it.

Well. Fink was not 'anyone'.

It had been an exhausting day, and not precisely because he had spent nearly half the day burying himself in his own fur pretending to be resting. In fact, he was still lying on his bed, unwilling to get up.

His posture was almost relaxed. His head rested between his paws, his breathing in sync with his heartbeat, and he moved his tail just enough to appear calm, but if one looked closely, it became clear that his state was far from tranquility. A subtle twitch of his ears at every faint sound, his tail swishing slowly, tense and calculated, like someone forcing gestures to hide their discomfort. His eyes, vaguely half-lidded, continued to scan the room around him.

As if he were really being watched.

Roz was outside, gathering wood for the fire, with Brightbill hopping on her shoulder and talking to her about all sorts of trivial things. He talked about the puddles he’d been splashing in, how summer would soon be over, the animals he could see from afar, and “why don’t we get closer to them.” Roz listened to his words calmly, responding when he wanted to know something, just like always.

From a distance, it was an adorable sight.

And ridiculous, Fink thought.

A shelter and its garden. A young goose excited over trivialities. A robot seemingly oblivious to the hostility of the surrounding environment.

And him. There.

As if it made sense.

As if he were part of it...

As if...

No.

The fox growled lowly and covered his face with one of his front paws, trying with all his might to ignore the unease gnawing at him from the inside, as though doing so might dissipate his anxiety.

He was fine.

Safe. There was no danger.

And somehow, that his body simply did not accept. And it was unpleasant.

And exhausting.

Every time Brightbill flapped his wings suddenly, Fink’s paws tensed. The whistle of the wind, rather than calming him, set his mind on alert and ran a mental tally of all the possible threats he could remember. Sometimes, his own judgment betrayed him, and he’d think Roz’s heavy footsteps sounded too much like a predator’s.

Anything seemingly insignificant ignited his instincts in a way he couldn’t control, as though he were still a small kit abandoned in the rain.

As if it were hard to understand that everything was real.

That he never had to run again.

And yet...

“Fink.”

His ears shot up.

His heartbeat sped up.

He turned to look at her.

It was Roz, standing in front of him.

Carrying branches and dry leaves.

Without Brightbill.

“Yeah?”

His voice came out more vulnerable and flat than he would’ve liked.

The robot walked to the center of the cabin and dropped the load inside the stone circle.

“Your heart rate is elevated.”

Oh…

He tried to make his unease less noticeable.

“…So?”

Roz walked over and sat beside him with her usual impassive air.

“It’s commonly an indicator of stress or fear,” she said, pausing briefly. “Or excitement, but I doubt that’s the case.”

Alright, Fink wasn’t sure whether that last part should make him confused, amused, or annoyed.

It didn’t matter.

“You… think I’m scared?” he asked, sharpening his tone.

Roz took her time before answering.

“It’s a possibility. It could also be anxiety.”

Ha.

Fink turned his gaze away.

“I’m not anxious.”

“Then what is the reason?”

The fox held back a sigh, moving his tail nervously and fixing his eyes on any other point to avoid looking directly at her.

“Maybe I’m just mad because you won’t leave me alone.”

Roz barely tilted her head.

“Anger also elevates heart rate.”

Fink clenched his jaw.

“Fine. I’m mad.”

Roz blinked, observing him in silence for a long second.

Then, she spoke calmly again.

“You’re not showing signs of anger.”

Fink stifled a growl.

“Oh, I’m not?”

“No. Your ears aren’t pinned back. You haven’t bared your teeth. Your voice tone is lower than usual when you're genuinely upset.”

Really?

“Maybe I’m learning to control my anger.”

Case closed.

Roz didn’t say anything. It only took a few seconds to analyze his vital signs again.

“You said you weren’t anxious.”

“I’m not…”

“But you just admitted you’re trying to manage your emotions.”

So annoying…

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Avoiding it doesn’t change the data.”

Fink wished the ground would swallow him up.

He sat on his bed and stared at her.

“Then what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing… I’m just trying to understand.”

That was it.

There was a thick silence. Fink looked away again, pretending that Roz’s words didn’t affect him. But his paws were still stiff, and his tail moved with that involuntary tension he didn’t even notice.

Roz processed the data she’d collected in silence.

She didn’t quite understand why Fink kept insisting that nothing was wrong when his physiology told a different story.

And decided not to press the issue any further. For now.

She simply stayed there, saying nothing.

She noticed Fink’s heartbeat slowly stabilize. His breathing calm down.

“You’re annoying…”

“That’s useful data. My presence could also elevate your heart rate.”

Fink sighed heavily.

The robot remained silent for a while, which made him think the conversation had ended.

So he tried to relax, though knowing she could scan him with a single glance made it nearly impossible.

He felt vulnerable.

“Fink…” Roz spoke again, using her soft tone, hoping the gentleness in her voice would encourage him to trust her. “Why do you avoid me?”

The fox buried his head between his paws, uncomfortable with the attention.

He didn’t like being the center of attention.

Not now, when words became harder to say and he couldn’t use sarcasm to escape.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he replied, speaking faster than he intended, as if that could make his statement true.

Although, even he didn’t believe that lie.

“You are,” Roz said, without filters, hesitation, or doubt. Her casualness made Fink feel even more trapped. “Every time I try to get closer to you, you find a way to dodge or push me away. Why?”

There were no words to describe how much Fink wanted to flee from that question.

“No… It’s not personal, Roz.”

His rough voice had no effect on her.

“That’s not an answer.”

It felt like the walls were closing in on him, cutting off his air.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

He didn’t want to open the wound again.

Not with her.

“Because...“

He couldn't say anything more without losing his composure. Roz waited patiently.

She understood that fear could block responses, and that rushing him wouldn’t help.

For a moment, Fink thought that verbalizing it would relieve some of the weight, but the very idea of admitting it made his paws tremble.

“Because I don’t like... talking about those things.“

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, not daring to look at her.

Roz didn’t let the silence settle for too long, knowing that it could make him even more anxious instead of calming him down.

“About what things?“

She didn’t sound demanding or insistent.

Just warm and patient, as if she wanted to unravel him slowly without pushing too hard.

