[milliways] Through The Looking Glass

[dejah_thoris]

 [After this.]

Dejah wakes and eats her breakfast on the terrace, looking out over the city.  When she's done, she finds herself pacing the floor, waiting for the door to Milliways to show up again.

The moment the sun hits the far wall, it reappears in a shimmer of dust motes. Dejah smiles with relief.  She grabs up the copper-clad box with the data crystals, and a few of her notebooks.  She starts over the threshold, and at the last moment, she whirls around and grabs Curtis's hat off her pillow.

The whole place is bustling, so she looks for him in his usual place at the bar.

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

"Bring that in here, please." She's depositing her armload of books on her desk.

"Your arm is metal. And it's a gift from me."

She regards him with a wary, hopeful look.

[2goodarms]

Stunned silence follows.

After a couple beats, Curtis realizes his mouth's hanging open, and quickly snaps it shut.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah laughs softly, her gaze falling to the books which apparently need stacking very precisely. There's a flush of color in her cheeks, if he's paying attention.

"Some day, maybe you'll be able to tell me the whole story." As if that could explain why she thinks he's worthy of such a gift. She doesn't have to justify it, of course. She's the Jeddak of Helium. She could give metal to whomever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and no one would question her.

But that's not who she is.

"Anyway, it will be seen as such. And you have my leave to tell anyone who asks that it was a gift from me."

[2goodarms]

Words still aren't coming. Why the fuck can't he say anything?

But words have never been as easy for Curtis as action, anyway. Almost before she's finished talking, Curtis crosses the room in a few quick strides and sweeps her into as tight a hug as he can manage with his one arm, face buried against her shoulder.

Obligation, gift, honor, whatever the fuck it all means -- despite the way he grumbled about front-sectioners and their bullshit in private with Edgar, he knows this is a big damn deal. And he can't even figure out how to say thanks for it.

(A war wound, she called his missing arm once. Worthy of its own metal. She gets it, even if she hasn't gotten the whole story yet.)

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah's eyes go wide and she squeaks as he engulfs her. Her laugh is bright and warm, and she tries her best to wrap her arms around him in return.

"So stoic," she whispers, nuzzling into his hair, her eyes falling closed as she breathes him in. Her hands fist in his shirt, pulling him close.

[2goodarms]

Curtis cracks a tiny grin, gasps in a near-soundless laugh. He kisses her earlobe.

"Thank you," he whispers.

[dejah_thoris]

Her head tilts up and he can feel the shiver run down her body.

"Don't thank me yet," she murmurs back. "Not until you've been to Helium and seen what it is you're getting yourself into."

[2goodarms]

"Hey, still." He gives her one more squeeze, then eases back to look her in the eye, trying to find the words. "I know this metal thing's important. I don't -- get all of it. But I know enough. So."

He smooths his hand over her hair.

"Thanks."

[dejah_thoris]

Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into his touch, her hands still keeping him close. She lets out a long breath, and pushes up on her tip toes to kiss him again.

Not a quick kiss this time, but slow, thorough. Telling him again, the only way he seems to know how to understand.

[2goodarms]

He sinks into the kiss gladly, cradling her cheek, drawing out the moment as long as they're both able. When it ends, and he comes back to himself -- aware of more than just the two of them in their shared space -- he smiles, rests his hand on her shoulder as he keeps her close.

Soft, and teasing, "So are you gonna tell me all the details now?"

[dejah_thoris]

She blinks a few times, studying the fine lines around his eyes. The way his smile sits crooked on his face. (A familiar melody in the middle of an entirely new song.) She touches his cheek again, and lets out a breath.

"I will. Let's sit and eat, and I can go over what I know." She eyes the pancakes. "Let me make sure the door is sealed, and we can sit in front of the fire?"

[2goodarms]

A few creases form along Curtis' forehead, but he answers, amiably enough, "Sure."

Kissing Dejah's temple, he goes to retrieve the pancake boxes. It's probably just because of all that earlier talk about outwitting the sensors, he reasons; a security issue, like telling Painter not to draw the inside of the food vats. No -- more like trusting Nam to get them to the front without warning the guards they were coming.

(Nam wasn't the one they had to worry about there.)

