dejah_thoris | Midnight in the Jeddak's Garden

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Midnight in the Jeddak's Garden

[cont'd from here]

She holds him through the worst of it. Holds him and rocks him gently, her mind racing to come up with some kind of solution, any solution. There isn't one, she knows. She can feel his agony as if it were her own, and in a way, it is now, isn't it? She feels the tears on her cheeks and lets them fall. Grief is the strongest enemy she's ever vanquished.

But she's done it before, and she knows she can do it again.

She doesn't know how long they've been sitting there when she notices a telltale ripple in the air. It's just inches above the wood of her door. It takes a moment to resolve, and before it does, she recognizes the portal and knows where it opens to. She can smell the pimalias and the blessed cool of the moss trees beyond. The night sky above Helium is crystal clear.

Gingerly she urges his gaze up. Her voice is gentle and warm. "Hey. Can you smell that?"

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His nose is so stuffed up from crying that he can't smell anything at first. Curtis sniffs, hard, and blinks just as hard as he raises his head.

His first thought is clean; his second, it smells a little like her. Stronger, though, a constant thing instead of little breaths of flower scent every time she moves.

"Yeah." Hoarse and unsure. "What...?"

She smiles, the blue of her eyes growing brighter. She touches one hand to the back of his prosthesis, just above where he knows the part she calls the Core resides. With her other hand, she touches the bracelet on her wrist. The air around them prickles with a very slight static charge.

"Helium calls. Come with me." She takes his hand and stands.

His brow furrows. "Wait -- now?"

The protest isn't really a protest, though: he curls his fingers around hers, letting her pull him to his feet. He rubs at his eyes again with his free hand, doing what little he can to pull himself together.

She nods. "It's night. Perfect time to see the city."

And her guards will never question her presence in the garden after dark, no matter who is with her. When the sun goes down, she's the only one who ever visits. Sometimes she spends the entire night. Really, after dark, this becomes another of her private rooms in the palace.

She laces her fingers through his and leads him through the portal.

The air around them changes, becoming drier and warmer. The path is crushed red sandstone, and the low hedges marking the edge of the path are a greenish gold lichen. A few odd-looking trees cast moonshadows that ebb and drift as if in an invisible current. Lifting his gaze, he can see that the garden extends several hundred yards to the east and west. It must be at least six football fields long, and maybe one wide. A low wall marks the edge of the rooftops.

Above them, two moons, one larger than the other, bathe the world in their cool light.

His breath catches against the lump in his throat. Little by little, the grief ekes out a slow retreat, open wonder taking its place as he stares over the landscape.

"Jesus."

Sometimes he'd look around the Milliways grounds, or at all the people who'd never even heard of a Front or a Tail, and think, it's like being on another planet. He'd been trying to prepare himself for the eventual trip to Barsoom, but to have it happen so suddenly? There's no time to brace himself. And for once, he's glad of it.

Curtis wipes his eyes again with the back of his free hand, the two moons blurring before he can blink the last of the tears away. He pushes one foot against the ground a little as he prepares to turn, the better to take in the view -- and stifles a yelp as he launches himself two feet into the air.

Dejah had completely forgotten about this part, but she doesn't let go of him.

"Easy now," she says, and he can feel the gentle laughter in her voice. "That part takes a bit of getting used to."

"Shit. Yeah. Um -- "

He's starting to smile just a bit, unwillingly, at the absurdity of this whole situation. Gripping Dejah's hand like a tether, he chances a careful step. It looks like more of a stiff-legged waddle, and he still bounces a foot in the air. "Dammit."

Maybe if he...kind of tiptoes a little? Teeny-tiny steps? Shuffling? Something's gotta work eventually, dammit.

"Try to just place your feet. Do not push off for the next step."

She feels the wash of wonder in his voice and it makes her own smile broaden.

So...kind of tiptoeing. Okay.

"Next time I'm just gonna get five-hundred pound shoes from the bar," he mutters, with a tinge of amusement. Curtis picks up his foot, puts it down a short stride's length away, shifts his weight, repeats the process...and while it looks (and feels) awkward as fuck, it works. No more propelling himself into the sky.

Okay. Good. One thing down. Curtis draws in a deep breath of desert air -- shit, he's breathing Martian air. Underneath the smell of hundreds of unrecognizable plants, it smells dustier and more metallic than the grounds back at Milliways, but still has that fresh, open scent he's started associating with outside.

She keeps hold of his hand and tries to mimic the strange little gait, so she can walk side by side with him. She's quiet for a long moment, cutting glances at him as he looks around.

"...well?"

He closes his eyes, taking in another lungful of clean air. Opens his eyes to look up at the unfamiliar stars scattered above them.

