theothermanofsteel | (no subject)

(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.

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His head turns.

He can see the top of her head, the curve of her forehead and cheek, tanned against his shoulder and blurred with closeness. Another time, he would think of the picture it made; other times, he has.

A soft interrogative noise.

"I don't know. I don't know if we should even have tried. I don't know if I just--if I was a selfish bitch who--I don't know. I don't know what I want now. I just know what I can't have. And part of me wants it desperately and part of me thinks this is the best and I don't know.

"I know I want you. That much. But that's it."

"Katya," he murmurs, and turns a little more, shifting under her just enough to be able to look at her better.

"You're not that. You are not. You are anything but selfish."

"We tried," and his voice has dropped and thickened because these words are hard, these thoughts are hard and muddled with aching, "to make life. We wanted a baby."

"No matter what else there was, that is not wrong. We wanted that."

Wanted.

Want.

(Won't have.)

She can't help but snort a bit at the first words.

"You and I both know I can be. I try," she adds in a whisper.

We wanted a baby he says and Kate closes her eyes tightly.

"Why can't we have anything normal, Piotr? Why can't we have--why is it us?"

Because they're mutants.

Because they're them.

Because life never, never gives them a break, life doesn't and death doesn't and nothing in between, and--

"I don't know," he whispers, and in the silent tiny bedroom it's bare and raw even to his own ears.

"I'm starting to hate those words."

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?"

That sparks a fragile smile, a brief and bitter ghost of what might yesterday have been humor.

"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."

She nods, a little, without lifting her head.

And then she whispers, "Can we now?"

Part of him wants nothing more.

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.

Kate closes her eyes again and leans into his kisses, sighing shakily and turning her own head to kiss his neck.

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."

"I love you," he whispers, and covers her mouth with his.

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.

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