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“It’s quiet.”
Sitting in Amy’s quarters at the end of her bed, Nog watches as she fiddles with an audio player. The sounds coming out of it are soft—steady chirping and the light patter of rain on some sort of flat surface.
“I know. The crickets where I’m from are nowhere near as abundant or loud as the ones where Jake is.”
A long, loud buzz interrupts the tranquility and they both jump.
“What was that?”
“Cicadas.”
Amy puts the audio player down and hops onto the bed next to him.
“I spent most of my life thinking the sounds they made were the power conduits around town,” She confesses.
“Really?” Nog asks, grinning.
“Yeah,” She nods, looking sheepish. “The day I found out they weren’t was the last time someone on Earth called me an idiot.”
His smile drops. Amy notices, her own sardonic grin dropping away into an awkward frown.
“It made sense, back then,” She tacks on, like she wants to defend it. “I asked a lot of obvious questions, took things too literally, I just wasn’t the brightest and some people made sure I knew…”
Amy trails off and looks at Nog hoping for him to be grinning again but he isn’t. He looks discomforted and he feels equally at a loss for words.
“TMI?” Amy asks suddenly.
Now he’s doubly confused.
“What?”
“Too much information. Sorry.”
“You know my uncle.”
Amy hates knowing he can relate to it. She turns away, twisting the hem of her nightshirt around her finger as the not-quite-silence draws out for a while, and Nog tries to think of something to say.
“I don’t think you’re an idiot.” He finally does.
Amy looks back at him and Nog swears she’s about to cry.
“Really?”
Now he knows she’s about to cry. Her eyes are wet and her voice is thin and raspy. She blinks and quickly cuffs her cheek dry, inhaling shakily as he moves to sit next to her. He can see her go to apologize and levels the though with a single look that just says ‘don’t’. Amy half smiles and they sit there, listening to the cicadas.