Because she just wanted to understand.

Fink tried to stay firm, but he wasn’t very successful.

Roz’s serenity made him uncomfortable.

Like thorns digging into his insides.

And he...

“Roz, please...“ He whispered, as a small plea for her not to force him to admit what he feared most. “I don’t want...“

I don’t want you to see me like this...

“I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, Fink. My questions are designed to gather information and help.“

Help?

She couldn’t help him.

Besides, why did she care so much? She knew as well as he did that this was temporary.

Once she left after Brightbill’s migration, everything they shared would stop mattering.

She’d forget him, and he’d forget her.

He tightened his paws and focused on the grass beneath him, hoping the physical sensation would distract him and give him some stability.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Roz,“ he said, this time in a firmer, more determined tone, almost challenging.

The robot didn’t flinch.

He would have thought her calmness was exasperating if he hadn’t been looking at her. Her posture was a little stiffer, and her eyes betrayed something close to frustration, though she tried to hide it.

“I understand that you don’t want to, Fink, but repressing it isn’t going to change how you feel. I won’t leave until you understand that you don’t have to deal with this alone.“

Fink looked at her as if she had just said something crazy.

The storm inside him didn’t stop, and he had run out of words again.

Because he didn’t know how to respond to that.

Because... wasn’t that what he had wanted to hear so badly?

He had spent so much time wondering if he would ever hear that kind of comfort.

And now that he had it, he realized he had never been prepared for that moment. And it scared him.

“Leave me alone.“

She didn’t give in.

“Fink...“

He wasn’t ready.

“No, Roz. It doesn’t make sense to talk,“ he interrupted, sharply. “You don’t understand.“

“It’s true, I don’t. But I want to understand,“ she reiterated. The words came out a little faster than she intended, as if she were desperate.

He didn’t want her to.

He didn’t need her empathy.

“I don’t want you to understand. There’s nothing to understand.“

“I want to try...“ She said, the brief moment of silence making him think she probably didn’t know what else to say. “Fink, I don’t like that you’re lying to me.“

Lying...

That made him laugh.

What did she know about him?

He let out a dry, harsh laugh, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“I’m not lying to you.“

“No, Fink, you are,“ she replied firmly. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything that’s going on with you, but...“

“Ah, so that’s it?“ He asked, sitting up suddenly, with a genuine edge of sharpness that made her step back. He didn’t care. “Because I don’t tell you what’s going on with me? Is that what you want?“

“No, of course not... But you could...“

“Could what? I didn’t... I didn’t ask you to stay!“

“You didn’t need to ask,“ she stated.

Fink’s gaze sharpened with a mixture of fury and suppressed fear.

“’You didn’t need to ask,’ Roz? “He laughed again. “And what? Just because you think it’s fine, I have to accept it? Do you think you can come in here, try to fix me with your calculations, and look at me like I’m some damn experiment?“

Something in Roz’s posture trembled. He noticed, but he was too immersed in his own anger to care about her.

The robot knew it was far too late to take back her words.

“It’s not about what I want, Fink,“ her voice was quiet and slow, almost uncertain. “And I don’t intend to try to ‘fix you,’ or treat this like an experiment. If that were the case... Do you think I’d be here?“

“Don’t play innocent, Rozzum! We both know exactly why you’re here,“ he retorted, his breath heavy. “If it weren’t for Brightbill, you would’ve turned on your ridiculous transmitter for your fancy creators to come pick you up. You’re NOT here for me, so don’t pretend you want to help me!“

“I’m not pretending!“ She defended herself. It took a second for her to realize she had spoken too loudly. “And my creators don’t matter. I don’t even know them. They just programmed me to return to the factory if I didn’t find a task.“

“Right, right. You and your stupid programming,“ he spat venomously.

“Fink... It doesn’t matter what you say about my programming, what matters is that you’re suffering, and I want...“

“NO!“ He snapped, taking a few slow steps toward her, clearly beside himself. “You don’t get it! You don’t even care! WHAT do you want?! Do you want to be my damn friend?! Do you think you can come into my life, screw with me with your questions, and then just leave?! Because THAT’S what you’re going to do!“

“Why do you see it that way? I just... Fink, I don’t want to fight with you!“

“And what were you expecting, huh?! What were you expecting from me when you decided to stay here?! You can’t help me! All you do is remind me that I’m a mess!“

“You’re not a mess! And I’m sorry if I made you feel worse. I’m sorry if all this time you thought I was here because of my programming, but I promise that’s not it.“

Fink didn’t realize the painful pressure in his chest, nor the moisture gathering in his eyes. Not until that moment.

He felt the fur on his tail bristle, his body trembling.

When the adrenaline in his blood faded, he felt incredibly weak.

He didn’t say anything, because he knew that if he did, he’d collapse in front of her.

Roz hesitated to continue.

“Fink...“ She said, with no aggression. “You’re not a mess. You’re not... And you don’t have to keep hiding, or lying. You don’t have to live thinking that you can’t trust anyone.“

The fox’s jaw tightened more with each word.

Because he knew she was right.

But if that meant stripping away something that had kept him safe for so long...

“I... don’t need your compassion.“

“I’m not offering you compassion, I’m offering you an option. I don’t expect, nor am I asking you to be perfect, I just want you to understand that I won’t leave you to face this alone.“

But he couldn’t.

He wasn’t ready.

And he was so scared...

“I... don’t need you...“ he said. The knot in his throat came undone and a couple of tears soaked his fur against his will. His voice cracked. “Why don’t you understand? You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what it’s like to be broken and keep going, remembering everything you’ve lost! What do you know about that?!“ The pressure in his chest made it harder to breathe, and he exhaled sharply before continuing. “You’re nothing but a damn machine!! YOU’LL NEVER understand me!! BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT REAL!!“

That was it.

Silence settled over both of them like a thick fog. All that could be heard was Fink’s rapid breathing, and the faint hum of Roz’s systems as her eye lights dilated in surprise.

And pain.

“...Yes... I understand...“

The robot didn’t dare say anything more.

The fox didn’t take long to realize what he had just said.

