Not long after the flood ends, Jedao will smell curry, rising through the vents and ladders. By the time he shows up at the galley, it's probably ready enough to eat, though it won't hurt it to keep cooking. Rice is done, from the food reprocessor -- not the greatest rice, but not the worst, either.
"Hey," says Jim. "Thanks. I mean, for everything you did." He looks abashed, shy, a combination of scared-relieved that means he knew this wasn't as bad as it could have been, and he knows could have been might come true, next time. "You took care of me."
"Hey," says Jim. "Thanks. I mean, for everything you did." He looks abashed, shy, a combination of scared-relieved that means he knew this wasn't as bad as it could have been, and he knows could have been might come true, next time. "You took care of me."
He's - exhausted from not sleeping, and heartsick, and he wants to sneak away and hide with Horseriver, in his room that's all velvet and flagstones and like nowhere else he's ever been. Horseriver knows how to be near him without making him talk about anything. They know how to be old and ruined around each other.
Holden's trying to be nice.
He is being nice. Jedao doesn't know why the smell - not exactly familiar, but recognizable enough - makes him feel like a first year going through design critique, makes him want to grit his teeth and blank his face and nod earnestly, shrinking and flinching inside. Why did he even say anything about the stupid bread? It's fine. It doesn't matter.
"It wasn't a big deal," he says, and doesn't let himself mutter or look away like a sloppy cadet. "But you're welcome."
Holden's trying to be nice.
He is being nice. Jedao doesn't know why the smell - not exactly familiar, but recognizable enough - makes him feel like a first year going through design critique, makes him want to grit his teeth and blank his face and nod earnestly, shrinking and flinching inside. Why did he even say anything about the stupid bread? It's fine. It doesn't matter.
"It wasn't a big deal," he says, and doesn't let himself mutter or look away like a sloppy cadet. "But you're welcome."
It's late, now. Two in the morning, maybe closer to three. Everyone else has drifted to bed. Jedao replaced his champagne glass with a hip flask sometime after midnight, although he's been nursing it with a careful slowness, enough to keep him from locking up when the house creaks, not enough to make him say anything too bitter, too maudlin, not enough to let his nightmares crawl up his throat like bile and slosh out acrid and ugly onto the nebulous gossamer thing between them.
Jedao's cap is on the table but his dress uniform has otherwise survived the day crisply unscathed; Fives' jacket is over his chair, his tie untied and hanging. He hasn't talked much since he got back, or he feels like he hasn't - but it's easier, with the weight of Fives' unwavering attention to settle him, clever and serious and not yet ruined, his bright lovely eyes.
He reaches out, suddenly, an impulse he doesn't bother to deny himself. He has great instincts, except when he doesn't, and he spent too long alone in the dark, feels the dark pressing too often, still, at his sternum and the corners of his vision, to push away flickers of selfishness when he encounters them. He catches Fives' left wrist and undoes his cuff link, palms it away, tugs his shirt sleeve up, traces the dark vein under warm brown skin with two fingertips, then with a sweep of his thumb.
"Has anyone ever told you," he asks, voice low and dark, a concentrated espresso-shot kind of voice, "How absolutely fucking beautiful you are?"
Jedao's cap is on the table but his dress uniform has otherwise survived the day crisply unscathed; Fives' jacket is over his chair, his tie untied and hanging. He hasn't talked much since he got back, or he feels like he hasn't - but it's easier, with the weight of Fives' unwavering attention to settle him, clever and serious and not yet ruined, his bright lovely eyes.
He reaches out, suddenly, an impulse he doesn't bother to deny himself. He has great instincts, except when he doesn't, and he spent too long alone in the dark, feels the dark pressing too often, still, at his sternum and the corners of his vision, to push away flickers of selfishness when he encounters them. He catches Fives' left wrist and undoes his cuff link, palms it away, tugs his shirt sleeve up, traces the dark vein under warm brown skin with two fingertips, then with a sweep of his thumb.
"Has anyone ever told you," he asks, voice low and dark, a concentrated espresso-shot kind of voice, "How absolutely fucking beautiful you are?"
Fives has heard so many stories about Jedao over the years, from Shiro and Laura and even Uncle Miki, but for all the time he's spent in the Vauhan household this is the first time he's ever managed to meet the man who smiles charmingly out from so many pictures scattered all over the house. It's been... an experience. Almost entirely a good one, even if he's had to devote entirely too much focus to not letting himself think about how beautiful he looks in his dress uniform, or how warm his voice is or how elegant and clever his hands are. And he's learned a lot, gotten the kind of first hand information he's been wanting to base a final decision on. Not from a recruiter, whose job it is to sell him on a military career, but from someone who's been there and has no investment in what decision he makes either way.
