dejah_thoris | [milliways] Through The Looking Glass

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.

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."

His shoulders rise and fall with the size of his breath. He swallows, trying to banish the dry ache in his throat.

One bite, offered as a gift.

Curtis closes his eyes. Always, it seems to come back to that one last inch of movement: he leans in, opens his mouth just enough to take the pancake piece from her fingers, stays close as he chews the tiny bite of food. He can taste it this time, he realizes. Not very strongly, but it isn't like the mouthful of grit the Thin Mint became.

Her fingertips light on his jaw, and as soon as he's done chewing, she leans in to kiss his cheek, light as air. Such a huge step for them, it makes her own heart pound in her chest.

She feels the words catch behind her teeth, almost taking her by surprise. No. Not yet. Not now, at least.

She pulls back to look into his eyes, and check where he's at.

"Better?"

"Yeah, a little."

He doesn't look up right away, but the tiny, crooked smile eases out of hiding. It grows when he finally opens his eyes and meets Dejah's gaze.

"You're so good to me."

Curtis sounds like he doesn't quite believe it, still.

Her brow furrows and her lips thin. She blinks a few times and swallows. All the while, her hand keeps stroking his beard.

"I try."

She sounds like it's not nearly enough to undo all the hurt, all the trauma. Then again, maybe there's no such thing as enough in this regard.

That's all they've done so far, as they've figured out this shared space together. Try. And each time they've tried, a little more has started to work.

He presses another kiss to her forehead, rests there for another beat, enjoying the quiet hum around them.

"Tell me about the project?" he whispers.

She pulls back a little, returning from that little place of peace.

"Which project? Oh you mean -- yes, right. Well, it doesn't seem like your bioelectrical signature is unique." She nibbles a bit of pancake as she talks, taking minute bites no bigger than the one she fed him. "It seems you don't have a bioelectrical signature at all. I took baseline readings of the room when you weren't here, so I could isolate your -- life signs isn't really appropriate, is it? But when I looked at the data, there was nothing there."

Her eyes open wide as if she's both startled and amused by this information.

If he has something else to distract him, eating feels so much less insurmountable. Curtis keeps tearing at his own pancakes, reducing each piece to shapes barely the size of his thumbnail, but -- swift, darting, like a bird pecking at its food -- he starts to shuttle them one at a time to his mouth once he's done. Each time, he has to turn his head away for a brief instant.

But he's eating. With another person watching him from less than a foot away. It's a damn sight better than that disaster with the cookies and coffee.

"But I've got a heartbeat," he says, bemused. "And I'm breathing. I've got body heat -- none of that shows up?"

"You would think, wouldn't you? If it does register, it's indistinguishable from background noise." She's trying not to watch, not to make it such a big deal. Just keep talking, she thinks. She tears off another piece of pancake and opens the little dish of butter, dabbing at it.

"Perhaps when we get to Helium, I will check again, but it works in our favor. Without your signature to interfere, the sensors will only read the artifact. And as long as you are within a predefined radius of me, you will not set off any alarms."

His eyebrows winch up his forehead. "Oh," he says -- still puzzled (seriously, no vital signs?), but undeniably pleased. "How big a radius?"

Not like it's a good idea for him to go off and explore Helium on his own anyway, but certain practicalities mean they're probably not gonna be hip-to-hip the whole time. Judging just by the size of her room, she's used to having space; they're not facing crowding like the train.

Curtis pries off the lid of his syrup dish. He tears away a slightly bigger piece of pancake this time and dunks it in.

"I was thinking ten metres, should be plenty. If you're only coming for the day. And instead of having to pass as a newcomer, you will be completely," she taps her piece of pancake against his piece, like clinking champagne glasses, "and utterly invisible."

"Wait, like -- " He squints at Dejah. "Invisible, invisible? 'Don't even have to use the pendant or the cloaking thing in my arm' invisible?"

That can't be right.

...It sounds kind of amazing, but yeah, that can't be right.

"No, you'll have the arm. I think it's only fair that we finish your arm before I drag you off on another adventure. But the ability will be built into the arm. And it's not quite the same kind of invisible you imagine."