But it was too late to fix it. He knew it when Roz looked away and stepped away from him with a subtle movement, shyly fiddling with her fingers and staring at her hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Fink had never seen her like this. And he didn’t like it at all.

He thought about retracting immediately, but he knew no apology could erase his words.

“Roz...“ she didn’t react, didn’t dare look at him. “I... I didn’t mean...“

“Mom!“ Brightbill called out, entering the shelter, apparently unaware of what was happening. “I’m hungry!“

He made a small pout.

She seemed to regain her composure at that. She extended her palm, Brightbill jumped onto her hand and torso to settle on her shoulder, and the robot immediately stood up, perhaps thinking this was the perfect time to disappear from Fink’s sight.

“Of course, let’s find you something,“ she said, using a lower tone than usual. The gosling chirped happily.

“Roz...“

And the fox stayed inside the shelter. A new knot settled in his throat, aware of what he had done.

He watched Roz move farther away in the distance. He didn’t feel capable of going after her.

The afternoon light had completely faded, and the cabin was enveloped in a tranquil twilight, a calm that felt strangely heavy.

There was no noise, except the wind ruffling his fur.

And he was there, alone. His breathing becoming more painful with each passing second.

A tiny part of his mind told him he couldn’t let this affect him. She was a machine, right? It shouldn’t matter.

But there was something so visceral in her reaction...

His senses focused on the outside, trying to push that thought away. His heartbeat was still racing, but not from fear of what might be lurking around him, but from what he had done to Roz.

He wondered what he could do to make up for his mistake as he lay back down on his bed, exhausted, though deep inside, he already knew the answer.

He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Fink thought he had never experienced such a disastrous timeout before.

He had been alone in the shelter for several minutes and still didn’t feel like he had saved enough energy to get up and go after Roz, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at her again after what he had said.

He didn’t feel worthy of it either.

The robot was the kindest and purest creature he had ever met. He knew, better than anyone, that she would never meddle in someone else’s affairs with bad intentions. Even if her reasoning was wrong and her actions bothered others, Roz never did it out of malice; it was because she wanted to be useful.

That was what she was programmed for.

And Fink knew that probably no blow or scratch would have hurt her as much as his words.

To her, who never judged him the way the rest of the island did.

Who was the only one who truly saw him with affection and concern.

He had hurt her.

And that burned him more than any of his fears.

He had tried —unsuccessfully— to come up with any excuse in his mind that could somehow mend his mistake, even a little, and he wasn’t surprised to find that he was failing miserably.

A “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that” wouldn’t erase the fact that he had just reduced her to a mere lump of metal. She wasn’t that.

He had only said it because he wanted to push her away, any way he could.

And he didn’t know how to explain to her what Roz truly meant to him.

Still, she didn’t seem too eager to see him again or share the same space with the fox, so she took her time outside the shelter, distracting herself by listening to Brightbill ramble about what she had done during the day, and the twenty minutes he had spent arguing with Fink.

It wasn’t something she wanted to remember, which seemed strange to the robot. Generally, if it was a problem, she would make her processors focus on it and dissect the matter meticulously until she figured out what had gone wrong to find a solution.

And she tried to do that, really. She made a real effort.

But it was hard to concentrate when the only thing she could vividly recall were the last words of the fox.

‘You'll never understand me. Because you're not real.’

Something inside her shuddered every time she thought about that last sentence. It wasn’t a “failure” to her knowledge, nothing that directly affected her systems or processors, but it did make her behavior more reserved and closed off, even slow. And she didn’t understand why.

She knew it was true. She wasn’t real, or at least not like the other animals.

She didn’t have a life per se, she didn’t feel physical pain, she didn’t worry about food or rest, and she wasn’t capable of processing emotions in a conventional way.

Although… she was starting to doubt that last part.

Because she couldn’t find any other explanation for why the argument had affected her so much. All that had happened was that she had pressured Fink too hard, and as a result of HER actions, he had lashed out. It was natural, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t predicted that reaction before, knowing the fox’s volatile attitude.

However, her pain still felt illogical, because it didn’t change the fact that his statement had been true.

And why did it matter so much that he had spoken of her like that? The way he said it wasn’t right, of course, but it wasn’t just that which hurt her. It was the fact that Fink saw nothing in her but that, a metal structure.

Even though most of the island thought the same.

They ran from her, attacked her, even gave her the nickname “monster.”

And she didn’t care much about that.

So why was it different with Fink?

“Mom…” called Brightbill, who had lost himself in his monologue about the lakes while they were returning to the cabin, until he noticed that his mother wasn’t paying attention to him. “Are you listening to me?”

She stopped.

If she could sigh in frustration, she would have done it.

It was better this way. That way, the little one wouldn’t notice that something was wrong with her.

“…Of course, Brightbill,” she nodded, forcing herself to sound like her usual calm self, before continuing to walk.

He looked down.

“…Mom, you’re squashing the berries.”

She stopped again.

In her hands, there was only the crushed fruit, and her casing was stained with juice.

Ah…

“…Calculation error. Sorry.”

What’s wrong with me?

She turned to look for a puddle of water to clean herself. Brightbill watched her in silence as she did.

“…Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“Is something wrong with you? Why aren’t you talking much?” he asked, his usual enthusiasm replaced with concern in his voice.

Roz didn’t look at him, partly because she was busy cleaning her hands, and partly because she was processing an answer that wouldn’t fully betray her state.

“It’s nothing, Brightbill. I’m just… thinking about a few things.”

Her words, though soft, lacked the usual sweetness she used to say them.

The little one didn’t quite understand what was happening, but he did know he didn’t like seeing her like this.

“Can I help with anything?” he insisted.

“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll handle it.”

The gosling smiled at that, then chirped in approval.

“Yeah! You’re strong, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The robot’s gaze softened at that, though she didn’t know if there was anything she could do to fix things with Fink.

When she finished washing, she returned to gather berries for Brightbill.

“Mom…”

“Yeah?”

“How about we take some to Fink too?”

Fink.

She felt something like a short-circuit in her systems when she heard the name.

Normally, she would have agreed to the suggestion, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with it tonight, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset him more.

“No, he doesn’t…” she began to say, searching for the right words. “It’s not necessary, he must be fine.”

