She obviously didn't want to discuss the subject. "You don't have to tell me about it. I've got a pretty good idea. I'm just a little frustrated about the whole situation." I shrugged, added, "And I think as far as they're concerned, I'm a mistake, too. I think to be in the League you have to erase the idea of humanity from your mind, it's the only way I can figure they can do these things."
    "That's exactly what they do," she said with quiet bitterness. "But you can't believe them, Needle. You can't let them make you into.... Well, you just have to believe your humanity. Because that's what you are. I don't know, maybe I shouldn't say this kind of thing to you. It's not like I have much ground to stand on. But you need to know, if you don't already, that you have everything inside of you that makes any one of us human. A soul. A heart. A conscience. You're a good person. Don't let them take that away from you." She stubbed out the cigarette and lit a second. "You said you were frustrated. Why? Because we didn't get Zed?"
    "I know," I responded to her earlier comments, startled and somewhat touched by her earnestness. "But thanks for saying it; I didn't always." I sighed a little. "We didn't get him, yes. I want to... talk to him, at some point. Anyway, I thought you wanted to talk about something?" The coffee maker beeped softly, offering a chance to change the subject. While I feel considerably better than I used to, overall, I don't yet feel up to an objective discussion of my own claims on human citizenship. I handed her a mug and leaned on the counter.
    Lucky sighed, too, and accepted both the topical change and her coffee. She drinks it black--of course. Now she held it in both hands as if warming them and looked down into the dark liquid, swept unruly bangs back from her eyes before she spoke again.
    "Mostly I wanted to say I was sorry for not being there for you the other night. I guess we've had a pretty rocky relationship. I haven't made things easy for you, and I guess I was figuring that I was the last person you'd talk to at a time like that. I just didn't want you to think I didn't care." She spoke quickly, as if she had planned the words out ahead of time.
    And I managed, for once, to behave like a person who has a little self-control and can actually think before she opens her mouth. I didn't snap, I'm fine, could you drop it? Jumping down her throat for that sort of thing, I reminded myself, has done no good at all in the past. For whatever reason, she seems to care what happens to me, seems to want to be friends. How about a new strategy, given that for better or worse I might wind up spending years working with the woman? And actually, I didn't feel nearly as much like snapping as I probably would have, say, six weeks ago. I was a lot more defensive then.
    Instead I smiled a little to reassure her that she wasn't about to have her head bitten off again and said, "That's all right, I think I already said. I needed to be left alone just then, I couldn't have talked to anybody if I wanted to." I paused for a sip of coffee and to gauge her reaction—neutral so far. Into the breach, then. "As for the rocks—can't argue with you there. I have a tendency to bite harder than necessary a lot of the time. I think if we're careful we can work around them, though."
    She looked embarrassed, shifting a little in the chair. "I think this would be a good time to define some ground rules for our relation... um, work relationship." She paused. "What do you expect out of me as your teammate?" Her glance was direct now.
    I blinked and said, "What do you mean?" I almost said, As my teammate, I expect you to do your job, but suspected that wouldn't get me very far.
    "I don't know how much I should get into this," she stamped out the cigarette she had never smoked, "but I guess the truth is that I don't know how to deal with you a lot of the time." She waved a hand as if to forestall any interruptions from me. "I'm not saying it's your fault. I take full responsibility. I guess I'm just not very good with women; especially women I care about—all due respect intended, of course." She cleared her throat.
    Sometimes I have to remind myself that Lucky has even less practice than I do interacting with people on what might be called a "normal" level. I quirked an eyebrow and said, "I didn't realize I was that bad. Just pretend I'm a guy. I mean...." Time to get serious again, and give her the truth. She deserves it. I sighed. "I think we've worked out the main problem, right? I need to be alone a lot, need space. It's all part of the baggage they saddled me with, but that doesn't make the effect less real. And I appreciate the fact that you care, just...." I considered carefully how to phrase it, "Sometimes over the course of this mess you've acted like I'm broken, or something—hauling me off across your shoulder, always asking how I'm doing, and that wasn't what I needed. Not your fault," I added quickly, "given that I didn't tell you. But I think we've gotten past that. Now your turn: what do you need—aside from me not biting your head off every other day? This is a team, we're supposed to look out for each other, right?" I thought that might startle her, and I was right; her expression ran a gamut while I was talking, from chuckle to nod to thoughtful frown, to embarrassment at the mention of the "hauling" incident and finally a sort of stricken vulnerability. Then she took a deep breath.
    "First off, let me say that you were not 'that bad'." She considered for a moment and amended, "Well, at the very least, you were provoked. As for pretending you're a guy, it'll never happen. My over-protectiveness has very little to do with thinking you can't take care of yourself. I think you're competent enough to do that yourself. I guess I just didn't want to lose the first potential friend I thought I had ever had. And I didn't want them to get you the way they, um, the way they got my mother." She looked at the floor again while I wondered what sort of story lay behind that. "Call it a knee-jerk reaction. I'm sorry you got in the middle of it. Anyway, I guess if I had to live with me I'd bite my head off too. I can be an oaf. There's not much of a defense I can offer in light of that." She paused with a puzzled look. "What did you ask me? Oh yeah. What do I need?" She chuckled a bit wryly, evidence that she had regained her balance somewhat. "I need to earn your trust. If I can. And once I do, I hope you'll be willing to give it to me. That's all." She shrugged, a little defensively.

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