2goodarms | [Dejah's room]

She pulls back and catches his face between her hands, her brow furrowed. She studies his face with that intense gaze he should know by now. Her concern, her worry is like a hot wind. Her words fail her for a moment, as she tries to navigate the storm of her own insecurities. (Does he not feel the same about her? Is she forcing herself on him? And that darkness he conceals? Is he using her to get what he wants? Has she made a fool of herself again?)

She licks her lips and takes a moment to breathe, her hand stroking over his beard. "I slept better than I have in years."

It doesn't matter now. She knows he can see everything written on her face.

Shit.

Curtis winds his fingers in her hair, stretches to kiss her brow as if he could smooth the worry lines away. The shadow in his thought vanishes; the confusion dims, overpowered by a need to reassure her.

He cares about her. This is exactly where he wants to be right now. But, as always, he lags a step or two behind Dejah: the pace of his emotions can't match hers quite yet, like muscles he's trying to build after years of starvation.

"Good."

She dips her head down, hiding her face against his throat again, just breathing. She leans into the strength and solidity of him. She knows. She knows. Her arms snake around him and she holds on, tight.

She's silent for a long breath. This is exactly where he wants to be. And he cares, she knows he cares. She knows that. Doubt and fear have no place here. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"Do you want to try on your arm?"

Edited 2015-09-24 17:49 (UTC)

Curtis looks down at her, eyes widening, as his hand stills against her hair.

"It's done?"

She nods, looking up at him. She'd double, triple checked everything. It wasn't going to get any more ready than it already was. A little smile ghosts over her lips.

"Has been." That silver thread of hope shines so brightly in her quiet words.

Hope -- even secondhand hope -- feels just as foreign as love or affection, but it's even more beautiful. Curtis' awe unfolds anew like a plant in the greenhouse car, stretching toward the silver thread he hears.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Sure, let's try it."

She gives him a soft smile, the awe in his voice filling her like light in sails, carrying her higher. She levers herself up to one arm, dipping down to steal a soft kiss from his lips.

And then she's moving away. She slips to the floor and pads on bare feet across to her work bench. His arm is there on its stand, covered with a scrap of cloth to keep the dust off. She picks it up and wraps it in the cloth, bearing it back to the bed in her arms, like it's a small child.

"Take your shirt off," she whispers.

Edited 2015-09-24 21:15 (UTC)

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, echoed in his voice as he says, "Okay."

The bundle looks so much like Edgar's sword before he unwrapped it. A gift of metal, she said. That's enough to school him back to solemnity -- more or less -- as he strips off his undershirt and sets it aside.

This is a big fucking deal. For a whole host of reasons, not just the metal part.

This feels like something momentous, though she cannot quite articulate why. It feels like she's offering him a piece of herself. Her past. Her present. And to some extent, her future.

She settles beside him on the bed, with the bundle resting across her knees, her hands holding it gingerly.

"Do you have the pendant with you?"

"Oh -- " His hand rises to his bare chest before he catches himself, sheepishly. "Yeah, it's in my coat. Did you put my coat somewhere...?"

He can grab it so she doesn't have to get up again; he's already scanning the room.

"It's at the foot of the bed, I believe." There's a lump of clothing where she helped him undress.

Her voice is still hushed, shimmering with quiet anticipation.

Edited 2015-09-25 13:10 (UTC)

Curtis nods, and scrambles over to the small pile of clothes. After a few seconds of rummaging, he unearths the amulet from one an inner pocket of his jacket (one of many pockets haphazardly added over the years) and returns to Dejah's side.

"Will I have to wear it all the time while I'm wearing the arm?" he asks.

She watches with bright eyes, trying not to giggle.

"No, just for the transition. Once you put it on, you won't need it. Unless we need to recalibrate something."

He quirks an eyebrow, and a smile, as he loops the amulet over his neck: what?

"That'll make it easier."

She waits until he's settled, watching him. A strange serenity settles over her.

"Now, you remember I told you in the beginning, the first connection is going to hurt."

Curtis nods. "I remember, yeah."

Can't be worse than getting his arm ripped off in the first place, though. Right?

She swallows, nods. He gets the distinct impression that she doesn't want to cause him pain, ever, but it's necessary. She uncovers the arm and orients it to his body.

"There's going to be tendrils of blue light. The Ninth Ray isolates are going to find your nerves and meld with them. Then muscles and tendons. It will feel strange as it attaches to the joint. But it should only last thirty seconds or so."