Roz noticed the weight in the gosling’s gaze.

“But… I think Fink is thinking about a few things too, right?” he said, remembering the talk they had had earlier. “If we bring him some food, maybe he’ll feel better.”

He was too considerate.

And the robot knew she couldn’t break his world.

“…Yeah, okay.”

Brightbill hopped a couple of times on her shoulder at the affirmation.

Roz just hoped everything would turn out okay.

_____

Dinner felt incredibly uncomfortable. At least, for Fink, it did.

He hadn’t finished formulating his tentative apology speech in his mind when Roz and Brightbill returned, sooner than he had anticipated. The gosling hopped down from the robot’s shoulder and started flooding the silence with his chatter, while the fox could only watch as the robot extended her finger to activate her laser and light the campfire, without looking at him.

His body and voice were too stiff to dare say anything back or approach her, so he remained where he was, letting events unfold: Brightbill bombarding him with talk, Roz placing the bowl in front of him, and he still hadn’t figured out how to react to the situation.

He had hoped to talk to the robot about what had happened, but Brightbill’s presence prevented him from addressing the issue openly. He was just a little kid and didn’t need to hear about the argument between the beings he considered his parents, so Fink bit his tongue and forced himself to stay quiet until the right moment.

Eventually, he ended up lying on the dirt floor, listening to the gosling ramble, watching Roz focus on weaving stems for who knows what, and chewing berries at an infuriatingly slow pace. The heaviness in the air stole his appetite, and he also needed to stay occupied with something to keep from going crazy with the tension that Brightbill seemed to not notice.

The campfire crackled softly, and its light cast faint shadows on the surroundings, which would have been cozy if it weren’t for the obvious looks of impatience the fox shot at the robot, silently hoping for even the slightest sign that their bond wasn’t completely broken and that there was a slim chance to fix things. She pretended not to notice, and, fearing saying something that might make Fink more uncomfortable, kept her focus on the plants between her fingers, responding only when Brightbill’s conversation required it.

“Those mountains we can see from here are huge!” the little one exclaimed, his eyes shining with anticipation. “Someday I’d like to go see them. They must be amazing!”

Roz nodded without getting too involved.

“Sure, Brightbill.”

Fink didn’t seem too convinced.

“The mountains…” he repeated softly, his tone heavy with contained discomfort. “I wouldn’t call them a safe place—there are bigger predators, rough terrain…”

Brightbill let out a chirp of complaint, unwilling to back down.

“But you’ll protect me, right? There’s nothing to fear if you go with me, Fink.”

The fox’s tail flicked from side to side. He tried not to remember what had happened that morning.

He glanced at Roz, focused on her task. His anxiety grew with each passing second.

He forced himself to respond.

“Yeah! Yeah… of course…” he answered in a broken voice. He didn’t want to tell him no.

I don’t expect, nor am I asking you to be perfect, I just want you to understand that I won’t leave you to face this alone…

Because she wouldn’t have done that.

The gosling jumped for joy.

“And you won’t have to protect me forever! You promised you’d teach me to be strong!” he tried to cheer him up before taking another bite of berries.

Roz stopped and looked at Brightbill.

“What?”

Fink felt a chill run down his spine.

To be honest, he wouldn’t blame her if she wished the little one didn’t spend time with him anymore.

Brightbill chewed for a few seconds before responding.

“Yeah! Fink said he’d give me a lesson on how to be strong tomorrow.”

The fox cursed the day he was born.

Roz blinked and then looked down at her fingers again.

“I see… That’s great,” she said, not bothering to feign enthusiasm.

Fink felt another pang of regret.

Brightbill laughed, pleased with his accomplishment. The robot continued acting as though the fox wasn’t there, while he silently suffered inside, struggling to act naturally.

He didn’t like this new side of Roz: evasive, fearful, distant.

The gosling went back to his food while the seconds seemed to stretch endlessly.

“When can we go?” he asked, smiling at his mother.

There was a pause.

She curled up a little more in her seat, as if afraid of what might happen if she spoke.

“When Fink says it’s a good time,” she finally said.

He fought to keep the tears in his eyes from becoming visible.

He hated seeing her like this.

And he hated himself for it, because he knew it was his fault.

Never had he been so painfully aware of the damage he could cause.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Brightbill glanced quickly at the fox and the robot, and came up with an idea that sounded wonderful in his head.

“We should do this more often.”

Fink waited for Roz to respond. She didn’t, so he cleared his throat a bit before speaking.

“Do what?”

The gosling didn’t hesitate.

“Have dinner together, as… as families do.”

The fox’s body froze. Roz stopped for a fraction of a second.

The crackling of the fire filled the space.

The little one was looking at them with innocent eyes, as if the idea of the three of them forming a family wasn’t absurd.

Fink swallowed hard.

“I… I don’t think you need to see it like that, right? And…” he muttered awkwardly, “I mean, it’s not like…”

Roz decided to intervene.

“The parameters of ‘family’ can vary depending on the context. It’s not an absolute concept, and not all bonds fit the same way,” she clarified, with her usual artificial calm, though her words were no less cold for it.

It wasn’t hard to understand that she was saying it this way because it was her way of rejecting the idea if it included the fox.

But Brightbill was too young to catch the double meaning, so he looked at Fink for another response.

“I like being with you.”

“Well, Brightbill…” Fink started again, trying to hide his nervousness, “I don’t… I don’t want you to misunderstand, it’s just that… You see, your mom and I…”

She interrupted him again.

“What Fink is—trying—to say… is that bonds aren’t always obvious or easy to understand, because everyone has their own way of seeing things, and everyone has their own version of what ‘family’ is,” she said, clearly uninterested in explaining what she meant. Her hands yanked on the stems with more force than necessary, as if trying to channel her frustration.

In another context, Fink might have felt proud of how she threw indirects.

Brightbill was still confused.

“…So, can we do it again?”

A bitter taste flooded the fox’s mouth.

He didn’t want to promise something he wasn’t sure he could keep. Besides, right now, the idea of “doing it more often” seemed farther away than he had thought.

“I don’t know, Brightbill… Maybe later, when your… when everyone’s feeling better.”

