dejah_thoris | Prodigal

Entry tags:

Prodigal

After a long day in the forge, and a long night of pacing the corridors of the bar looking for Curtis, Dejah had come back to her rooms and tried to work on the prostheses. She'd made significant progress, building the initial layer of isolates and imprinting the neurological signature she'd recorded the very first day onto the layer itself. It took an incredible amount of focus and when she was done, she lay her tools on her work bench. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, she made her way to the bed.

She didn't wake for many hours. Not even the recurring image of Curtis's shy smile melting into the leering grin of Matai Chang could manage to stir her from sleep. It was late in the day when she rolled over and peered at the window. The sun was going down. Or was it coming up? She couldn't tell.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She gives a little half shrug, and then a gentle shake of her head.

"Not really. Not like this. I sleep alone. I wake alone. I have a few friends, my father... But when the servants retire for the evening, I am left to my own devices. I do my research, I work on the Project. Or here, I work on your arm or I do biological surveys of the lake..." Her voice tapers off at the end, and her hand slips down to fiddle with the collar of his shirt again.

In the past, he might have envied being in such a position: all the space you want, no people crushing you on all sides. That was before Wilford escorted him into the heart of the engine and left him there, just Curtis and the near-silent hum that drowned out every other sound.

He thinks of that moment; he thinks of Edgar, and Tanya, and even Gilliam.

Very soft, very clear, he hears a stray thought: I have something the Front doesn't. I have something they can't take.

If he were facing anyone but Dejah, he'd feel a hell of a lot more vindicated by that thought. Instead, he simply leans in again, tightening his embrace.

She bends her head so she can rest cheek to cheek with him, and sighs, long and low. Her hands still roam over his shoulders, his neck, gently stroking over his head.

"It's a bit pathetic, isn't it?" She laughs at herself, but her hands still try to pull him closer.

He lets himself be pulled, unresisting.

"Nah," he says. "Surprising. Not pathetic."

He speaks and he can feel the tension in her body fade a little. It's so good to feel his arm around her, to be able to hold him close.

"You say you don't know how to act around me. I feel the same way about you. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or say."

Hearing this surprises Curtis almost as much as her first confession. He doesn't move back this time, but he does frown, pressing an absent kiss to her temple as he does.

(She's taking so much care with him. Even now, he's a little baffled by it.)

"Because of the train, or what?" he asks.

"Yes, that's part of it. That and... I don't want you to think I'm confusing you with someone." She leans into that kiss, scrunching her eyes tight for a moment. He doesn't realize what a gift each kiss feels like to her.

"My memory is -- do you know what 'eidetic' means?"

The frown deepens as he thinks.

"No," he says. "I don't remember."

"It means I do remember. Everything. It's good for my studies, my work. But it also means, when I see or hear something, it can trigger memories. Vivid memories."

She chews her lip, fingertips idly fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"I don't want you to think I look at you and see him. I don't. When I say you remind me of him, it's -- something more. It's like hearing a familiar melody in the middle of an entirely different song."

Edited 2015-06-14 23:32 (UTC)

Just as he could feel some of the tension leaving her, so she can probably feel the tension loosening along his shoulders. Curtis nods, silent for a moment.

"Feels like it's a hell of a lot to live up to sometimes," he says at last, quiet.

"I know, but believe me, Curtis." Her hand lights on his cheek, a simple, tender touch.

"Believe me when I tell you, you already have, in your own way. I would not be here with you if you had not already done so."

He cracks a tiny smile. "Okay."

The doubts stay coiled in the back of his mind: quiet, for now, but lingering nonetheless. It's the same old shit he feels when he looks around her room and sees all the stuff she owns. Voicing it won't get them anywhere.

She doesn't know when it happened but somehow, she's come to live for those little smiles of his. She has to taste it, leaning in close and catching his mouth in a slow, loving kiss. A long moment later, she pulls back, smiling herself.

"And then there's train. I never want you to think I believe I'm above you somehow. Different, yes. But never, never better. And if I say something that makes you feel that way, I want you to call me on that shit."

