Drew:

 I watch as Harley sits cross-legged on the floor playing a kids game of Knuckles. Today there are no signs of the clumsy, poor co-ordination she had suffered because of her injuries. Her hair is still short and ragged as if it is reluctant to grow after the trauma her head had received. I smile as her left hand lifts and she runs her index and middle fingers over that long broad scar. The scar that starts at the corner of her left eye, goes back up through her hair and to the far side of the crown of her head. Her fingers find the longer hair there and she strokes it absently for a few moments, all the while her right hand continues tossing, scooping and catching the plastic knuckles.

 “What are you up to? Four-sies? ” I ask. Harley gives a startled gasp and just barely catches the knuckles descending towards her fast moving hand.

 “Do you have to keep doing that!” Harley complains as she turns to look over her shoulder at me with a frown.

 “I was just making sure you hadn’t fallen asleep,” I say with a chuckle as I settle into a chair to watch her. I place the plastic bowl on the small side table by my left knee before using both hands to remove the cling wrap from a container of thin beef strips and one of fresh salad.

 “Hungry?” I ask as Harley puts the toys down.

 “Yes,” 

 I can’t help but watch as Harley rolls onto her hands and knees and crawls towards me. I don’t know if she is doing it deliberately but her motions are slow and sinuously sexy, she reminds me of those ridiculous adds on television with women trying to look feline and sensuous. And where I’ve always felt they failed miserably Harley excels.

 I feel a deep possessive growl rumble up out of my chest as I watch her and I smile at her when she raises an eyebrow. I lift a strip of raw meat from the container, dip it in the honey, soy, and garlic sauce and hold it out towards her. I feel my groin tighten as she takes the strip of meat delicately from my fingers and chews briefly before swallowing.

 She’s put on weight recently, her cheeks aren’t hollow anymore but her eyes still seem too big for her face. Her skin has lost most of its paleness and there is a healthy flush beneath the surface no longer mottled by fading bruises. Her body has lost that unhealthy skinniness and her curves are softly rounded one again. If only her hair would start to grow in properly.

 I watch as she dips snow peas and carrot sticks in the sauce before munching on them hungrily. Today she seems more interested in the salad than the meat.

 “Have you woken up feeling there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be going? Something you’re supposed to be doing this last week?” I ask almost reluctantly.

 “Sometimes,” Harley shrugs and pops a piece of meat into her mouth. “It’s not as strong anymore, and it soon disappears like it never existed.”

 We do this question each weekend and each time I am relieved when it holds less and less importance for her. Three months have blurred whatever had been there until she barely shrugs at the feeling and it’s been nearly a month since she took to wandering off following the feeling that no longer exists.

 “Any headaches?” I ask.

 “Maybe once or twice a day,” Harley says with a shrug as she reaches for a handful of salad. “But they’re just faint aches now.”

 “You got anything you think I should know or questions you want to ask me?” I ask lightly. Harley shakes her head as she bites carrot sticks and chews for a few

seconds before stopping. Her eyes are thoughtful as she looks my way and studies me for several seconds.

 “I thought I smelt something slightly doggy on you last night when you got home late,” She says levelly. Clearly she is aware she smelt something probably beyond her experience even if she had retained her memories after her shattered skull. 

 “You’ve seen how I change into a large cat when I want to,” I tell her and stop for a moment.

 “And I will be able to … again. You said I could change before the accident,” Harley states as she stops eating to watch me with a level gaze. “We’re shifters, skin-walkers.”

 “The correct term is Werecat,” I repeat the name I have told her on numerous occasions. 

 “Werecat,” Harley repeats obediently.

 “Exactly. Well last night I met two guys, brothers, at the local pub when I was grabbing my carton of beer and they are Weredingos. We change into cats, felines, and they change into dingos, a canine.” I explain calmly.

 “Wild dogs!” Harley mutters under her breath as turns from the food.

 “Native dogs,” I tell her calmly.” You could even say Indigenous,”

 Harley looks my way and tilts her head to the side. I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face, she reminds me of a curious kitt. I feel my smile quickly fade at the thought.