Roz didn’t say anything but silently analyzed Fink’s words.

The gosling decided to ignore the change in tone and suddenly let out a yawn.

“…It’s late, Brightbill. You should go rest,” Roz said.

The little one agreed.

He hopped into his mother’s palm, as usual, and she gently placed him on his nest.

“Goodnight! And Fink, don’t forget that…,” another yawn, “tomorrow you’ll teach me to be strong…”

Roz gently stroked his head as if the gosling’s innocence softened her a little. But she tensed up again when she noticed Fink was watching the scene.

Soon, Brightbill fell asleep, his soft breathing filling the silence. The robot picked up a branch and stirred the dry leaves of the campfire so the light wouldn’t disturb the little one.

After much effort, Fink finally finished his berries, but he didn’t move from his spot.

He didn’t know how to start.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quieter than ever.

The uncomfortable emptiness in the absence of sound was only interrupted by the crackling of the fire, the whistling of the wind outside the shelter, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of Brightbill, who had been asleep for a while and clearly had no intention of waking up anytime soon.

Fink was lying on his bed, in a position that placed his body in a tension so foggy it couldn't be called comfortable. Though he could adjust himself if he wanted, he didn't, because his mind wasn’t focused on rest. He didn’t like sleeping if it meant another dose of his usual nightmares, and he couldn't help but feel incredibly uneasy with the robot’s presence, something that normally wouldn't bother him at all. In fact, he would have even taken the liberty of dozing off, turning over and over on his bed whenever he grew tired of any position. But this time, it was different.

Caring little for his own comfort —which was strange enough in itself—, he didn't move because, from this angle, he could keep his tail covering him just enough to not feel so exposed in front of Roz, and at the same time, he had enough visibility to not miss any of her movements, though they weren’t many: After removing the dry leaves to reduce the intensity of the fire, she quickly inspected the state of the shelter and sat in her usual spot. It still seemed a bit too early to turn off the fire, so she picked up her crafting project and continued weaving the stems, trying to make her sensors ignore Fink's presence as much as possible.

To be honest, she didn’t feel like worrying about him. Of course, she still cared about the situation, but she assumed the fox was still upset, and she was too afraid that he would get angry again to glance at him and scan his vital signs once more.

Roz didn’t want to make another mistake, so she decided to adapt her behavior around him. If her presence or voice bothered him, all she needed to do was stay silent and not say anything inappropriate.

She shouldn’t talk to avoid annoying him.

She shouldn’t move more than necessary to avoid startling him.

She shouldn’t look at him so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

It was probably one of the worst solutions she had come up with since arriving on the island, but she didn’t know what else to do.

For now, she just had to continue.

Even if it was hard.

And Fink hated that new dynamic with all his being.

He hated watching her and realizing that she no longer had that spark in her eyes, nor that overwhelming intensity when she observed her surroundings with curiosity — the energy of someone excited to understand and learn from the world around her.

Her processors were still gathering data, of course, but he was being left out of her equation. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t understand what it didn’t want to be understood.

Fink had made it clear.

And she had to respect that, even if she disagreed with him on many things.

And Fink hated it.

He thought about all the times he looked at her with annoyance, all the times he answered her with sharp sarcasm to a question that seemed absurdly obvious, all the times he complained that she was too considerate, too slow, too gullible.

He thought about all the times he wished she would just shut up and leave him alone.

And he thought about how regretful he was for all of it.

The silence and animosity from the robot were harder to digest than any of her attempts to show him that he mattered. By far, he would have preferred to deal with another lynx for her than to keep seeing her like this.

Suddenly, the idea that Roz knew how much she meant to him didn’t make him feel as insecure.

Fear, yes. But she deserved to know.

The problem was that he didn’t know how to say it.

He couldn’t confess directly what he had done for her and Brightbill in the morning because it would seem like he was imposing a reason for her to forgive him.

He also couldn’t approach her as if nothing had happened.

And he couldn’t explain his feelings at his own pace because he had no idea how to do it without panicking in the process.

Fink let out an involuntary sigh and suffered in silence while wondering why relationships had to be so complicated.

In another context, he would have let it slide.

With someone else, he wouldn’t have cared.

But it was Roz.

And despite their noticeable differences, he knew she mattered to him.

Roz didn’t deserve his indifference, after everything she had done for him.

He realized his nerves were increasing the more he thought about it.

At this rate, the robot would run out of battery and shut down until the next day, when the sun would rise to charge her panels. Fink didn’t think he was ready to wait for her to wake up, knowing that with Brightbill around, both of them would pretend nothing had happened.

And he was tired of pretending.

So, trying to silence his thoughts, he got up clumsily, trying not to overanalyze his next move because he knew he wouldn’t find the courage to do it if he thought about it too much.

In fact, Roz probably wasn’t even expecting a perfect apology. She had seen him with all his flaws, and never judged him for them. If anything, she only commented that his technique for “teaching Brightbill to swim” wasn’t very effective.

He didn’t need to sound convincing, just sincere.

She valued that, after all.

Roz wasn’t looking at him as he walked, but Fink couldn’t help but feel that every step he took seemed foolish.

He sighed, not bothering to hide his growing frustration.

He simply stopped beside her, at the stone circle, and sat on his haunches, not knowing what to say.

The robot shrunk even more into her spot, almost imperceptibly. Just a slight tension in her body, as if trying to be careful with her movements in front of him.

Fink noticed, and something inside him decided that he couldn’t stay in this situation forever.

He opened his mouth.

He closed it.

Hesitated for a moment.

His tail moved nervously.

His breath sped up, despite his efforts to calm it.

Roz pretended not to notice his anxiety.

And Fink sighed again.

Finally, he looked into her eyes.

She was still trying to ignore him.

“Roz…” he said, in a vague attempt to sound firm, though his tone was clearly doubtful.

She leaned just a bit further away from him, her hands tightening.

She continued weaving.

Fink didn’t know whether to be even more nervous or thank her in silence, because he knew that any little bit of confidence left in him would disappear if she looked at him directly.

A knot formed in his chest.

He continued.

"Roz, I…" he paused, feeling his throat close up. "I… There’s something I need to tell you."