She lifts the arm, and then lets it rest again. "Maybe you should lie down?"

That's his arm. That's what everyone will see from now on: silver plates spreading down to his fingers, proof of a sacrifice given seventeen years too late. Not as obvious as the empty space, maybe but no less for it.

Briefly, he draws his lower lip between his teeth, then reaches to touch Dejah's knee in silent reassurance. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't think he could handle it. If the end result wasn't worth it.

"All right," he says. Soft as it is, the trust he places in Dejah swirls through every syllable. Curtis scoots back -- not exactly smoothly, as he deals with the way-too-soft mattress -- and stretches out along the bed.

The irony that he should be the one reassuring her does not escape her, and yet, that simple touch is as sweet as any kiss. His trust is a cherished gift right now. She lays the arm on the bed beside him, and carefully aligns it. Her hand lights on his bare chest, just needing to return that touch.

The prostheses is a perfect mirror of his right arm, sinking into the soft mattress with the same weight. As it gets closer, he can feel a tingle in his skin.

"Right, so. Take a few deep breaths. And when you're ready, touch the pendant and ask the device to attach."

Edited 2015-09-25 19:42 (UTC)

Curtis nods. He rests his hand just below the pendant. They rise and fall with the movement of his chest.

The tingle feels like getting too close to one of the bare electrical wires that hung just above the Tail's topmost bunks. That wire took out more than one person over the years: a snap, a buzz, a scream, another body plummeting down. This will hurt, he tells himself, but he'll get through it.

He touches the pendant.

"Ah -- "

His hand slams closed around the stone in a single convulsive stroke, the searing pain racing up the remains of his left arm, setting everything afire in its path. He's back in the engine room with blood pouring over his arm, choking down every scream that wants to rip free, staring at Timmy's face and thinking just a little longer, just a little longer and it'll be over --

She sucks in a breath, and covers his good hand with hers, holding him secure as the blue shards of light bleed into skin. His entire body has gone rigid, and his skin pale.

She watches as the isolates pull the prostheses in until metal meets flesh. The core knows what his good arm looks like, and begins to fill in the gaps. It's all working exactly as she designed.

Only she didn't plan on having to be here, helpless, as he writhes in quiet agony.

"Breathe. Almost there. Almost. Just breathe."

His neck's locked up; he can't even nod. When Curtis breathes, it hisses loud between his teeth.

That's as much noise as he'll let himself make. Even though the engine's chewing on his whole shoulder, the whole left side of his body, desperate to devour him and take back what he stole -- he can see Dejah just above him, and the reassurance of her words chases after the fire to try and soothe the pain. Almost done. Almost over. Breathe. Breathe.

And then, as sudden as the pain arrived, it cuts out. The memory cramps the upper half of his arm, but even that's fading like a bad dream.

Shakily, after two more breaths, Curtis lifts his right hand to his forehead and wheezes, "Shit. You weren't kidding."

Her hand smoothes up the prostheses, up to the junction of metal and flesh. The characteristic blue glow flows under his skin, all the way to his collarbone and around to what she assumes is his scapula in the back.

"I'm so sorry. But Curtis..." Her hand caresses back down to his new forearm and wrist. "Can you feel that?"

That bright thread of hope sings in her voice.

The last of the pain vanishes. His stump feels...heavy, like it's pinned by a weight, and there's a weird tingling below it like the phantom twitches he gets every so often.

But then it starts to resolve into something else, and Curtis' eyes widen.

It's not like all the deliberate direction of the test runs: think move, watch the fingers move, think lift and watch the elbow bend, like he's sending commands to some impersonal computer. He can feel the softness of the bed pressing against the lower half of his arm. If he concentrates, he thinks he can even feel the sheets. And over top of it --

Oh.

He doesn't have to think move, turn, grasp. His left hand turns over beneath Dejah's and catches her fingers in his, and he can feel every one of them, the pressure of her touch, the softness of her skin, almost everything.

The room blurs a little. He's beaming, so hard his face hurts, and his voice trembles for an entirely different reason when he whispers, "Oh my god."

The blue glow shifts up and down his arm as the new nerves learn and recalibrate accordingly. She watches as the realization washes over him, and the emotion in his voice brings tears to her eyes. She runs her fingers through his, light as a feather, tracing the seams that mimic the lines of his palm.

This is the sweetest blow she's ever struck against the Thern and their legacy.

Her gaze moves back to his face and she mirrors that grin back to him.

Edited 2015-09-28 02:43 (UTC)

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