Dr. Catherine Bloom steepled her fingers and sighed wearily as she watched the lion crouch in the corner of its cage, luminous yellow eyes tracking her every motion. The food and water in its cage lay untouched, as they had for the last day and a half. None of them could risk getting close enough to put in an IV, and in this weak state a sedative would probably kill it. Not that it mattered; at this rate, the poor creature would die of dehydration.

And people wondered why she had preferred to work with animals. She wished she could pretend that she and whatever sick bastard had done this weren’t the same species. They had broken the lion so badly…

Behind her, the sick wolf cub made a soft and mournful sound. She turned, offering it a sympathetic smile. The cub pressed its face against the glass of the cage, whining softly, wanting its mother. Catherine wondered how long it would take it to realize that it had been orphaned. Maybe it already knew.

Checking her watch, she decided that it was almost time for the cub’s dose of antibiotics anyway. If she gave it a few ear-scratches in the process, purely in the name of maintaining social interaction, there was no one here to complain about a little sympathy. From one orphan to another…

Making up her mind, she turned and collided with someone’s chest. She staggered; they didn’t. Looking up, she let her annoyed snap die away as she recognized the green eyes and expressionless face of her official assistant. She managed something approaching a smile, and asked, “Yes, Trowa?”

He didn’t smile back, but she would have been more surprised if he had. Strange kid, that one. He had been hired on as a clown to entertain the children, but she’d never even seen him blink, let alone laugh. That same lack of facial expression kept her from guessing why he continued to turn up in her lab, asking in a soft voice that she could never quite recall later if she needed any help. Since she usually did, far be it for her to ask questions. He did what she asked, and did it better than most of the assistants she had paid for their work.

Trowa said, in an even voice that gave nothing away, “One of the Bonobos is looking sluggish. She might be in here soon.”

Remarkably observant for an untrained kid. She had noticed that herself. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “Do you need any help?”

“Actually, yes. If you wouldn’t mind. The armadillo and that hawk with the broken wing need some food. You could take care of that while I deal with the cub. Be careful going past the monkeys; Bub keeps spitting.”

With a simple nod, Trowa turned away. He didn’t have to ask where the food was, or what do to; he just seemed to know. One of these days, lack of a degree be damned, she was going to have to ask him if he wanted a job.

As she had expected, the cub gave her no trouble except for a playful nip on the hand. It was an improvement from the lethargic way it had sprawled in her lap when they had brought it in. In a few days, they could start introducing him to a surrogate mother, and later to the whole pack. The cub, at least, would survive. The thought gave her the energy to straighten and slide through the cage door, shutting it behind her. Without looking, she asked, “Where did you learn to do this anyway?”

There was no answer. Curious, she glanced over her shoulder and found that Trowa wasn’t listening anymore.

Through the thin glass of the cage door and a separation of ten feet, Trowa and the young lion considered each other. The lion looked wary; Trowa looked simply empty, as lifeless as a bell jar, beyond emotion. Some communication, something she couldn’t hear, hummed between them, thick enough to touch.

The lion hadn’t even looked at anyone else.

Catherine shifted, something in her warning that being this close was dangerous. The soft sound of her footfall broke the silence. The lion looked away again, staring fixedly at the floor. Trowa just blinked.

Well. There was a first for everything.

“That one just came in last night,” Catherine murmured, suddenly as reluctant to startle the boy as she had been to disturb the wounded lion. She wasn’t sure which of the two was more dangerous anymore. “None of us can get close.”

“Someone hurt him.” There was no righteous anger in the boy’s voice; he said it as if it was to be expected, and he was surprised that Catherine even had to wonder about it. “He’s afraid.”

Unexpectedly, a slow smirk tilted up one corner of Trowa’s mouth. It didn’t make him look any more human. “Animals react on their emotions.”

Catherine sighed and pressed her fingertips to the glass. Such a thin barrier, keeping the animals in and her out. Sometimes she thought it was more for their protection than her own. “If he doesn’t let someone help him, he’ll die.”

“Perhaps being hurt again would be worse.”

She had no reply for that, or for the too-old knowledge in his dead eyes.

“Do you need anything else done, Dr. Bloom?”

“Hmm? Oh. No, that will be fine, thank you.”

He nodded again, and was gone, leaving her with the empty room and her own thoughts. She sighed, laying her forehead against the cool glass. Opening her eyes, she watched the lion turn its back to her, hiding its pain, hiding from the world, and remembered old and unhealed wounds concealed behind silence and dark green eyes.

Perhaps being hurt again would be worse.

God, but she hated humanity.