No. Not unfamiliar. He can pick out a few that were on the mural above Dejah's bed, bright specks here and there that align with the shapes of Helium's constellations. It's like seeing grass for the first time in almost two decades: I know this, and I never thought I would see this so soon.

So much open sky. It used to feel like a weight bearing down on him. When did that change?

It's beautiful, he plans to say, and what comes out instead is a waterlogged, "Thank you."

Her chin dips to hide a ridiculously girlish grin.

"This is not my doing. Though I confess, I wish I'd thought of it first."

She points to the west. "That's where my pavilion is. We can take a turn around the botanicum first, if you like."

He might notice, she's a bit more stiff here. Formal, perhaps. She's standing taller and her back is straighter. She wears this place differently than she does Milliways.

He feels the change more than sees it, like a shift in the breeze. Despite her smile, it's like her emotions are contracting into herself, no longer as open and inviting as they were in the bar.

If stepping into the garden helped drag him out of his own head a little, this pulls him another inch. He glances to her, rather than following where she points, then loops his arm through hers like she's done to him so many times.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

He takes her arm and she blinks rapidly several times. They're safe here. No one will question his presence here. What happens in this place is hers and hers alone.

She leans in and presses a soft chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Please forgive me, my love." The words convey that it's not his doing. She's trying to contain a powerful surge of emotion: memories, implications, concerns about a hundred facets of his presence here. And a part of her was not ready to cede this place to someone other than John. (It means he's really gone. He's gone and he's never coming back.)

In some fashion, he's not the only one that needed a shove.

"All the irrigation is done beneath the surface, so that evaporation is not a concern. The substrate wicks up moisture from a miniature reservoir that resides beneath the entire surface. It's -- sort of a test piece, for future projects on a much larger scale."

"It's all right," he whispers, pressing his shoulder more firmly against hers. The churn of emotions makes him a little dizzy, especially after his own pain wore him down so much. He pauses in their awkward shuffle-walk through the garden.

"Like bringing water everywhere else, too?"

She pauses with him, taking comfort in the warmth of his presence. Just having him here, just hearing his voice is soothing that tumult of emotion. The currents still run deep, but the surface grows still and calm.

"Well, to other places, yes. Everywhere... That's another problem entirely. Are you all right or do you want to sit?"

An embarrassed beat.

"...Can we sit somewhere?"

He'd like to enjoy the view without worrying that he's about to take off into the sky.

"Yes, of course." She gestures towards the edge of the roof and what looks like a seating area carved into the stone. There are rugs on the ground and several large silk pillows. There's even a low table perfect for serving tea from. "Just a few steps more."

She almost asks him if Edgar warned him about this part, but catches the question just in time.

"Thanks," he mumbles. Curtis sinks onto the bench with a sigh, gingerly stretching out his legs one at a time. Fighting against your body's natural stride: surprisingly exhausting.

There's been a lot of shit lately that's ended up surprisingly exhausting.

Every time he breathes in, though, he catches a fresh whiff of flowers; of green; of life.

Dejah settles next to him, throwing a glance over her shoulder down at the city.

"All right, I want to warn you before you look. We're on top of the palace, which is the highest building in the city. So the view is..."

Possibly too much. She hopes not.

"...oh."

Yeah. Vertical space: that's a thing, too. Shit.

Curtis gnaws his lip, not following Dejah's glance just yet. "Lemme kind of...work up to that?"

Focus on the flowers and the sky for now, not the dizzyingly high building they're perched on.

"Of course. I just wanted to let you know so it didn't take you by surprise."

He might notice the sky is crystal clear. Oh and those strange looking flowers are -- well, they're breathing. Little expansions and contractions that looks nothing so much like actually processing oxygen.

She rests her hand on his and her head tilts to one side as she watches him. "I probably should have thought this through a little better."

Curtis huffs out a soundless breath: nowhere near laughter, but trying to make a go at it. He leans closer so he can rest his head on her shoulder.

Soft, "I'm cool with it if you are. I mean, it's -- " He struggles to put it into words. "I think I kinda needed to get out of the bar for a bit."

Not just downstairs, but the whole bar. Like Edgar's claimed Milliways as his whole territory and Curtis has to cede him the space for now. It's a ridiculous notion, and Curtis isn't even sure if that's what he really believes, but -- he knows he's starting to calm down, sinking into a place that's isn't just the numb stillness you get after a bad shock to the system.

"Good," she says, resting her cheek on his brow. Her hand curls around beneath his chin and strokes his beard.

"This is my escape, here. This place. Well, within the city walls."

"It's a nice one," he whispers, letting his eyes drift shut in response to the touch. "How many plants are up here?"

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