AN: It's a short one because I wanted to get this chapter out and gone. Also, it's late. Why am I not sleeping? Because apparently inspiration hits at midnight.

Also, all my lovely reviewers / followers / favers? I absolutely love you guys. There is nothing quite as motivating as a lovely review :)

Disclaimer:

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

Magd put on a roast chicken. She had one in the fridge, one of those standard store-branded ones that come in an oven bag and are stuffed with additional moisture to make the most succulent and moist roast chicken imaginable. She'd make some stock from the carcass, or maybe a meaty soup. She had a few hocks in the freezer, miscellaneous bits of lamb and a few scraps of rabbit. It'd be a peculiar one, but it would be quite delicious.

And just what the raccoon would need, if he deigned to remain.

She needn't have worried. About ten minutes before the chicken was ready – it's smell permeating the kitchen – the spare bedroom door unlocked and opened and a whiffling nose poked out. Small paws clicked down the hallway and he emerged into the kitchen blinking the sleep from his eyes and looking exhausted.

"Lunch will be ready in a moment," Magd said, pulling out two plates just to emphasise her point. "Have a seat, I'll dish it up. How does your stomach feel?"

He hopped up on his chair and rubbed his stomach. "Feels fine," he replied, placing his paws on the table and staring at them. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Er, I just realised, do you have a name?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the table and its occupant. He looked blankly at her. "How should I refer to you?"

"My designation is 8931P. Subject 8931P," he replied, not looking up from his hands, shoulders curling inwards.

"Well I'm not going to call you that, that's just a terrible way of reducing your worth!" Magd pulled the chicken from the oven and placed it to one side. "We'll have to think of an actual name for you. You'll be able to choose your own name," she said, viciously carving into the chicken. She piled his plate high with rocket salad, sprinkled with walnuts (he seemed to quite enjoy them), and chicken breast. A leg and a thigh followed. She took the plate over to him and went back to prepare her own plate. When she had heaped on her own meal, she turned back to find him watching her closely, his plate still untouched.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. She paused mid-step. Put her foot down. Shrugged.

"Because you're hurt," she said, pulling her chair out with a foot and placing her plate on the table. "I'd be doing this even if you couldn't talk and were destroying the furniture. I just..." Magd paused and spent a moment organising her cutlery on either side of her plate, intent on ensuring the knife and fork were perfectly perpendicular. "I think everything and everyone should feel safe and not be in pain." She looked at the raccoon then, meeting his intent gaze. He considered her a moment longer, then shrugged and looked down at his food, picked up a walnut, and popped it in his mouth.

Magd picked up the leg on her plate and began to eat. It was good, if very simple, fare. Exactly what a healing body with a moderately unknown digestive system needed. As her ward ate, she got up and filled two glasses with water, placing one next to him and the other at her plate side. She returned to her meal, sipping as she went along. The raccoon mimicked her with the cup, clutching it with both his paws and bringing it to his muzzle. After a few aborted tries, he finally got the hang of tipping the cup just enough to get a sip. Which was a relief. She didn't think he would appreciate 'sippy cups' used to train toddlers how to cup.

The meal continued, and was finished, in silence. It was the kind of silence that would not be filled by small-talk. Magd finished well before the raccoon did – he was quite content to munch his way through individual leaves of salad and walnuts – and so collected her plate and piled her utensils into the dishwasher. "Would you like some more?" she asked, motioning to the chicken. He shook his head, walnut half in his mouth.

"No, I think this will keep me full for a while," he replied and turned back to his meal. Shrugging, Magd covered the chicken and popped it into the fridge. She tottered over to her window seat and grabbed her book, curling up on the cushions so that she could both read and keep an eye on her guest.

It was some time before said guest eventually rolled himself of his chair. He paused for a moment, ears twitching and eyes flicking between the table and Magd. She kept her eyes resolutely on her book, watching him via her periphery vision. He moved into action, taking his plate from the table and placing it in the dishwasher, just in front of her own. She looked up.

"Thank you for doing that," she said. He scuffed his feet and avoided her smile. A sudden thought had her wide eyed with glee. "Have you ever been introduced to the television?" He shook his head. She laughed her delight, unfolding herself from the window seat and padding over to her sofa. "Oh, my little friend, let me introduce you to the devourer of time and source of much hilarity." She picked up the remote and patted the other cushion on her sofa.

He climbed into her armchair and settled down. She shrugged it off and turned the TV on.

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