He hums, contented, as they kiss.

And then snorts an equally tiny laugh at her words, in spite of himself. (That's not how he expected her to phrase the sentiment.) Composing himself, returning to the gravity of what she's saying, Curtis nods.

"There's some..." He pauses, trying to figure out how to say it. As he does, he winds his fingers through Dejah's hair. "It's not always in things you say. It's stuff I know you can't help. Like -- how you dress most of the time, and what you've got in here..."

He sighs.

"I still gotta figure some of my own shit out. I forget I'm off the train, you know?"

She grins at him as he laughs. She knows how serious this is for him, and in trying to approach it with humor, she's trying to make it easier. For the both of them.

Her eyelids flutter at the caress, and it's clear, he's having an effect on her, but she's focusing on his words.

"I do. One of the things I love about this place... It lets me put down a lot of what I carry in Helium. I love Helium, but sometimes, I forget I need to rest."

She takes a breath, a soft, contented smile on her face. "Do you want me to remind you? I mean, if you want to talk about it. Or -- something..."

Again, she falters, grinning despite herself.

Edited 2015-06-16 07:25 (UTC)

God, she's got a beautiful smile.

"Reminders might be good." Soft. "If I take it too far. I don't want to get pissed off too much at things that're...I don't know."

He doesn't want to say normal. The train was normal for Curtis. What came before, the parts that've come after -- that's the anomaly.

"I guess just what I said before. Things you can't help."

Her expression gentles, the light behind her eyes still vibrant. She can't stop touching him. Her hand works it's way between the layers of sweater and shirt, seeking him out.

"I understand. You're not angry at me. But you are angry, about what happened. To you. To your people. Sweet Issus, do I understand that -- helpless feeling, and the rage it brings."

The answer was right in front of her face, for so many decades. They were sabotaging her work, and she can't help but feel, if she'd only been smarter. Quicker. If she'd known then, what she knows now, then she could have saved so many people. She understands better than he knows.

"It all right to be angry, so long as you don't let it consume you."

His breath catches. With effort, Curtis steers himself back toward the conversation.

"It's kinda hard to keep it back sometimes," he says. "Just looking around, seeing the shit people take for granted here." His smile goes crooked. "Thank God for the gym, huh?"

(And occasional brawls with Dejah's friends. Er.)

She feels his breath catch, and hesitates, silently looking to him to see if she should back off. She doesn't know how to read him, yet.

"Yes, the gym. And now the forge perhaps?"

His smile grows, losing its lopsided edge, and he shifts into her touch in silent encouragement.

"Yeah. That too. Easier to forget what I wanna forget when I'm moving around."

She can't help but mirror that smile back to him, gentle hands slipping under his sweater, smoothing over his ribs. He's putting on weight and muscle, and she can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric. She's not asking for more than this, just simple intimacy. To be close to him.

Quiet, she asks, "What about the outside? Are you ready to go for a hike yet? I hear there are butterflies in the upper meadow, I'd love to see them."

He has to work to keep his breathing at a slow, deliberate rise and fall. Curtis closes his eyes, focusing on the contact like he did the first time they came to her room. There's no clinical distance to her touch anymore; despite the familiarity of the moment, the space around them feels wholly changed.

"Maybe?" he says after a moment. "How long a hike we talking about?"

She hums, nuzzles his cheek. "Just for the day I think. A few hours, if you need to work up to it. We can even invite Edgar, if you think he'd like to come with us."

Better to have a chaperone, she thinks. Just in case she loses her mind or something.

After a beat to mull that over, Curtis says, "I think I can handle a couple hours."

A full day sounds too daunting. He's gone outside a few more times since, but after a while, the sheer size of the grounds starts to get to him. Too much sky; too much space.

"I'll ask him. He still thinks grass is one of the best fucking things in the world, so he might be up for it."

"All right," she says, grinning again. "I'll set it up. In the meantime," she steals another slow, warm kiss. "Would you like to see what I got done while you were in custody?" There's a definitive tease, a playful lilt to her voice.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject