Dejah Thoris (
dejah_thoris) wrote2015-06-09 05:49 pm
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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.
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.
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Reclaiming his hand, he starts to unfasten the buttons.
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"First off, Barsoom has half the gravity that Earth does. So a human there is twice -- sometimes more than twice -- as strong as he would be on Earth. It means you'd have to adjust to that." There's a hint of amusement running under her voice.
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He joins her on the couch, tucking his legs up with absentminded ease to take up as little space as possible, and raises his eyebrows. Deadpan: "So maybe I could finally take you in a fight?"
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That got a bright laugh. "You don't think after forty years of living with an Earthman, I haven't learned a few dirty tricks?"
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(That's as far as he'll go acknowledging the double entendre. If it was a double entendre. The robe still isn't helping to move his thoughts off that track.)
Curtis coughs into his fist. "So, okay. Lower gravity," he says. "That's -- does that mean it'd be like walking on the moon?"
He vaguely remembers stories about that, and video of men in bulky spacesuits bouncing along the surface of Earth's moon. Curtis pantomimes it with his hand along the back of the couch.
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"Yes, precisely. You will have a period of adjustment, but it's only a few days. You'll also be stronger there, so be aware when you get into a fight. Killing a man with a single blow is not outside the realm of possibility."
She catches the bouncing hand with a soft touch and lightly laces her fingers through his.
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He's not sure Edgar would like the idea of Curtis being gone so long. (Curtis isn't sure he likes the idea, either.) Even more pressing, though:
"Can I even leave the bar that long? I heard weird shit can happen if you're dead."
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"I've heard varying information. I understand that you'll start to fade after a period of time. Three days. Seven days. If you do fade entirely, they say you'll just reappear here in the bar. But one or two days, you'll do fine. We could always return here to the bar to sleep every night. I mean, if it ever, you know... comes to that."
She's heard of several couples from different worlds who managed to make a trans-universe life work. And she's a firm believer that if you want something to work, you find a way.
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And that'd at least give him a chance to check in on Edgar.
"What else do I need to know?"
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"There's quite a lot. I'm almost afraid to tell you all of it, lest you decide I'm not worth the trouble. My life there is not a simple one."
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"Not like my life's been all that simple either," he points out.
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It's not a comforting thought. Neither is the idea of parting with his coat, or sweater, or the other layers he still wears like armor against the opulence of Milliways.
He's silent, his thumb absently tracing back and forth across the side of Dejah's hand.
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"Perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves," she says, her voice quiet. "You still haven't told me what you want from this. What you need from me."
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"I don't know how I'm supposed to act around you."
Quiet.
"I don't want to get you in trouble."
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"Tars kept saying it was a big deal," he says, no louder. "That I was alone with you. That you let me be alone with you."
If something that simple can carry so much weight on Barsoom, how the fuck is he going to manage it?
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"I trust you. Tars is burdened by the weight of history. He does not know what has passed between the two of us."
She does not need to witness him felling a great white ape with his bare hands to know that if her life were in danger, he would do everything in his power to save her. She couldn't say how she knows that. She just knows.
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He opens his eyes.
"I don't know what the fuck I'd have to do in Helium. I don't want to start shit. And -- " His fingers curl in the fabric of her robe. "I don't even get why you trust me so much. How could you possibly fucking know when you found me? How -- "
Curtis draws himself up short, presses his lips together before he can say anything else.
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"Curtis. I could ask you the same thing."
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"Because I didn't know what the fuck was going on," he whispers. "And -- "
And you were kind. And I thought I could fight you if I had to.
"You didn't care about anything, except whether I was hurt."
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She can't explain it. She's seen his eyes shutter when she mentions John's name. If she'd never met John, maybe she wouldn't have recognized this -- whatever it was between them. When John came to her, he was on the edge of insanity, his heart broken, his mind heading that way. He was so lost, so alone, and so angry. She became his lifeline back to the world.
What she feels for Curtis is very much walking the same path, but it's more than that. She recognizes in him a part of herself. She'd never been able to admit it to John, but he had saved her as much as she'd saved him. And not just from the Thern.
"It doesn't explain why you're still here."
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"I've got no idea," he admits.
By all rights, he shouldn't be. He should have listened to the instincts the train ground into him -- never trust the Front -- and broken all contact as soon as he left the infirmary. But she didn't do anything to hurt him. She still hasn't.
Maybe that's the closest approximation to trust he can get.
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Her head lifts and she whispers to him, soft and low. "I can't explain it either. I have a few ideas, but they don't matter. What matters is -- I want you here. I enjoy your company. And I have come -- to care about you. Sometimes such things defy reason."
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For a wild instant, he wants to tell her everything. To throw the truth at her feet, push back against her affection, and run. But a new memory sticks to his mind now: the look of almost-approval on Tars' face as Curtis said, that's how it's gonna be.
He fights. He goes forward. He doesn't know how to do anything else.
Curtis leans in, pressing another kiss to her forehead, and murmurs, "Yeah, I guess so."
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