Conversing

## Meta

**Timing:** at some point after "Portrait"

**Setting:** Jackson's flat

## Text

"Do you have homework?" Jackson asks.

"I'm taking seven classes."

"Would you mind if I worked on your picture while you, er, work?"

"Sure."

They settle in[; Jackson on the easy chair, Charlie on the couch.]

"Are you sure no one's ever painted you before?"

"Mhm."

"Most people get really self-conscious when someone's staring at them like this."

"'m not most people."

"Very true."

He and the sponge tool dab about in a field of night when he hears it.

The sound comes again, a soft interval under Charlie's breath.

"That's pretty."

Charlie clears her throat. "Sorry."

"What is it?"

"Bird call."

"Cool."

They return to their projects.

"It's a crow," adds Charlie. "What they use for 'safe.' In Towra Point, at any rate."

"Learned that from hiking?"

She holds up her textbook, /*Ornithology: Fossils on the Wind*.

"Right."

"But I picked it up while hiking." Returns to her notebook. "Just not why I picked it up." Spins her pencil. "Sorry."

Jazz hands. "No, no problem. I was just curious. It's, uh, really cool you can do that. Speak bird."

Charlie shrugs, jots a phrase.

Jackson sprinkles a few more stars.

Her pencil scratches; a page turns. "It's—" Presses her lips together. "They can … talk?" She leaves it hanging.

Jackson glances up.

Charlie looks away quickly. "It's not /**much** conversation; it's basically 'Hello. How are you? I'm well, thank you.
How are you? I'm unwell. I'm sorry. Me, too. Goodbye.' over and over and
 over again. But then they'll start changing it up. They'll get witty. It's … fun."

Jackson forces himself not to look up.

"Which doesn't
actually answer your question." Deep breath. "I was bored. And stuck. I wasn't going anywhere anytime fast, so … after a while, things got used to me, started talking. So I listened. And I make a point, now, to learn whatever 'familiar' is in the area; it comes in handy for getting rid of food, finding food …. Useful, I guess." Refocuses on her work. "Just a thing I do."

"Could you, umm, teach me to do that?"

"Do what?"

"The bird call."

She makes the sound.

Jackson echoes.

"Not quite." Again.

He tries a higher pitch.

"Worse. It's—"

Jackson nails it.

"There you go."

Jackson preens, repeats the call.

Charlie's eyes crinkle.

"I, umm ... By the way, I finished your painting?"

"Can I see it?"

"O-of course." Jackson moves next to Charlie on the couch, passes over the laptop.

Charlie accepts it, studies the screen, expression neutral. "This's what I look like to you?"

Jackson rubs the back of his neck. "Um, yea."

Charlie's brow furrows.

Swallows. "You're the prettiest, coolest person I've ever me— seen."

'Really,' says Charlie's eyebrow.

"Really."

She hands the laptop back. "Huh."

Jackson tosses the laptop to the floor, flops back into the cushions, covers his face with his hands. "'m sooooo sorry. I'll erase it—"

Charlie straddles his lap, grabs his hands, and pins them down.

"Never do—"

Her kiss cuts him off.

Jackson [melts].

She pulls back to whisper against his cheek, "Never said I didn't like it."

"Oh." A nip at her earlobe. "Cool."

"You really think I'm pretty."

"Very." A kiss. "Very." Another. "Very." A third. "Pretty."