[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

[2goodarms]

The dizziness isn't as bad when he closes his eyes anymore. Curtis lets his eyes slip shut, curling his arm around her shoulders again.

He's thinking of the greenhouse car, and the aquarium car: those bursts of life in all the gray, that twist of awe and envy and deep, abiding disgust at the extravagances of the Front. The envy and disgust flicker like the shadow of moth-wings in a bright light; the quiet awe blots them out as he imagines Dejah sitting in a thick garden under an unfamiliar sky.

(The Front would never feel selfish for spending time in a garden. They'd see it as their due.)

"It sounds beautiful," he whispers. "You think I could see it when we're there?"

[dejah_thoris]

"Yes," she breathes, basking in the awe running beneath his words. "Yes, I would love to show it to you."

She twines her legs with his, as he did when they were lying on the mats together. The sole of her foot smoothes down the back of his calf, idly caressing him.

"What did you do -- on the train -- when you needed to be alone?"

[2goodarms]

He draws in a slow breath at the touch, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I, um." A brief stab of -- something. Fear? It's so quick, like a skipped heartbeat. "I wasn't ever alone. The bunks had curtains, you could pull those shut, but that wasn't really...not like that."

Not like a whole garden.

[dejah_thoris]

"Did you ever go away in your mind?"

[2goodarms]

"No."

His mind holds too many dangers. If Curtis stepped off the path for too long, he'd be swallowed whole, and be of no use to anyone.

[dejah_thoris]

Her hand slips up to stroke the beard along his jawline.

"So, you were always with someone. Every hour of every day. Even when..." So many moments she can't imagine having to endure with only a scrap of cloth between her and someone else.

[2goodarms]

His fingers curl in the smooth fabric of her clothes.

"I got used to it." He opens his eyes -- has to blink a couple times as the room gives another grumbling lurch -- and smiles, crookedly. "I don't like being alone anymore. Completely alone, I mean."

No people. No sound. Just Curtis and his own thoughts.

[dejah_thoris]

She meets his gaze, getting lost in the blue of his eyes for a long, quiet moment.

"You don't have to be. Ever again."

The words ripple with a baroque tapestry of emotion: diminishing rage at his past, a solemn promise, and hope like a bright silver thread, weaving them all together.

[2goodarms]

A lump rises in Curtis' throat as her emotions wash over him. Eyes bright, he nods, just a little.

He wondered before how Dejah could stand to feel so much. Years spent trying to stifle his own emotions -- keep the anger burning low, smash everything else for his own protection -- and now it's like he can feel everything. It overwhelms him. He almost doesn't know what to do.

"Yeah," is all he says, just above a breath, before he kisses her gently.

[dejah_thoris]

She closes her eyes and sinks into the soft kiss, telling him again, silent and sure. Her hands stroke over the short scruff of his hair, smoothing down his neck, anchoring him to her.

How a man who has been through such horrors brings her such joy, she will never understand. Perhaps in helping him fight through the darkness, she's finding a way to remind herself what it means to walk in the light.

[2goodarms]

Eventually, they part, but not too far. Curtis keeps his eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips, absently tracing his fingers over Dejah's shoulder as if to remind himself she's still there.

Little by little, the lightheadedness of the Voice of Barsoom shifts to the vague, drifting feeling one feels just before sleep, with barely a gap between the two. Getting your head reconfigured to sense something you've never sensed before is hard fucking work; he woke up maybe three hours ago, tops, and he's already exhausted again.

It's okay, though.

It's safe here.

His breathing evens out to the rhythm of deep sleep, and still the smile lingers.

[dejah_thoris]

She watches his profile as he drifts off. Watches the way the muscles in his face soften as sleep takes him, watches the tension wash away, smoothing the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. A few weeks ago, he could barely stand to have her touch him, and now, he's sleeping in her bed.

Beneath the mask of sorrow and rage, he looks so young. He was barely eighteen when his world changed; barely more than thirty five now. He's been alive fewer years than she and John were married.

She rests her arm across his chest and closes her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath, steady and even. Of all the things she's imagined doing with him in this bed, this was not one of them. And yet, she can't imagine a more perfect moment than this. Here. Now. It isn't long before her eyes are drifting shut and her breathing matches with his, quiet wonder and joy still blanketing her thoughts.

[Cont'd here]