[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]

Sometimes, Dejah reads him so well that it's like he drank the Voice of Barsoom already. She knows when to be fierce, when he needs to fight; and then she falls back into this uncanny gentleness, like he's as precious as an old family photograph, and he can't help but soak it up.

He gives her a lopsided smile as she finishes smoothing his hat into place. "I can handle it," he says.

[dejah_thoris]

"Of that, I have no doubt." She takes his face between her palms and kisses him, soft and sweet. "Now go. Make your peace with Edgar. And be nice to Nitwit. They may not be the most intelligent creatures, but thoats have long memories. And they get very, very big."

Maybe someday, he'll be in a position to offer her the sanctuary she so desperately craves. Maybe someday, he can be strong for her.

[2goodarms]

Curtis hums into the kiss, very softly.

"Yeah, I'm definitely more worried about the big Barsoomian horse-thing than Edgar," he deadpans. He sneaks one last kiss on Dejah's cheek. "See you tomorrow."

Retrieving his staff from the floor, he returns it to its spot on the rack before heading out.