The robot would have preferred to ignore it, but her curiosity got the better of her.

She barely looked up, just enough for their eyes to meet for a split second.

"Yes?" she finally responded, in a very low, insecure, and fearful voice.

Fink took a deep, disguised breath, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

He tried to calm the erratic movements of his tail, partially succeeding.

"What I said this afternoon… I… Roz, I didn’t mean it…"

The robot’s hands stopped.

She analyzed her options, which weren’t many.

And she emitted a sound that resembled a murmur of understanding.

"It’s… It’s not necessary for you to say it, Fink."

"No, it is," he insisted, his tone a bit more confident. "It was wrong, very wrong, you didn’t deserve it…"

She tightened her fingers slightly.

She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, which felt like an eternity to Fink.

"You were upset… And I shouldn’t have insisted if you didn’t want to…" her voice broke slightly, despite her control. "It’s understandable that… you reacted like that, I shouldn’t have…"

"No, no," he interrupted, a little desperate. He really didn’t like her assuming responsibility like that. "It’s not logical."

I’m not logical when it comes to you…

The robot finally turned her gaze toward him, slowly and silently.

As if she were taking a moment to let the fox’s words echo in her core without needing to analyze them.

The crackling of the fire felt distant now.

And Fink was struggling to hear it, as if it could anchor him to the present.

He let out a sound between a grunt and a sigh, weary of himself.

"Roz, I… I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to do this because…" he inhaled again. "You were right, about everything you said, and I… I don’t like being seen like this…"

He left the sentence hanging in the air. She blinked slowly.

"…Vulnerable?"

Fink looked away, uncomfortable with everything that word implied.

His tail still flicked nervously, and his ears seemed to want to hide in his own fur.

The knot in his chest grew harder to ignore.

But he nodded.

Very slowly.

"I… Since I can remember, I’ve always been alone and… I don’t like feeling this way, I’ve never liked it…" his voice was rough and slow, as if he were making a monumental effort to pronounce each word. And in a way, he was. "I thought that if I pushed everyone away, nothing could hurt me…"

He felt incredibly pathetic.

And, strangely, somewhat… relieved.

He had never opened up like this to anyone, so he didn’t know how to process the feeling.

Roz didn’t interrupt him. So he continued.

"And then… And then you came along and… you saw me and knew what was going on before I even realized. You… understood me, and… that scared me."

For a moment, he felt incapable of adding anything more.

Silence settled between them again, and the robot had time to relive the argument, word by word.

You’re not real.

The pain made her shrink slightly.

The gesture reminded Fink of why he had started the conversation.

He forced himself to continue.

"I… I said horrible things, Roz. And it wasn’t… because I believed them, it was because I thought that… if I hurt you, you’d go away and… and then I wouldn’t break…"

She didn’t respond.

She lowered her gaze to the stems in her hands. She had squeezed them so hard during dinner that one had broken.

She clumsily tied it into a knot to fix it, letting out what could be considered a sigh.

"I thought I had a flaw," she confessed, softly. "That something was wrong with me, because… your words affected me more than they should’ve…"

Fink looked at her with a mix of guilt and understanding.

"No, Roz… There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re not a flaw, you’re not…" he breathed heavily. Maybe he was speaking too fast. "You’re not just a machine…"

She looked at him again, with a little less fear.

But still with sadness.

"Then… what am I?…"

There was no reproach in her voice, just innocent and pure curiosity.

Like her.

Fink hesitated.

Not because he doubted, but because he didn’t want to get it wrong again.

But he also knew that saying nothing was worse than that.

"You are…"

He let out the air he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

"You’re the only one who’s stayed by my side, even though I’ve tried to push you away…" he shut his eyes tightly. "You’re… someone I don’t want to lose, because I… you… you’re important to me…"

The robot’s gaze lit up at those last words.

Fink swallowed, uncomfortable with how awkward he was when trying to be honest.

But it was said. And he wouldn’t take it back for anything.

He continued.

"And… The worst part is that…" the pressure in his chest intensified, and a couple of tears wet his eyes. "I wish I could tell you that more often… And not just when I mess everything up…"

He didn’t bother to wipe his tears. He thought he already looked weak enough.

Roz remained silent, which made Fink even more nervous.

He figured she should be honest too.

"Fink… What you said… it hurt because I thought we were making progress, and that you’d started trusting me a little…" she decided to continue before he interrupted again. "I understand why you did it, and I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but… I’m not sure how I’m supposed to process this…"

Another silence.

Only the trembling breath of Fink was heard.

"I don’t know either…" he responded, barely audible. "I just… I don’t want to see you like that again, and… I’m so sorry, Roz…"

She looked down again.

Her internal sensors detected a small anomaly in her systems.

She decided to just let it happen instead of correcting it.

"I just want to know… if you still want me to be part of this, because…"

She hesitated for a moment. Fink didn’t pressure her.

"…I’m willing to try again."

For the first time that night, Fink’s ears perked up with happiness. His eyes brightened with a small glimmer of hope.

"So… can you forgive me?…"

The robot looked him in the eyes, nodding gently and firmly.

"I want us to move forward, I’m not going to leave you alone in this," she repeated, "because you… you’re important to me too."

Fink couldn’t help but let out a joyful gasp at those words.

A couple more tears soaked his fur, but they were no longer tears of sadness.

The weight in his chest disappeared, and the knot in his throat unraveled with painful ease. His tail wagged softly from side to side, and he could finally allow himself to breathe easily.

For a moment, he had the impulse to nuzzle against her, since he couldn’t hug her in the usual way, but he thought that would probably make the atmosphere uncomfortable, because she still didn’t fully understand affectionate gestures, and the idea of explaining to her what a purr meant made him a bit nervous.

Maybe it wasn’t necessary. She could detect his happiness with her sensors, and this time, thinking about it didn’t feel unpleasant.

And Roz noticed it, of course she noticed.

And that made her feel a little warmer inside.

Neither of them said anything after that, they just stayed there, together in silence, like two beings who, for the first time, took their time to understand and truly get to know each other without the need for words.

It was new, and strange. In a good way.

