[Milliways]

[2goodarms]

[From here.]

If he were back on the train, he'd go to his bunk, shove the curtain closed, and stay there for as long as possible until the swirl of emotions died down. After that first month, Curtis always figured it was better to isolate himself than risk lashing out at the rest of the tail.

Too bad he's not on the train anymore.

As Edgar heads back out to the stables -- giving Curtis space like most people did when he got angry, and fuck if that doesn't feel like winning his way through a tantrum, too, god -- and he and Dejah head up to the gym, Curtis gets to work wiggling open the jar of salve. He can't quite get the proper leverage with just one hand, even with the jar pressed between his stump and his side; gritting his teeth, he labors on with grim determination.

Comments

[2goodarms]

"Yeah." Quiet again. "I know."

This wasn't Edgar's fault. It's not like he asked the bar to drag him off to Barsoom. As the anger begins its slow spiral downward, it's a lot easier for Curtis to catch that thought, holding it close.

He barely wrinkles his nose as he gets a whiff of the jar's contents -- it's one of the fouler things he's smelled since coming to Milliways, but by no means the foulest he's ever smelled -- before scooping up a fingertip's worth of the salve. Scooting a little closer to Dejah, he smooths it across her palm, gently working it into her skin.

"So if I drank that," he says -- and, realizing it might be misconstrued, hastily adds, "The Voice of Barsoom. I'd get that telepathy thing with everybody else who's ever drank it too?"

[dejah_thoris]

She bites her lip and her eyelids flutter shut. She takes a deep breath, letting it out after a few moments. Her voice takes on a bit of the professorial tone she uses from time to time. Not patronizing, but imparting important information.

"In a sense, yes. I don't know how it would function here in the Bar. As far as my research can tell, it's a harmless bacteria that exists throughout the entire ecosystem. Every living thing on the planet has a bit of it in their bloodstream -- or if they don't have a bloodstream, whatever passes for a bloodstream. It allows us to sense surface emotions or intent."

"We all take the Voice of Barsoom when we are very young. And I'm fairly sure it's why we don't have the vast number of languages that Jasoom has. We have dialects, but they're all of the same language. I've never met someone on Barsoom that I couldn't communicate with."

[2goodarms]

The knot of scar tissue over her palm runs deeper than Curtis expected. He cradles her hand, pressing lightly with his thumb to see if he can feel the borders of the injury. Jesus, no wonder she was having trouble moving her fingers.

He scoops up more salve, keeps rubbing it over the scar as he absorbs that information. "It's gotta work at least a little bit here," he says eventually. "If Nitwit can still understand Edgar."

Beat.

Faintly amused, and more to himself: "Of course he fucking named it Nitwit."

[dejah_thoris]

What is it about that smile that cuts right through her? It makes her chest ache and makes her feel a little lightheaded. She cherishes each and every one.

She swallows, bites her lip as he works the salve into her palm. It's melting into her skin, and already she can feel it becoming more supple under his touch.

"Is this the name of a great hero?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis' hand stills. He bends his head over their clasped hands; his shoulders start to shake.

Only when he lets go of Dejah's hand and presses his forearm to his eyes does it becomes obvious: he's laughing, almost silent, the weak and nearly uncontrollable laughter of tension finally unraveled.

[dejah_thoris]

For a terrifying moment, she thinks he's weeping. Something clenches in her chest, so hard she can barely breathe.

And then he pulls away, and she can hear the way his breath moves. He's laughing, and her face splits in a broad grin.

She grips the salve between her knees and touches his shoulder. "What? What did I say?"

[2goodarms]

"'S a -- " He gulps in air, trying to compose himself, and immediately falls back into another round of snickering. Quiet as it might be, Curtis is laughing so hard that he is starting to weep. "No. 'S not -- "

Okay, come on. Deep breaths.

He lifts his face, dabbing at his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve, and finally manages, "It means 'idiot.' Kind of a nicer way to say it, but."

Yeah.

[dejah_thoris]

His laughter is contagious and before he's done, she's laughing, too. Her voice is rich and low and she leans in close.

"What? He named the poor beast 'idiot'?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods, giving up on speech as he leans against Dejah.

"Nicer way of saying idiot," he emphasizes eventually.

[dejah_thoris]

She can't help herself. As the laughter settles out between them, she catches his cheek and pulls him up so she can steal a kiss. She hums quietly, leaning into him, overcome with relief.

[2goodarms]

Yeah, of all the ways he could get the laughter under control, Curtis thinks he likes this one best.

When the kiss breaks, he circles his arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. In a low murmur, "Sorry I was being a dick."

[dejah_thoris]

She nuzzles his cheek, laughing quietly under her breath, her smile easily heard in her voice. She steals another soft kiss before she sits back a bit.

"No harm done. Though you might owe Edgar an apology, too."