It's been getting harder, though, as this particular night's worn on, to keep from letting his gaze linger too long, on Jedao's hands when he gestures, or the bob of his adam's apple when he drinks from the flask that he pulled out sometime in the last few hours. To not admit to himself that he's had a crush on the ghost in the Vauhan house for years, now, and that the reality of the man is possibly even better than the fantasy.
But he tries. Tries not to lean too close, not to let their fingers brush when he helps himself to the flask in the older man's hand, not to want, because the last thing he needs is the kind of mayhem that would result if he oversteps and gets called out on it. He wants to make his mother proud, not shame her, especially not in a way too public to be easily covered up.
But they're not in public anymore, it's just the two of them still up, and he knows he's leaning too close but can't quite make himself care in the quiet dimness and almost solitude. He's startled enough by the sudden touch that he almost jerks away, thinking maybe he's pushed his luck too far and been caught out.
Almost, but Jedao's grip is firm, and then nimble fingers are working at his cuff, pushing up his shirt sleeve, and he can't catch his breath. Can't do anything but watch Jedao's fingers, pale against the darkness of his skin, and shudder at the delicate brush of them.
Jedao's voice feels almost like a tangible thing, brushing over his skin along with those long, elegant fingers, and when Fives looks up his jaw is slack, chin tipped up slightly to bare the long line of his throat, and there's barely a ring of whisky-gold around the dark wells of his pupils. He wants to say something clever, or sophisticated, or at least not embarrassing, but all he can do is bite his lip to hold back a moan.
It's been getting harder, though, as this particular night's worn on, to keep from letting his gaze linger too long, on Jedao's hands when he gestures, or the bob of his adam's apple when he drinks from the flask that he pulled out sometime in the last few hours. To not admit to himself that he's had a crush on the ghost in the Vauhan house for years, now, and that the reality of the man is possibly even better than the fantasy.
But he tries. Tries not to lean too close, not to let their fingers brush when he helps himself to the flask in the older man's hand, not to want, because the last thing he needs is the kind of mayhem that would result if he oversteps and gets called out on it. He wants to make his mother proud, not shame her, especially not in a way too public to be easily covered up.
But they're not in public anymore, it's just the two of them still up, and he knows he's leaning too close but can't quite make himself care in the quiet dimness and almost solitude. He's startled enough by the sudden touch that he almost jerks away, thinking maybe he's pushed his luck too far and been caught out.
Almost, but Jedao's grip is firm, and then nimble fingers are working at his cuff, pushing up his shirt sleeve, and he can't catch his breath. Can't do anything but watch Jedao's fingers, pale against the darkness of his skin, and shudder at the delicate brush of them.
Jedao's voice feels almost like a tangible thing, brushing over his skin along with those long, elegant fingers, and when Fives looks up his jaw is slack, chin tipped up slightly to bare the long line of his throat, and there's barely a ring of whisky-gold around the dark wells of his pupils. He wants to say something clever, or sophisticated, or at least not embarrassing, but all he can do is bite his lip to hold back a moan.
The room is new but the shape of it, the dark wood and hanging decorations, is familiar. The large window lets in far more light than usually illuminates Horseriver's room, bringing out shades of color in the smooth wood of the table. It brings out the highlights in Horseriver's tawny hair, too, and gives him a faint nimbus for a moment as he turns away from the window to face the room.
He looks down at himself, smile at its most sardonic. "I suppose it isn't a surprise." He was the one who had chosen that memory to use as an anchor, though he doesn't recognize the clothes. The light touches everything in the room but it can't touch the shadows in eyes that have seen far more centuries than they ever should have.
He looks down at himself, smile at its most sardonic. "I suppose it isn't a surprise." He was the one who had chosen that memory to use as an anchor, though he doesn't recognize the clothes. The light touches everything in the room but it can't touch the shadows in eyes that have seen far more centuries than they ever should have.
"I'm surprised," Jedao says, blithely. The other dreams had been - not the same as rahal scrying, but similar in their strangeness, in the clusters of evocative abstractions, without the same grasping vicissitudes. Horseriver himself had been the center of gravity in each of them, and Jedao - whatever form the dreams cast him him - was already there, rather than struggling against the current, rather than holding himself in the protection of the Immolation Fox's false-true shape.
The light keeps arresting his attention. The way it fills the window and obscures anything beyond the boundary of the room, the way it rolls over Horseriver's skin and seeps into their surroundings. Engravings. Embroidery. Eyelashes.
But - "The fifth, out of season?" It's easy to put it together, once he manages to remember the last few weeks through distraction of - he's not sure what is so distracting, nothing happening, a room he's already familiar with, a face he recognizes with perfect clarity despite how rarely he's glimpsed it before. Still.
The light keeps arresting his attention. The way it fills the window and obscures anything beyond the boundary of the room, the way it rolls over Horseriver's skin and seeps into their surroundings. Engravings. Embroidery. Eyelashes.