Fink couldn’t stop feeling scared of allowing her to see him for real, but he thought it wasn’t so bad if he started with her.

Her…

Well, now that he saw her better from this angle, she was more… beautiful than he usually thought, despite her aesthetic strongly contrasting with the wild environment.

How did she do it?

Beautiful robot…

A distracted smile crossed the corners of Fink’s mouth as he looked at her.

Because yes. She was beautiful.

In every way.

The robot’s lights flickered yellow, and a faint alert sound resonated throughout the cabin.

Her battery was running low.

She looked a little disappointed. She would’ve liked to spend more time in that comfortable silence.

But…

"It’s time for me to shut down until morning," she said softly, as if apologizing for something she couldn’t control, though she was fully aware that Fink already knew.

He nodded, unable to feel happier hearing her voice filled with that sweetness and warmth of hers.

"Yeah, I understand."

He watched her as Roz got up and placed her creation on the wooden shelf. It was a wild decoration, with an oval shape made of thin branches, with stems carefully tied around the figure and woven with surgical precision into both messy and harmonious patterns —despite the small knots and tears—. Inside, the figure of a fox was clearly visible.

Fink didn’t say anything. He simply watched it in silence, allowing the happiness to settle in his chest. His tail gently swished from side to side.

Roz sat back down in her usual spot, ready to power down.

She turned.

"Rest, Fink," she said sweetly.

Her lights turned off, her body relaxed, and her neck contracted so her head rested against her torso.

The shelter fell into silence once again.

"Rest, Roz…"

Chapter Text

It had been a while since the campfire embers started to fade.

The faint, warm glow gave way to the weak moonlight that barely made its way through the exposed entrance of the shelter, flooding the scene with pale shadows. A soft, chilly breeze settled weakly between the wooden walls, dispersing the little smoke in the air and filling the corners with the scent of damp pine. The thick silence was only broken by the distant creak of branches yielding under the twilight, suspended in a dense stillness, as if the forest was patiently waiting for dawn.

Fink had lost track of the minutes spent sitting in the same spot beside the robot, his tail lazily swishing back and forth, while, for once, he let his thoughts run free without trying to interrupt them.

It was... strange.

His chest still throbbed with restrained force as his heartbeat tried to calm itself. The stiffness in his body hadn’t lessened despite the considerable time that had passed since his apologies, as if every muscle remained frozen in the shock of the past hours, unable to release the accumulated tension. Even his breathing seemed to weigh the air, as if the mere act of inhaling could unleash something inside him.

He hadn’t cried yet.

There was a slight burning in his eyes from dryness, the lack of tears, but he still didn’t feel capable of letting them fall. Not from willful restraint, but because he felt that if he moved or blinked too much, everything inside him would finally overflow.

And it wasn’t discomfort. No.

It wasn’t sadness either.

Nor fear. At least, not entirely.

It was something new. Something he couldn’t quite name for sure. Or maybe he just didn’t want to say it out loud.

It wasn’t how he had ever imagined it.

For a brief moment, his old instinct echoed in his mind.

And he wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, like always.

But this time, he couldn’t.

Unfavorable, certainly.

Or so he wanted to believe.

Lately, it seemed to him that the nights had grown colder than usual.

It had been a tough day, so, with little strength and measured steps, the fox decided to head to his bed and collapse with palpable exhaustion.

His body still ached from the stiffness against the soft moss of his resting place.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a deep breath that felt like absorbing all the oxygen he’d been denying himself.

She... had forgiven him.

The thought felt strange coming from his own mind.

He settled more comfortably on his bed, as if that could help him digest it more easily.

Then he remembered how horrible he had been with the robot.

Every word he had blurted out without thinking.

Every hurtful thing he never really meant.

Every lie that would have sustained his fragile reality if he had believed it enough.

“You and your stupid programming.”

“All you do is remind me that I’m a mess.”

“You’re nothing but a damn machine.”

“You’re not real.”

Well… he hadn’t lied about one thing. He was a mess.

A constant nuisance.

Someone irrelevant.

Roz would have been fine without him. He would even understand if she chose never to speak to him again after everything he’d said.

And yet, she had forgiven him.

The lump in his throat returned with force, accompanied by a feeling heavier than fear and guilt.

Relief.

Happiness.

Belonging.

This time, he didn’t try to hold back when he felt the moisture spill from his eyes.

He didn’t resist when that warmth—one he usually perceived as a trap—wrapped around his heart.

The corners of his mouth curved into a soft smile. A real one. Not a mocking one, nor one rehearsed to hide behind his false confidence.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so… whole. And he didn’t care.

All the things he had heard throughout his life no longer mattered.

Because his reality was with her.

Roz.

And her unique way of making the world seem less complicated.

He turned his gaze toward the powered-down robot. He couldn’t help but widen his smile.

In his small nest, Brightbill slept deeply, oblivious to the whirlwind that had consumed his day. Soft chirps filled the silence like a muted echo as his chest rose and fell slowly.

For once, instead of envy, the fox looked at him with tenderness.

It would take some getting used to the label of “father,” but he wouldn’t mind trying to be one.

So he thought about what he would do the next day.

His fox nature still held onto his nocturnal instincts, but he could make an effort to get up early to accompany Roz and the little gosling.

After all, he had a promise to keep with Brightbill.

And he would stop avoiding the robot, because he no longer had any reason to do so.

He knew that should have set off alarms.

But the idea no longer made him anxious. It might even excite him.

And that didn’t scare him.

He was tired of pretending.

The past, where he saw himself as alone and ruined, now seemed pretty distant.

If a couple of months ago someone had told him he’d find a place where he belonged, he probably would have let out a dry, joyless laugh before continuing his insignificant existence in endless wandering.

But there they were. Roz and Brightbill.

The two most unlikely creatures to trust him.

Who, somehow, did.

Who accepted him.

Brightbill wasn’t afraid of him, despite him being a predator.

And Roz…

He thought about that morning.

About how he was still reluctant to understand that she saw him as something more.

His feigned annoyance at Brightbill’s presence and enthusiasm.

The fear he felt when he saw the lynx approaching. And not for him.

For them.

He hadn’t even thought twice before running.

