#hattie

There was no doubt about it. Hattie was rattled, staring at him like he was a monster about to pounce. Like he was entirely insincere in his claims.

Her chest heaved harder with every passing second, face pale and eyes held wide open. She hadn’t said a word to him in near twenty minutes.

How he wished he could just scoop her up and cradle all her fears away…

He sometimes forgot that it always started like this, that there was a time where even Misty and Jelissa would flinch away from his approaching fingers. Now, he’d have to pry them off of his shoulders and pat his pockets down to avoid taking them back to the office.

Hattie’s wings were tucked tight against her back, bony fingers braced behind her, flexed with discomfort, pale at the joints from the pressure.

“Please don’t…” he starts, lifting his hand up to motion for her to ease up. To stop herself from bruising or worse, fainting from the constant insurmountable strain she was putting on her body. She wasn’t going anywhere, but she was quivering so hard he thought she might collapse right on the table.

Before he can even make a move, a soft whistle of a cry tears itself from her throat, little eyes widening further, locked onto the fingers that had suspended themselves inches away from her.

Her lips were parted frozen, eyes glossing over with tears. He makes out the faintest shake of her head before her eyes dart back to his, brows curved in refusal. Heart thrumming in her ears. Sweat accumulating at her hairline.

She felt the sickening pool of warmth below her before she could register exactly what she had done.

Jonah’s breath hitches.

“…Hattie?”

Horrified, she slowly tilts her head down to find that indeed, a trickle of liquid lay on the table and around the hem of her oversized shirt. Unmistakable.

She sobs, releasing all the tension in her shoulders as the stream continued against her will.

“No, no, no…” she croaks, paralyzed at the scene of her crime.

She felt Jonah shift, leaning closer to her from the other end of the table.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he coos, fingers unfurling with new purpose.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, oh my gosh, no— NO!”

“I’m going to pick you up, okay? I know it’s scary, I know, honey, I promise I’ll be gentle,” he narrates.

She thrashes weakly as the digits wrap around her, lifting her out of the damage she had done. It was like she had forgotten how to use her wings, with them still glued firmly to her back.

“Easy, easy, I want to help you.”

She shakes her head, growing continuously humiliated as she was readjusted into the center of his palm, leaving her mess all over him in the process.

Her voice was caught in her throat, only sharp, hitched breaths clawing their way out of her lungs.

“Come on, breathe, it’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a little accident, it happens all the time.”

She flinches at the sound of his voice, so close, so overbearing. Spreading through his fingers into her, now that they were in contact.

It had been years since a fairy was so terrified of him that they had peed themselves. But he’d seen worse.

Pity swarmed him as her eyes clamped shut, arms pulled close to her chest, immobilized once again. Like the thought of being further pressed against his skin plagued her.

He couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like in her shoes. Being so little.

She couldn’t wrap her head around what he was doing. Holding her when she was in a state like this?

He shifts onto his knees, keeping both hands on the tiny girl and pushing himself off of the ground to stand up to his full height. Hattie hears the file drop to the floor, edges of the pages fluttering from within before they settle.

It was disorienting. It took an awful lot of strength to stop herself from puking all over him, to top it off.

Being held so close to his chest, she could smell the woodsy scent of pine that drifted off of him. Could feel the heat radiating off of his torso, all the more reason for her to panic, given she was currently in the hands of another living being. Completely at his mercy. Utterly helpless.

She couldn’t hear anything he was saying. He was talking to her for sure, there was no one else in the room, but the ringing in her ears and the spinning sensation from her head prevented her from picking any of it up.

Feeling a new sensation along her legs, she blinks the moisture from her lashes and forces her neck back to look at him.

A pair of massive green eyes mulled her over. His brows were pulled together, face held neutral.

Her hands were braced against his thumb and forefinger which pinched her at the waist now, she realized. Dangling between his fingertips as he held her up. His other hand held a damp washcloth.

She turns her head this way and that, trying to take in the sudden change of surroundings. They were still in the same room, she found, the little round table now across from them. It looked so small from up here.

Another swirl in her gut at the thought.

Behind her was a sink, the water dripping off of her legs in soft streams as he dabbed at her skin and shirt.

“I’m just gonna clean you up, okay? And then I’ll get you some other clothes.”

She stares back at him again, bewildered as he continued to wipe down her legs. He was being inexplicably gentle, given his size.

Her wings spring open reflexively as he drags the wet cloth over the bone of her hip for good measure. They flutter sharply before she wills them to relax, tickling the webbing between his fingers from behind her.

Every once in a while she would remember where she was, that she was in the hands of someone who could snap her in half with just a little added pressure, and she’d be sent spiraling back to square one.

With every distressed cry that she gave, he cooed again, urging her to let it out, that he would take care of it, that she didn’t have to worry.

When he was done, he rinsed off, and before she could say anything else, she was pressed flush against his chest.

She lets out a pained sigh, dazed as he strokes her hair with his thumb.

He pulls open a drawer beside the sink, rummaging through with his other hand. A few stray fairy-sized shirts were strewn along the bottom.

“Do you have a favourite colour?”

She stares blankly, not quite ready to give in just yet.

The corner of his mouth turns up in the slightest as he presents an oversized pale-blue Tee between two fingers, holding it up for her approval.

“Is this okay?”

She swallows, nodding.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “You’re being so brave.”

She feels herself swaying as he walks back to the middle of the room, opting to sink into one of the couches this time.

He carefully deposits her onto his thigh, flat on her back, and to her shock, slips the dry shirt over the wet one. He maneuvers her little arms out of the holes from the tattered white shirt, slipping it out from underneath the neckline of her second layer. Avoiding exposing her in such a state of distress.

It was unbelievable, how his fingers dwarfed her. She shudders at the thought of him wanting to keep her, pin her to a board like a display-case butterfly. It wouldn’t be difficult, really, if that’s what he wanted. If all her speculations were in fact correct.

He tosses the old shirt onto the white table behind her, the little puddle of urine still sitting there, at the end of Jonah’s priorities.

“There we go,” he says, easing her arms back out of the holes for her new outfit. He pinches her hands to help her into a seat, accustomed to the feeling of tiny fingers flexing against his own fingertips.

She grips the front of the blue shirt, assessing the fabric. It was plush and breathable. There were no slits at the back, but her wings still had room to shift if she so desired.

Jonah sets his hand beside her, palm up.

Her eyes bore into it, limbs carrying her up the slope of flesh against her better instincts. Her legs shake as her knees dig into the skin, and Jonah’s other hand gives her a gentle push from behind to hoist her up.

He softens once she’s on, fingers curving up to offer some security before cradling her close and leaning back on the couch.

She peeks out from his fingers, shrinking back when she finds him still looking at her.

Seeing that her sobs had calmed down and her lashes were fluttering in disheveled fatigue, he took the opportunity to circle back to their earlier “conversation”.

“Hattie?”

He feels her wings stiffen through her shirt.

“Once you’re ready, do you think I could take you back to the house?”

His eyes were aglow with feeling, pleading with her.

“You don’t have to go see anyone, or me, even. But I want you to have somewhere to rest that isn’t just in here.”

She purses her lips, still recovering from the aftershock of her incident.

After a beat, and a gnawing desire to shake her head again, she gives a quick nod.

Jonah smiles. “Okay.”

Hattie lets out another sigh, body like jelly.