theothermanofsteel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theothermanofsteel) wrote2007-08-26 01:50 am
theothermanofsteel) wrote2007-08-26 01:50 am
(no subject)
He thought about going to Milliways. Outside. There is water there, and trees, and horses, and grass that could almost be a field.
But there's a crowded room in between, and the last thing he wants to see is more people. Friends will be concerned, and strangers will be curious, and -- no.
He can't explain. To anyone. Not yet.
There is no art in him. And if he lets himself move to push or hit anything, something will shatter. Himself or the walls or whatever is in front of him.
He is on Serenity's bridge, hunched in the tiny area in front of the pilot's console, looking up at the stars.
There are so many of them.
He has no idea how long it's been since he left Simon's infirmary.
But there's a crowded room in between, and the last thing he wants to see is more people. Friends will be concerned, and strangers will be curious, and -- no.
He can't explain. To anyone. Not yet.
There is no art in him. And if he lets himself move to push or hit anything, something will shatter. Himself or the walls or whatever is in front of him.
He is on Serenity's bridge, hunched in the tiny area in front of the pilot's console, looking up at the stars.
There are so many of them.
He has no idea how long it's been since he left Simon's infirmary.
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Kate smooths a hand over his shirt, tiredly.
"It's so stupid. All of it."
She wants.
She doesn't want.
She wants and can't have.
She doesn't know which it is, or maybe it's all, and it's too much and not fair.
"Can we still have sex?"
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"Da."
He knows why she's asking.
Because it's love, and it's connection, and it's distraction -- and sex means babies means it's nothing like a distraction at all.
"We are still... us. Yes."
And, softer, "If you want it too."
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And then she whispers, "Can we now?"
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And part of him wants very little less.
Because of what sex is, and what it isn't, right now.
But he loves her, and that is and will always be true, and he wants her, and that has been true for eleven years despite everything else, and -- because they are themselves, and together, and this is what she asks and what he wants to give her -- he presses a soft kiss to her temple.
And then another to the corner of her eye, and another to her cheek, as his arms tighten around her.
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It's horrible, and she knows it, and it's going to hurt her heart.
But he's here. And not leaving. And that matters, and she needs to believe, she needs, that it's going to get better.
Not tonight, but--
But it's Piotr, so she puffs warm air against his jaw before mouthing his skin and pulls him closer. She thinks it's closer. As close as she can, anyway, her own arms tightening to match his.
"I love you."
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It's soft, and it's very gentle, and (for all of that) more than a little desperate.
"I love you."
No matter how bad it gets, no matter how bad it is -- that much will always be true.
And maybe, this once, it'll be enough.