He thought the feline would lose interest in them if it saw him as an easier prey. So he dropped down onto the grass among the bushes, away from the robot.

He stepped on branches, his tail stirred leaves, he let out low growls.

And when he felt the lynx’s eyes on him, it was as if his strongest instincts activated from within. It was like fear had frozen his heartbeat.

Fink knew he was smaller and weaker than the predator.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that it had stopped looking at Roz and Brightbill.

And he took off running.

He slipped through bushes, fallen logs, and rocks, hearing the lynx’s footsteps chasing him.

He didn’t think about the fact that if he got caught, it might be the end.

He only thought about them being safe.

Everything had happened too fast.

A bad jump, the swipe that nearly caught him, the rotten wood beneath his paws.

The woody sound of something breaking before collapsing.

When he looked back, there was nothing left. The lynx had fallen after the rotten log broke under its own weight.

Fink still felt the heavy thought as he returned to the shelter, almost on autopilot.

He saw Roz in the distance.

He didn’t pay her any mind.

He just went inside the cabin and lay down on his bed, without much ceremony.

And that’s when the reality of what he had just done hit him suddenly.

He wanted to pretend it meant nothing, but he couldn’t.

He hadn’t been able to then, and he couldn’t do it now.

He didn’t want to anymore.

“I don’t like that you’re lying to me.”

A small spasm clenched his chest.

He hadn’t thought about how she might have felt while he ignored her.

It wasn’t because he repelled her; it was because he was afraid of what it meant to accept that she was taking up space in his heart.

Besides, he thought the robot didn’t care. He believed that if she asked about his condition or interests, it was out of courtesy. Roz wouldn’t benefit from being on bad terms with the one she considered her survival partner.

He hadn’t taken into account the obvious: She was a robot. Her only assigned task was to take care of Brightbill, and probably her protocols didn’t include initiating social interaction. If she cared about him, it was because she genuinely cared.

Roz couldn’t feel frustration as such, but that night she showed something very close to pain—in her cold and wrenching mechanical way.

He was still angry at himself for that.

But he could do better.

They could… do better.

He didn’t have to be like his mother.

He didn’t want to be absent, like his father.

Brightbill and Roz deserved better than that.

And even if he wasn’t sure he could live up to it, he wanted to try.

For them.

And for himself.

With that in mind, he thought about settling into his bed and sleeping the rest of the night.

Or as much as he could before dealing with a possible nightmare.

He got up again to stretch a little and curled up around his own paws, letting his tail wrap around his body.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on resting—something that was usually hard for him for two reasons. He wasn’t used to sleeping at these hours, and the possible danger always forced him to keep his senses alert.

He was too lost in his mind when Brightbill let out a louder chirp from his sleep, startling the fox.

His ears twitched reflexively, and he opened his eyes without thinking, accustomed to reacting to the slightest sound.

But there was no threat. Not this time.

Fink sat up a little, silently and tiredly. His gaze settled on the bundle of feathers stirring in its nest.

Brightbill was restless. His wings trembled slightly, and a new chirp—more like a whimper—escaped from his beak.

He wasn’t awake, but he was dreaming of something. Not very nice.

The fox didn’t quite know what to do. A part of him still wondered if he had the right to intervene.

Roz would know better what to do.

But he couldn’t wake her.

And he knew what it was like to wake up scared and alone.

He remembered the cold.

He remembered the silence.

How unbearably long each night became.

He didn’t want Brightbill to feel that.

He climbed down from his bed and approached the gosling with soft steps. His body wrapped around the nest as if it were natural for a predator like him to want to protect something so fragile.

He hadn’t planned what he was doing, he just improvised.

“Shhh… It’s okay…” he murmured, not really sure why he spoke so softly if the little one couldn’t hear him.

Maybe it wasn’t for Brightbill. Maybe it was for himself.

He lowered his snout slowly, as if his breath might break the gosling. With a gentle movement, he licked the feathers on the small head.

Just a couple of times. Short. Careful.

Brightbill stopped trembling with a relieved sigh, settling close to the fox.

He didn’t move.

He found it hard to name what he was feeling.

“It was just a bad dream…” he whispered.

He would have liked someone to tell him the same when he was little.

A cold breeze slipped in through the shelter’s entrance. Fink wrapped Brightbill with his tail to keep him warm.

He felt like everything would be alright if he just let himself fall asleep like that.

With them.

And he allowed himself to feel calm for a moment.

He looked again at the little gosling.

He looked so adorable.

Peaceful.

Tame.

Vulnerable.

The fox’s body tensed at that last thought.

Something in that helpless image stirred something deep inside him.

He turned to look at Roz.

She was still, as every night.

Out of curiosity, he got up from his spot and reached out to touch her metal leg with his paw. She didn’t react.

He tried again, this time applying a little pressure. Nothing.

Clearly, she wouldn’t wake up until dawn and could recharge her battery again. That meant no stimulus, no matter how sudden, would make her respond.

Fink thought about the lynx from that morning.

About the bear from his nightmare.

And he made a mental tally of all the threats he had faced until not long ago.

He could handle it; he was a nocturnal predator. But Roz and Brightbill…

The little one couldn’t defend himself if some animal decided to snoop inside the cabin.

And Roz wouldn’t know what had happened until she woke up. By then, it would be too late.

Well, Fink couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed by the absurd level of vulnerability his family carried.

To hell with it.

He couldn’t allow it.

Besides… Roz didn’t need to find out. Not yet.

He knew that if he thought too much, he wouldn’t decide on any option, so he turned and walked to Roz’s lap, settling down on her leg and partially wrapping his body with his tail.

He had lain beside her before, so he didn’t know why this time felt stranger.

A little more intimate.

It wasn’t even remotely a conventional resting place. Roz’s frame was cold and solid, but somehow, it felt comfortable.

Besides, it gave him more time to react before any animal could attack her or Brightbill.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he wouldn’t let anything happen to them—even if silently.

With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes and rested his head between his paws, enough to get decent rest, and enough to stay alert to any sound he might hear.

As if he were their… guardian.

Ha.

The idea sounded funny if he thought about it that way.

But it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered anymore, if it meant they’d be okay.