2goodarms | [Room 1001]

He scoots closer to Dejah, settling next to her with their fingers still entwined.

Keeping his voice low, "You didn't stay up all night, did you?"

"No, I slept a few hours," she says, grinning from ear to ear. "I finished the core. Still have to run some diagnostics and then finish out the sensory network. Have you eaten today?"

She leans in as she asks, equally conspiratorial.

Oops, says Curtis' face.

Sheepishly, "Not yet? I will. I promise. Forgot to grab something before we came up here."

Dejah's chin drops and she raises an eyebrow. Her thumb caresses idle circles on the back of his hand.

"We can stop and pick something up on the way out. I haven't eaten yet either. And you can step away for a few minutes while you eat, and Edgar and I can eat together. Is that -- would that be all right?"

He exhales, a weird clash of emotion warming his chest: shame at being fussed over, relief at her acceptance, fondness at her willingness to meet him halfway. He nods as his smile goes a bit crooked.

"Yeah. I'm fine with that. Thanks."

That crooked smile goes through her chest like a lance of sunlight. She can't help herself. She steps in and catches his face between her palms, resting her brow against his for a brief moment. She places the softest kiss on his lips and then settles back, her eyes flashing brilliant blue for a moment.

He's not blushing. He would never. It's all a trick of the light, dammit. But the smile's definitely not so crooked anymore as she pulls away; Curtis touches his fingertips to her forearm, leaning back in to steal another brief kiss.

Yeah, so much for telling himself he'd keep an eye on Edgar.

Speaking of -- he glances over, just to make sure Edgar's not pocketing anything like he did with Elrond that one time. And it finally sinks in:

"Looking kind of empty in here," he says, eyebrows lifting.

Edgar's got his hands clasped carefully behind his back, as though making a point of how he's not touching anything.

At the moment he's looking into the en-suite bathroom, brows raised.

Empty is not how he would characterize any of this.

"Yes, well..." She snags Curtis's hand again, laces her fingers through his, and draws him closer to the work bench.

"I kept only what I need for now. I can ask Bar to make the room smaller, if that would help?"

Curtis blinks, at a loss.

"...It's your room," he says. "You can do whatever you want with it."

Even if Curtis has been dropping by more frequently, she's still spending way more time in here than him. It's her space; demanding she change it to that degree feels like too much of an invasion.

Edited 2015-07-15 16:51 (UTC)

Her voice is gentle but firm. "This is what I want to do with it. I want to make it more welcoming for you. I don't need all this space. I'm not using it. And keeping it feels, well -- extravagant, in light of everything else."

Her gaze roams around the room again. "If I want sweeping vistas, I have my chambers in Helium. Here? I just want to be -- comfortable. Yes."

He opens his mouth; closes it a beat later, helpless to speak.

She has everything, and she keeps giving it up for his sake. Not even his sake; his comfort. It's not like this is food, or water, or warm clothes. It's just a small grace note to keep his shoulders from knotting up all the time.

I don't get it, he finds himself thinking.

Her head tilts and she watches as he takes in this information. She steps in close again, both hands holding his.

"You mean far more to me than things. Far more."

Is that so hard to believe?

Seems like it, from the look on Curtis' face.

But after a moment, he sighs, softly, and touches his forehead to hers, trying to simply accept the moment. Another gift. Jesus, they're piling up fast.

"Wanna get breakfast?"

She lingers, resting against him, savoring just being close to him. Cherishing his breath, his warmth, his acceptance.

"Yes, please," she says, smiling. She meets his gaze as she pulls back, silently checking that they're okay.

"Edgar?"

"Mm?" He turns around from examining the workbench and its schematics, with all the air of someone who's been entirely absorbed in what he's been looking at and not at all listening to a nearby conversation in any way.

Oh, yeah. Innocent as a newborn puppy, that one.

"Breakfast?" he repeats.

Dejah smirks and jerks her head towards the door. "Come on. I can answer questions as we go."

"Oh, breakfast. Sure."

He falls in next to Curtis, grinning.

Some minutes later, they're all settled in with their food. (Well, Edgar and Dejah are. Curtis' pancakes arrived in a to-go box; he excused himself, food in hand, without trying to make a big deal about it.)

He's back quickly enough, though, and soon after, the three of them head out the door to the lake.

It's a gorgeous day: sunny and clear, no oppressive chill or uncomfortable heat. A gentle breeze stirs the grass as they walk.

Dejah tries to keep her distance. She really does. She walks with her hands tucked into the crook of her elbows, but she still ends up shoulder to shoulder with Curtis.

"How far from the Bar have you explored so far?" The question is directed to both of them.

"Up to the lake," says Edgar. "And over by the, what's it, the house for horses?"

"The stables," Curtis supplies. "Yeah, pretty much the same with me. Lake to the stables."

Plus the forge, of course.

"Well," Dejah begins, clearly excited but still a bit trepidatious. "The meadows begin on the far side of the lake. It's a bit of a walk, but it's a beautiful day for it. There's a bit of forest along one part of the trail, but it's daylight, so we shouldn't have any issues. Someone told you about the demon rabbits, didn't they?"

A momentary stare.

"The what," says Edgar, without a question mark.

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