[2goodarms]

"Yeah," he agrees with a resigned sigh. "I'll go talk to him after we're done."

He catches her hand, his thumb lighting on the scar. "How much do I need to put on here?"

[dejah_thoris]

She flexes her fingers and splays her hand wide. The salve has soaked into her skin and formed a tough layer on the surface. Like a vaguely green scab, but flexible.

"I think that's good for now. I'll tape it up before we spar."

Her hand closes around his. "Are you ever going to tell me -- 'what the deal is' between you and Edgar?" The phrase sounds awkward coming out of her mouth, but she's trying to use his idiom.

[2goodarms]

The last of the humor fades.

Somewhere along the way, a mountain shifted in Curtis' mind: she can never know changing -- so slowly he barely noticed -- into you have to tell her someday. This thing he and Dejah have...it's not going to be temporary. And if it's not temporary, that means she'll have to learn the truth.

The dread feels like the rumble of the train. Like wind seeping through the joints of the metal. It's cold, but quiet, an everpresent thing that he doesn't need to deal with right away. Just a new piece of background noise to fold into his life.

"Not right now," he whispers.

But that isn't no; never.

[dejah_thoris]

She bends to rest her forehead against his temple. "All right." She doesn't feel the need to press him for more information. This is a story that will come in its own time and in its own way. She touches his cheek again, pulls his eyes up to meet hers.

"I know who you are, Curtis Everett."

[2goodarms]

Maybe it's a good thing Curtis didn't see Mars first. Maybe he should wait to take the Voice of Barsoom until after he tells her everything. There's some appeal in not having to put that first month into words, but -- it doesn't sound like the telepathy works like that.

And until then, when he thinks -- like he does now -- No, you don't, he'll get a little privacy with the thought. That's even more appealing.

He closes his eyes, letting his forehead touch hers without a word.

[dejah_thoris]

She can feel the weight of whatever this burden he carries bearing him down, with every breath. She can feel how much of his rage is directed inward, can sense that he is fighting a battle that he cannot win alone.

But she knows him well enough to know, he has to come to that same conclusion before she or Edgar or anyone else can even begin to help him.

She wishes he could talk to John. John would be able to get this out of him, she thinks, and not for the first time. John would understand even better than she could. He lived it firsthand.

But he can't. All he has is her and Edgar. And Edgar's got other matters to attend to right now. She bumps her nose against Curtis's. "Come on. The mat's waiting."

[2goodarms]

Five minutes later, they're getting themselves situated in the gym. It's pretty empty today -- only a few other people, all of them focused on either weightlifting or the treadmills, leaving the mat completely clear for Curtis and Dejah.

As usual, he's stripped down to his undershirt and started wrapping his hand. (Maybe it's not strictly necessary today, but Curtis never minds the extra practice.) By now, he's getting pretty good at doing it one-handed, the wrap anchored between his teeth, his wrist bending in the quick, complex arcs needed to twist the cloth into its proper place.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah's changed into the sleeveless leather bodice and short skirt that she works out in. Curtis will remember the soft leather wraps she uses in lieu of tape. She takes a few minutes to stretch out before stepping to the weapons rack.

"Swords or staffs today? Or do you just want to grapple?"

[2goodarms]

"Staffs first?" he says, muffled a bit by the wrap in his teeth. He spits it out to finish rigging it between his fingers. "Maybe grapple later."

Even with the rage finally corralled, Curtis doesn't wholly trust himself: it'd be too easy to slip back if he's trying to punch another person.

[dejah_thoris]

She nods and selects her own staff, along with one she thinks will suit him.

"Here. We can start one quarter speed." She rolls the staff over the back of her hand and spins it behind her back.

[2goodarms]

Curtis catches the staff she tosses his way, his eyebrows lifting. He tests the weight: lighter than an axe, definitely longer, a little harder to coax into a full orbit when he gives it an experimental spin. He's been improvising weapons for over half his life, though. He'll make it work.

"You lead, I'll follow," he says.

And once he's got the hang of it, he'll stop following.

[dejah_thoris]

She circles away from him, her body language shifting. Her normal ramrod straight posture melts into something fluid, almost feline in nature. Each footfall is precise, each glance, calculated.

She starts simply. Just a basic series of attacks. She'll even start on his good side. Her smile indicates, she has no intention of going easy on him.

[2goodarms]

He's...okay, the shift in posture is pretty distracting for a couple seconds. His gaze starts to trace a line down her body before he shakes himself out of it, placing one foot behind himself, pivoting to always keep her in sight.

Curtis still fights like he's in a room a quarter of the mat's size. When he meets each strike of her staff, he moves swift and sure, but never too far from where he planted his feet. Elegance isn't his thing. Combined with Dejah's grace, he's like a snake snapping out at a charmer.