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[Daemon AU] first meetings, revisited
They've been here...he isn't sure how long. A couple days, maybe. Someone took him to the infirmary to bandage his arm and clean up the cuts littering his face and hand; unthinking, the doctor tried to shoo Joanna away, and -- taboo be damned -- they were so furious that she almost sunk her teeth into his arm.
(Joanna wasn't supposed to be here at all after the explosion ripped them apart. Like hell is anyone going to separate them, even if only by a measure of two feet.)
She would've gone for his daemon, but barely anybody here seems to have a daemon. A low-level horror built up around them like radio static when they realized what they were seeing. But all the daemon-less people act like nothing's wrong. It's not intercision -- their daemons don't exist at all, like they're hidden so deep inside them that they'll never be born. To most of Milliways, Curtis and Joanna are the bizarre ones.
It's almost enough for him to stop noticing how relaxed everyone is. How nice the bar is. How it's like someone picked up the entire Front and dropped it into a single room, with everything anyone could ever want, no questions asked, no payment necessary.
Almost.
For now, they're sticking to a couch by the fireplace, Joanna curled tight in Curtis' lap as they watch the bar in silence.
(Joanna wasn't supposed to be here at all after the explosion ripped them apart. Like hell is anyone going to separate them, even if only by a measure of two feet.)
She would've gone for his daemon, but barely anybody here seems to have a daemon. A low-level horror built up around them like radio static when they realized what they were seeing. But all the daemon-less people act like nothing's wrong. It's not intercision -- their daemons don't exist at all, like they're hidden so deep inside them that they'll never be born. To most of Milliways, Curtis and Joanna are the bizarre ones.
It's almost enough for him to stop noticing how relaxed everyone is. How nice the bar is. How it's like someone picked up the entire Front and dropped it into a single room, with everything anyone could ever want, no questions asked, no payment necessary.
Almost.
For now, they're sticking to a couch by the fireplace, Joanna curled tight in Curtis' lap as they watch the bar in silence.
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"They have to be," says Curtis. It's his turn to drop to a whisper, eyes back on his water glass.
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Dejah reaches out a hand to touch Curtis's arm. "You did the right thing," she says, and her tone says, she would have done the same. In a heartbeat.
"Sweet holy mother preserve us," Iudaan mutters under his breath.
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It was the only thing he could do. A long-overdue sacrifice.
"We all tried to shield him when the bomb went off. Him and Nam's daughter. I don't know if they made it."
"They have to have made it," whispers Joanna.
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"Curtis..."
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"It's okay," echoes Curtis, not much louder. "We're off the train. It's gone."
That's the important thing.
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"And you're here now."
Iudaan lifts his head to look at Joanna with a sad warmth in his gaze. "With us."
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In a bar that doesn't make any fucking sense, surrounded by people from worlds that never froze, getting free everything with no expectation of payment. Briefly, Joanna turns her attention away from Iudaan, meeting Curtis' eyes in silent understanding.
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Dejah lets the moment breathe a little before speaking. "I'm sorry you had to arrive here by such traumatic circumstances, but..."
"We're glad you're here now." Iudaan finishes. "And if there's anything you need. Anything we can do. Anything at all."
"Iudaan..." Dejah whispers. "That's enough."
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"Thanks," says Curtis: low, and mostly unfelt.
Joanna starts to say something, half-muffled by Curtis' chest, but stifles it at the last minute.
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"I'm sorry. We've upset you again," she says, her eyes downturned and her voice soft. "We should go. Come on Iudaan."
"But..."
"Shush. You've done enough damage for one day." Her tone takes on a bit of an edge but it's directed as much at herself as it is at him.
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Overlapping, Curtis adds, "You didn't do anything."
"We're trying."
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Dejah looks to Joanna and Curtis, studying them with a soft sadness in her eyes.
"It's all right," she says. Her voice is low for a woman's, her diction not sharp as crystal, but precise. And not cold. Her voice, even when it has an edge, is never cold in the way that Mason's voice was cold. "It's in our nature to want to help. And it's been -- beaten into you to never trust someone who looks and sounds like us. That an extended hand conceals a knife. Am I on the right track?"
She sounds like she might be explaining this as much to Iudaan as she is trying to understand it herself.
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"Yeah," whispers Joanna. Conceals a knife -- while Curtis fights down the shiver easily, she isn't so lucky, and trembles briefly in his arm. "Pretty much."
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A moment later, Dejah's hands undo the lacing at her waist. Layers are useful in the desert, for when the temperature drops at night. For keeping the blazing sun off one's shoulders. She strips the outer layer of her shirts off, leaving her in a leather halter that bares her shoulders and her midriff. The intricate dark red tattoos go across her shoulders, front and back, and down her arms.
After that's set aside, she dips a hand behind her back and lays a dagger, still in its sheathe, on the table between them. She bends beneath the table and pulls a matching weapon from the top of her boot, laying it beside the first.
Iudaan sits back and watches Joanna and Curtis intently.
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With care, Joanna extracts herself from Curtis' arm and steps back onto the table. She pads closer, bends her head to sniff at the knives, fixes a keenly focused look on Dejah. "Are those the only one's you've got?"
Curtis keeps his gaze on the edge of the table. He should've noticed she was carrying. They both should've noticed, how the fuck didn't they catch that --
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Dejah meets Joanna's gaze, and then glances at Curtis, studying the lines of his face. As if she could read what's written beneath the surface if she looked close enough. After a moment, she stretches out an arm and shakes it, just enough that the silver cuff slips down around her wrist.
When she speaks, her voice is pitched low, as if she's not sure she should be sharing this information, but she's going to anyway. "This is a weapon, too. Of a sorts. It does other things as well."
Trust is earned, yes. But it's also not fair to ask someone to trust you, if you're unwilling to demonstrate that same trust in return.
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Curtis finally looks up, eyeing the cuff with intent curiosity. A weapon. Something hidden, or with edges sharp enough to cut, or something from Mars he can't even fathom. His gaze shifts higher to meet Dejah's. "Can I ask what?"
The way she lowered her voice, like she's telling him a great secret -- he doesn't know how far he can probe.
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She lays her hands on the table, palms up.
Iudaan moves like silk over sand and joins Joanna on the table. He drops down to look her in the eye. His voice is weary, but warm. "We have our own reasons not to trust anyone. But we've decided not to live our lives in a cage of our own making."
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Curtis just nods, reaching out to settle a hand on his daemon's fur.
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"We're trying, too." Her voice is barely audible when she says it.
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"Aren't we a fucking set," mumbles Joanna
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"We certainly could be," Iudaan says, the corner of his mouth curling.
"Iudaan, please. I'm sorry."
"No, she's really not."
Dejah covers her face and laughs behind her palm. "Goddess, just put me out of my misery now."