[Milliways Gym]

[2goodarms]

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.

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

Her eyes widen, and her head tilts to one side.

"Oh?"

[2goodarms]

He nods. It's a half-truth, like the last time missing limbs came up in conversation, but it's close enough to the truth to suffice.

"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.)

[dejah_thoris]

"And you succeeded? In freeing him from the machinery?"

[2goodarms]

"Yeah." A slight smile, more pained now. "We got him out."

[dejah_thoris]

She sets the frame of the arm aside and rests her hand lightly on his left shoulder.

"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."

[2goodarms]

"War wound," he echoes. The smile dims. Curtis reaches to touch her hand where it rests on his shoulder, unconsciously sliding his fingers through hers. "Yeah."

It always was a symbol of survival, to bear a missing limb.

[dejah_thoris]

She laces her fingers through his, works their hands together until they are palm to palm.

"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.

[2goodarms]

It's not quite like that open, trusting look Edgar's turned on him so many times. But god, combined with shit like feeding it a piece of your flesh, it's close enough to widen the cracks in his memory --

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.

[dejah_thoris]

Her other hand lights on his cheek, and she presses her brow to his. She can feel the way the tension shifts in his body, just like the time before, when he'd almost bolted from her rooms.

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.

[2goodarms]

She's not asking about it this time.

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.

[dejah_thoris]

He's not okay, she knows that. But she knows, there's nothing she can do about that.

"Do you remember the letter I sent you?"

[2goodarms]

The crooked smile returns, firmer now.

"'Course I do."

[dejah_thoris]

"I meant what I told you. You can tell me anything. Not today but... when you're ready."

[2goodarms]

"I can't."

What would be the point, anyway? She has to have figured it out by now.

"Not this. I'm sorry."

[dejah_thoris]

"Do not apologize," she murmurs, her voice gentle. "Just -- if you ever change your mind, I'm here. I'm here for you."

[2goodarms]

God, he appreciates that if more that he can express.

"I know," he whispers.

[dejah_thoris]

Her hand strokes over his head, less gentle this time, her brow pressed firmly to his. Like she's not afraid he's going to pull away from her now; like she's learning to trust him as well.

"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.