She shifts a little, getting more comfortable for the explanation. "See, the dangerous thing about the Thern artifacts is that they give an impression to the mind. The mind itself fills in the gaps, leaving a flawless illusion in place of an infiltrator. The device doesn't actually make light bend around you. It makes the person who is looking at you think you're supposed to be there, and that you're of no consequence whatsoever. You're scenery, essentially. I can do a full cloak; we use that for stealth operations. But in this instance, you need to worry about people bumping into you. And that's a lot easier to avoid if they can see there's a body occupying the space they're about to walk through."

"Huh."

That's...yeah, that's dangerous as hell in the hands of a megalomaniacal race bent on destroying an entire planet. (Then again, a plastic knife has the potential to be dangerous in the hands of said megalomaniacs.) And it's unsettling, for a reason Curtis can't place at first -- until he thinks, it'd be like how Mason blended in, and or how I was just one more tail-section hick keeping his place for years, and, oh.

He examines the latest hunk of pancake, pops it into his mouth, chews. Swallows.

"And if you were talking to me it'd just look like you were...I don't know. Talking to a guard?"

"A guard or an assistant. If we were to get -- too affectionate in public," she can't help the tiny smile that rises, "then the illusion would be compromised. As different people would fill in different details, some might see me kissing a senator or a general, perhaps. Which would be problematic, to say the least. But if we merely discuss the city and other things, then I suspect the conversation would be forgotten long before whoever was listening even realized they'd heard it."

Straight-faced: "We'll just have to kiss a lot before we leave. Get it out of our systems."

Such a hardship, truly.

"So if I talked to somebody else it'd break the illusion for them, too?"

His deadpan delivery doesn't spare him the wicked little grin that rises at his comment.

"You will be able to speak to them, but what they hear may not be what you actually said. Their mind will fill in the appropriate details, you see. But I am not the only person who will know you are there. I have told Kantos you are coming, and he is looking forward to meeting you."

"Kantos?"

Dejah, please say that's not Barsoomian for 'dad' or 'mom.'

Dejah nods. "Jedwar Kantos Kan, admiral of Helium's navy, and an old friend. I trust him." She takes a larger bite of pancake, chews for a moment. "John trusted him. And if something happens, I want him to know, so he can protect you."

She looks up at him through her eyelashes.

Dejah's trust in Kantos matters a lot more to him than John's. Curtis has actually met Dejah, for one.

He reverts to toying with his food again, rolling another chunk of pancake between his fingers. "All right," he says. Lighter, "I'll try to make a better impression on him than I made on Tars."

For instance: not trying to leave an impression of a dinner knife in anyone's stomach.

(Even though he still maintains that was totally self-defense, X.)

Idly, she offered him another piece of pancake, just as before. Perhaps a larger bite.

"I'm not worried about it," she says. "Kantos is much less prone to violent outbursts. And I've told him about us. He understands."

He understands that Curtis makes her happy, and that's all he really needs to know.

Like before, he hesitates; unlike before, he moves with more surety when he finally leans to taste the bite of food between her fingers, head down, pressing shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

"He's okay with this?" Faint surprise colors his word. "Even without all that formal suit shit?"

"'That formal suit shit'," she says, the edge in her voice playful, but pointed nonetheless, "is what ensures that a Jeddak's time and energy is not wasted dallying with faithless pretenders. A Jeddak marries for love or not at all. That is not to say there haven't been Jeddaks who keep both consorts and concubines, but they are not remembered with anything resembling fondness."

Her shoulder rests against his, easy as breathing. "And yes, to answer your question, he is okay with it. Because he knows me, and he knows I would never forsake Helium for the pleasure of a simple bed companion."

Curtis shakes his head. Front-sectioners, he finds himself thinking again, wearily. Always worried about who's out to steal the power they've managed to grab. Guess it's all one great big cycle of stealing and grabbing and taking, no matter where you are -- the only difference is that she's got more to spare than someone like him.

(He sees Wilford's smile, for a beat. The pancakes abruptly taste too cloying.)

When he recognizes his next thought -- good thing she can't hear my thoughts yet -- Curtis stills against her shoulder. He draws in a careful breath, exhales just as carefully.

"Guess that means I gotta take the Voice of Barsoom then, huh."

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