dejah_thoris | [milliways] Run Home

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[milliways] Run Home

After their run around the lake was ended by meeting Curtis's unfortunate partner in the whole body swap debacle, Dejah headed back to the room for a good long shower. It was pure indulgence, standing under the hot water for so long, but she was allowed. Here, anyway. She'd be extremely mindful of bringing these bad habits back to Helium with her.

Her mind keeps going over the implications of Curtis having a double here. A doppelganger who is genetically enhanced somehow. Healthy and whole. It makes her wonder if she's not doing enough to make sure he's healing. Replacing the arm was one thing, but an extended period of malnutrition and captivity left other physical scars.

It is all a work in progress, one that will take many years to see gains. Much like the Work back in Helium. She makes a mental note to research the drawings he'd spoken of. If there is any record of all of his time on the train, surely the library here will have it preserved. Maybe something to help Edgar understand the whole picture. Even if he can never forgive, the least he can do is to try to understand it.

She steps out of the shower and towels off, still turning over the human ideals of morality, of fairness and justice. She tries to put the thoughts aside for now, knowing full well, she can easily drive herself mad if she doesn't. Instead, she dries her hair and tries to clear her mind.

And not think about random magical spells that could rip her consciousness from her body and put into another's. Yeah, comforting.

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After he parts ways with Steve, Curtis dashes inside as fast as he can. The easy lope he'd been doing around the lake translates to a dead sprint in his usual body, his chest heaving for air within thirty seconds.

He stumbles to a halt just inside, bracing himself on the door frame as he looks around. No sign of Dejah.

Upstairs, then: he takes the stairs two at a time for the first flight, has to slow to a trudge for the rest of the climb, and needs a full two minutes to catch his breath before heading down the hall.

Curtis presses his palm against the lock. The door opens with a quiet click.

"Dejah?" he calls, still sounding pretty winded.

"Curtis?" The hairbrush falls from her hand, clatters on the stone floor. "Is that you?"

She emerges from the bathroom and sees his body standing in the open door. Better than any sight, she feels his presence. He feels like granite warmed by the sun, radiant and rough.

All the air rushes out of her lungs and she chokes on a sound that might have been a sob.

"Oh thank Issus."

Curtis nods, gulping in another lungful of air. Her relief breaks over him like an ocean wave, nearly sending out his knees from under him. He can feel her again. It's like looking out a window after decades in the dark, everything finally lit bright once more.

He doesn't hesitate: crossing the room as swiftly as he can, Curtis takes her face in both hands and kisses her, hard.

She meets him half way, meets his kiss with all the fire and passion she holds for him. It's only been three days but Goddess, it felt like a lifetime, not being able to touch him, to taste him. She pulls him close, arms around his waist, her hands roaming over his wiry frame, up and down his back.

She laughs between kisses, her voice rippling with joy and relief, and an almost desperate hunger to touch him, to know that he's here, he's safe and he's whole.

He breaks away just long to catch his breath, starting to laugh, too. Only three days, but those three days with barely any touch -- and with no Voice -- have heightened everything. Her emotions almost feel like his own; his skin still hums long after her hands move away.

"Missed you," he breathes.

She doesn't let him get far, catching his hands and drawing them close around her waist. She takes his face, his beloved face between her palms, stroking his beard.

"I never in a million ords thought I would miss this scruff you call a beard." Pure delight rings in her every word.

To prove it, she steals another kiss, because she can.

He snorts out a louder laugh. "What I call a beard? That mean you want me to grow it out to my knees? Because I can if you want -- "

Okay, yeah, he can't keep that up. Grinning, he kisses her again, arms wrapped snug and secure around her waist.

"No, oh sweet holy mother no. It's fine just as it is!" She grips said scruff with her fingers and tugs him closer, nipping lightly at his lips. "I missed all of you. He looked just enough like you to make it impossible not to wonder, but you..."

She punctuates her words with another deep, lingering kiss. She doesn't need words here. He can feel exactly what she's getting at.

He shivers, his embrace tightening as he sinks into the kiss. It takes a while before it breaks; when it does, Curtis whispers a dazed, "Yeah."