He lowers himself to the floor near the fire, carefully doling out the silverware.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah makes a circuit of the room, closing the door and pressing her palm against it. There's a near silent click as the door locks. She shakes her bracelet down closer to her hand and turns it so the pinkish grey gemstone set on the silver metal is facing up, and she puts her thumb over it. And then she methodically walks around the entire room.

She doesn't join him in front of the fire until she's certain that they're alone and that the room is secure.

"I know, you must think I'm being paranoid, but I cannot put Barsoom at risk by assuming I am alone and unobserved here in the Bar." She lets out a breath, and settles beside him. "We haven't seen sign of the Thern on Barsoom for some thirty years, but to assume they have forgotten us would be folly at best, and at worst, a devastating mistake with consequences for every living thing on the planet."

[2goodarms]

Takeout pancakes don't exactly need a lot of prep. Soon, Curtis abandons his idle fiddling in favor of watching Dejah circle the room, a faint edge of concern still lingering in his expression. When she finally settles next to him, he pries off the lid of one pancake box and pushes it her way.

"No, it's cool," he says, quiet. "I get it."

Or, like the concept of metal: he gets enough to understand the importance.

[dejah_thoris]

His trust calms something in her, and he can see her shoulders relax. She gives him a soft smile and settles next to him, taking the takeaway box with a careful hand. She sits close enough to rest her shoulder against his, slipping her shoes off and folding her feet beneath her like the first time they talked.

"So tell me about pancakes."

[2goodarms]

His smile eases back.

"They're pretty typical breakfast food. You dump spoonfuls of batter in a pan and fry them so they look like that." Curtis gestures to the box. "Sometimes they've got fruit on top, or you put berries in the batter so it cooks up with the pancake. And then you put butter and syrup on top."

Beat.

"Or just eat 'em plain."

[dejah_thoris]

He talks about cooking them and her brow furrows, but her smile never fades. John used to talk about making his food, too. It's something she has absolutely no point of reference for, but there's a wonderful sort of care in the ritual she can respect. You do nice things for the people you care about.

"I think -- I'll start with plain. And then add other ingredients one at a time."

[2goodarms]

"Yeah." He nudges her shoulder. "I think you'll like them plain."

Curtis doesn't bother with the knife and fork; it's too much hassle to do it one-handed. Instead, he tears off part of the topmost pancake -- then hesitates, and starts tearing it into smaller pieces without eating any of them.

"Or just with butter." A memory bubbles up: "I think I had chocolate chip pancakes once."

[dejah_thoris]

She leans back into that nudge until she's resting against him.

"That sounds intriguing." She mimics his gestures precisely, tearing the pancake up into bite sized pieces. "Do you still put syrup on those? To make it even sweeter?"

[2goodarms]

"Yeah. I think. Oh, um -- " Realizing what she's doing, Curtis stops picking at his food. "You can use a knife and fork, I was just..."

He trails off, rueful.

[dejah_thoris]

She waves a hand and shakes her head. "This is fine. Utensils still feel odd to me. In Helium we mostly use an eating dagger, and perhaps a spoon if the stew requires it, but only at festival. Usually you can drink it directly from the bowl."

[2goodarms]

"Oh." A touch surprised. "Okay."

It's kind of like Dejah talking about her close relationship with her people: silverware's a Front thing, and it's just weird to think of someone like her eating with her fingers.

Curtis can't quite get his hand to move that short, final distance from the box to his mouth. He starts rolling one of the pancake fragments between his fingers, squishing it into a tiny sausage of dough.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah sees him fretting and she chews her lower lip, thinking. A moment later, she moves.

"Here," she says, her voice quiet. She takes a tiny piece, perhaps the size of her thumb tip between two fingers. She offers it to him, making eye contact and silently asking, not insisting.

[2goodarms]

Curtis presses his lips together, eyes shifting from the food to her face and back.

Gingerly, he reaches to curl his hand around the back of hers, unsure if she wants him to take the food from her fingers or...what.

One bite. It's just one bite. It's Dejah; it's as safe here as he'll ever get.

[dejah_thoris]

She gives him the gentlest little nod, holding it up to his lips so he can take it from her fingertips. She knows it's a momentous step, but she's trying to maintain that same air of lightness, of playfulness.

She parts her lips as if to demonstrate, the smile lines deepening around her eyes.

"Just the one bite."