 “In their human form they look like the aboriginal tribe local to this area.” I look away as I get more meat strips to dip in the sauce. “I stayed and had a beer and a game of darts with them.”

 “You mind if I turn the tv on? There’s a movie on this afternoon I’d like to watch,” Harley says settling herself back on the floor with the plastic knuckles she had been playing with.

 “You can stop playing that,” I offer. “It looks like you have the reflexes and co-ordination back in your hand.”

 “The movie?” Harley persists hopefully.

 “In a minute. Don’t you have something you want to tell me? Or maybe ask me about?” I coax.

 I watch as Harley puts her left arm out to the side and leans on it as she looks back over her shoulder at me quizzically. I wait nervously as she tilts her head to the side as she watches me for a few moments before shrugging.

 “I can’t think of anything,”

 I watch disappointed as she turns to the tv and switches it on. I find it hard to believe she isn’t concerned she hasn’t had a period since recovering from her accident. It might be the fact I had used protection each time when she began accepting my attentions. Silently I turn back to my lunch. No longer hungry I put the covers back on the remaining food and take it to the fridge.

 Harley has paused in her game when I return to the small area that comprises our living room. She is watching the tv screen intently and I can see the intense interest in her profile and by the tension in her body. I glance at the screen and grin to myself as I see an add for a wildlife documentary on African lions. I hear her breath catch and a low growl come from her throat as several lionesses stalk closer to a herd of buffalo. I glance at the hand that rests on her left thigh and I am not surprised to see her fingers flexing almost convulsively.

 I hurriedly reach for the remote control and change channels. The last thing Harley needs is the excitement triggering her first change after such bad injuries as

she had. She needs calm and control when her body goes through what had the potential to be a very painful shift due to recently healed injuries.

 “Hey! I was watching that!” Harley protests angrily as soon as the picture changes. She looks back over her shoulder at me with an annoyed frown before getting to her feet, she hesitates a moment then sits in the chair beside mine.

 “Can we please watch what I was watching?” Harley asks evenly. 

 I hesitate a moment before changing back to the channel she has been watching. The documentary add is finishing and Harley watches silently until the movie starts.

 “Do I have family?” Harley asks. I glance her way but she is watching the tv.

 “Yes,” I answer after a few moments hesitation. “Yes you have a large family,” 

 “And you have family?”

 “None that would claim me as kin,” I admit sadly. I feel Harley’s gaze as she turns her head to look at me but I don’t let it show.

 “What do you mean by that? Why wouldn’t someone admit to being related to you?” She asks curiously.

 “Admitting to being related is different to being claimed as kin,” I say tightly.

 “Why wouldn’t your family claim you as kin?” Harley persists.

 I don’t answer as I stare at the tv, shame still fills me whenever I think about that day.

 “Andrew? Andrew? DREW!” Harley’s voice breaks into my thoughts and I look her way as she yells my name.

 “What is it with you?” Harley demands angrily. “You can ask me as many questions as you like but if I ask more than one you don’t like it and anymore questions and you don’t answer me?”

 “The reason behind it all is something I don’t want to talk about,” I tell her tightly. 

 “Not even to me?” Harley asks softly. “Is it something that will affect me in anyway?”

 “As long as we’re together as a couple yes,” I admit reluctantly. “I’m what’s called an outcast. No one wants me in their clan, their family. Not me, not any female I am with and not any kitt we may have.”

 “What did you do? Blow up someone’s car or something?” Harley asks with an uncomfortable laugh.

 “No if I had done something like that I would be classified as a rouge, an outlaw. Rouges and outlaws are hunted down and bought to justice. An outcast is … well … it’s like an exile. I am let live but I am not welcome in polite werecat society.” I admit with shame.

 “Does that make me an outcast as well?” Harley asks uncertainly. 

 “When you came to me you turned your back on your family. It was your decision entirely, I didn’t ask you to.” I say as I look her in the face. Harley looks away uneasily for a few moments before looking back at me. Her lips curve in a nervous smile that doesn’t reach her scared eyes.

 “I must have fell madly in love with you to do that,” she says and tears brim in her eyes. “And now I can’t remember it!”