One more second to catch his breath. He touches his forehead to hers.

"You doing okay?"

She takes a long moment to open her eyes, just basking in the moment.

She doesn't know what to do with that question, and he feels the tiny detonation of disbelief. "I'm all right," she breathes, touching her nose to his, holding onto him like her life depends on it. "Now that you're back."

Goddess, he smells good. Her hands sweep up to curl around his head, cutting off the rest of the world. All the despair of the last few weeks. The confusion and cognitive dissonance of the spell. All of it can go hang.

"You? How are you feeling?"

"I'm good."

Now that I'm back.

He draws his thumbs along her hips. A touch more wry, "Gotta get used to my lung capacity being total shit again."

But, you know, he also gets to kiss his girlfriend again, so he's more than okay with that trade-off.

Her nails trail through his short cropped hair and he can feel the frisson run through her at his touch.

"We can work on that. I mean, if you'd like that. We have the winter to train." Hope shimmers through her words like stardust.

They have options. So many options.

Oh, he's missed this. Curtis hums low in his throat; it shifts to a quiet, "Mm-hm."

He smiles.

"I did okay being outside. No reason we can't do more of that."

She mirrors that smile back to him, her eyes bright and vibrant.

"Good. I would love to train with you. Maybe, we could ask about finding you a diet to build muscle as well? To help your body heal."

"I'm getting more muscle," he protests, mildly. "Just 'cause I'm not built like a fucking tank..."

(He's not even going to bother flexing, even facetiously. More muscle doesn't mean lots of muscle.)

She grins so broadly at him, her nose wrinkles.

"You don't need to be built like a fucking tank, my love. But some muscle mass would be good. Some lung capacity, too."

Her nose dips down to nuzzle his cheek. "I just want you to be healthy again." You deserve to be healthy.

Curtis can't resist: he drops a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

"It was kind of nice not having to worry about that," he murmurs. "But I'm doing better. I promise."

A tiny flutter of worry passes beneath his words: a question nearly asked, and hastily swallowed back.

Her brow knits and she pulls back to look into his face, worry lines etched deep around her eyes.

"Tell me," she whispers.

Curtis hesitates.

The flutter returns, closer to wingbeats now, as he asks, haltingly: "Do you...want me to look like he did?"

The frown deepens and she pulls back a bit more.

"What? No. No no no." She catches his face in her hands. "Your body and his body might share superficial similarities, but -- you wear it completely differently. Yes, he is the pinnacle of health, but ultimately? He is not you. And I fell in love with you. Do you understand that?"

Not to mention the very idea of him remaking his body in that image solely to please her makes her stomach twist.

Her disgust at the very idea, rolling off her in waves, loosens a knot in Curtis's stomach. He settles a hand on her wrist.

"I do. I know. I just..." One corner of his mouth twists in self-deprecation. "There's a lot he can do that I can't. And I don't know if I'm ever gonna get that healthy. You know?"

He's not debating; her reassurance is enough for him. Curtis just wants to explain why he asked the question in the first place.

"Not without being genetically enhanced, no. Curtis, I do not expect you to become an elite soldier merely to please me. I do expect you to take care of yourself."

She touches her nose to his again, steals a soft kiss. "Building a cabin together, that's going to be hard work."

His smile returns. "Yeah," he whispers.

Another small kiss, this one to the side of her jaw.

"And I wanna go for another run with you. Sometime."

She breathes out a quiet sigh, her chin tipping up to offer him the side of her throat.

"Yes, I would love that. But slowly. As in all things." Her hands smoothed down his neck, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. "I don't want you to hurt yourself by pushing too hard, all right?"

He's not the type to get touch-starved -- Curtis spent too long in close quarters for that -- but he's gotten used to the consistent, easy intimacy they've shared since they got together. Until it vanished, he didn't realize how much he needed it. Until it came back, he didn't know how nice it could feel.

He sighs, soft and contented, as he snuggles closer, encouraging more contact. "I promise I won't sprain anything," he says, solemn.

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