![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[Milliways Gym]
Curtis has started to develop a workout routine. Since his gym visits shifted from "occasional" to "nearly every day," he's taken to quiet observation whenever he's on one of the treadmills, watching the gym's other occupants to see what they're doing, cataloging all the exercises that don't involve two working arms. Some trigger a flash of oh, right, I remember that. Others...not really.
But, one at a time, he works them into his own circuit. Squats. Crunches. Jumps. More time at the heavy bag (his hand always wrapped properly nowadays). All of it's getting easier. He even figures out how to start working his way toward one-armed push-ups: just put his hands higher than his feet, like on a wall or a bench or something.
That's what he's focusing on today -- wall push-ups. It's the last thing on his agenda before he heads out, and damn, it's a strain to make it through the last few reps.
But, one at a time, he works them into his own circuit. Squats. Crunches. Jumps. More time at the heavy bag (his hand always wrapped properly nowadays). All of it's getting easier. He even figures out how to start working his way toward one-armed push-ups: just put his hands higher than his feet, like on a wall or a bench or something.
That's what he's focusing on today -- wall push-ups. It's the last thing on his agenda before he heads out, and damn, it's a strain to make it through the last few reps.
no subject
no subject
He wonders, though, if this was part of it, too. Insisting Curtis could trust her because she spent so much time not trusting people. She knows what it feels like, deeper than Curtis ever realized.
He returns the smile, faintly, and gives her arm a small squeeze of reassurance.
no subject
"Here." She takes the beginnings of the prostheses off the stand it's on and offers it to him. It's made of the same metal as the plates, but it's not as light.
no subject
Yeah. Shit. This is really happening, isn't it.
A tiny flicker of doubt tightens his chest. Curtis breathes out, shifting to bring his stump closer to the prosthesis. Just to get a better sense; drive it home a little harder.
no subject
When she speaks, her voice is low, touched with that same quiet fire, but reverent at the same time. "What you see here -- all of this, and the nerve mapping net you saw earlier -- none of it would have been possible without reverse engineering their technology. I have always tried to take the -- the horrors that they spread, and turn them into something healing. I don't know, maybe it's my own small way of undoing all the damage they did. I just know it makes me feel like I'm still fighting them. That I'm driving back the darkness, one small piece at a time."
no subject
She's put as much meaning into building this arm as Curtis had in losing the arm in the first place. Both of them, correcting past mistakes the best they can, both converging on this limb in such an unexpected way.
"You know," he says, softly, "I lost this trying to rescue someone."
no subject
"Oh?"
no subject
"He was inside the engine. I didn't know how to stop the mechanics. So I stuck my arm in there long enough to get him out."
(Speaking of half-truths: he's still determined never to tell Dejah about the children Wilford took from the tail.)
no subject
no subject
no subject
"And the engine took your arm. And then you, took down the engine. My people would say this is a war wound and worth it's own kind of metal."
no subject
It always was a symbol of survival, to bear a missing limb.
no subject
"It is what you make of it, Curtis. You took down a mindless beast by feeding it a piece of your own flesh. By feeding it your very body. And you did it to save your people."
She doesn't need to say how much she respects that. It's there in her words, in the way she's looking at him.
no subject
he shouldn't worship me the way he does
and for an instant, he can hear screams, and smell the unutterable filth that permeated the tail as those first weeks wore on. Curtis' throat works; he tightens his grip, lowers his head.
no subject
She doesn't speak, doesn't remind him that he's safe here with her. She just lends the warmth of her body, her thoughts -- even if he can't feel them. She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, slow exhalation.
no subject
Good.
The memory recedes, like water drawing away from the lakeshore. His own breath's a little shaky at first, but quickly stabilizes.
"I'm okay," he whispers.
no subject
"Do you remember the letter I sent you?"
no subject
"'Course I do."
no subject
no subject
"I can't."
What would be the point, anyway? She has to have figured it out by now.
"Not this. I'm sorry."
no subject
no subject
"I know," he whispers.
no subject
"Good. Now, let me finish this last set, and we can run you through the basics of how to make metal bend to your will." There's a smile in her voice, to balance the edge of grim determination.