But - "The fifth, out of season?" It's easy to put it together, once he manages to remember the last few weeks through distraction of - he's not sure what is so distracting, nothing happening, a room he's already familiar with, a face he recognizes with perfect clarity despite how rarely he's glimpsed it before. Still.
It's easy to decide to take Holden at his word, that it's not just okay to seek out Jedao, but that he should. He doesn't take any convincing at all, he's missed him too kriffing much in the weeks they've been mostly apart. He's not sure what he's expecting when he walks up to his door, though; despite the fact that it had still let him in when he'd... when he'd met Jean and Jedao here he's surprised when it slides open for him before he can even knock.
He stands in the doorway, more anxious now than angry, and hesitates for a moment before saying, "I talked to Holden... or I guess. He talked to me."
He stands in the doorway, more anxious now than angry, and hesitates for a moment before saying, "I talked to Holden... or I guess. He talked to me."
Edited 2017-12-07 06:16 (UTC)
Jedao knows it's him before he looks over; only Fives could open the door, and of course he can see him before his head moves. But he pauses the simulation his desk was running and watches Fives stand there, nods and swallows after Fives speaks.
Or, that is to say, he lets himself swallow, lets Fives see him being anxious too, but he nods, waves Fives in, stands up to come around the desk.
Or, that is to say, he lets himself swallow, lets Fives see him being anxious too, but he nods, waves Fives in, stands up to come around the desk.
IMPORTANT very important question:
you're looking at a spaceship ignoring for the moment that this spaceship is basically a death trap already and then someone tells you that the big part of your job will be going OUTSIDE the spaceship which you might have to do anyway when parts of it FALL OFF or something and throw explosives at giant chunks of ICE which might be enough to DESTROY the spaceship you're going to be traveling in because it was probably WIELDED TOGETHER by some person who goes home every day with the happy knowledge that they're never getting in one of their creations
do you decide that this sounds like the dream job you've never known existed and are so happy to finally experience?
you're looking at a spaceship ignoring for the moment that this spaceship is basically a death trap already and then someone tells you that the big part of your job will be going OUTSIDE the spaceship which you might have to do anyway when parts of it FALL OFF or something and throw explosives at giant chunks of ICE which might be enough to DESTROY the spaceship you're going to be traveling in because it was probably WIELDED TOGETHER by some person who goes home every day with the happy knowledge that they're never getting in one of their creations
do you decide that this sounds like the dream job you've never known existed and are so happy to finally experience?
He spends a few hours in his barracks, curled up on his side on one of the bunks he's never actually slept in so he can see the hangings Jedao made him (and has of course snuck in and hung up again), stomach churning and chest tight, alternating erratically between thinking too much about everything and trying not to think at all. Eventually, he has to admit that it's probably just making everything worse rather than better, and Jedao probably expected him to report back. Which he should do, no matter how much he still really doesn't want to.
He stands for a moment in front of the hangings, trying to make himself leave them up this time, then tugs them regretfully down, folds them neatly, and tucks them into the same locker they're always stored in before heading out and making his slow way back to the Roci. He's not sure when exactly that became home, just that the cold, harsh barracks he's leaving never was, and that Jedao's own cabin had never quite risen to that point before they'd moved to the Roci. And maybe that's what had done it, right from the start. That they'd moved there together. That Jedao had asked Holden for a double berth so that they could stay together. It's no more comfortable or welcoming than his barracks at the core of it, and considerably more cramped, but what makes it home is... the wind chimes hanging from the ceiling, spinning gently in their own magical breeze, and Jedao's delicate little teapot in its spot on the shelf. And Jedao. Maybe that last is the only part that matters.
Whatever the reason, coming back here feels safe, like coming home. Even miserable and exhausted and worried and... frightened, though he can't even let himself look at that head on, let alone identify the cause of it. He passes through the false airlock and makes his way to their shared berth and some of the weight and ache lifts away, even as some of it just shifts, or intensifies. It's still home, and anywhere with Jedao is still better than anywhere without him.
He pads through the door and heads immediately for the bottom bunk, dropping down next to Jedao and curling in against him, pressing his face into his shoulder.
He stands for a moment in front of the hangings, trying to make himself leave them up this time, then tugs them regretfully down, folds them neatly, and tucks them into the same locker they're always stored in before heading out and making his slow way back to the Roci. He's not sure when exactly that became home, just that the cold, harsh barracks he's leaving never was, and that Jedao's own cabin had never quite risen to that point before they'd moved to the Roci. And maybe that's what had done it, right from the start. That they'd moved there together. That Jedao had asked Holden for a double berth so that they could stay together. It's no more comfortable or welcoming than his barracks at the core of it, and considerably more cramped, but what makes it home is... the wind chimes hanging from the ceiling, spinning gently in their own magical breeze, and Jedao's delicate little teapot in its spot on the shelf. And Jedao. Maybe that last is the only part that matters.
Whatever the reason, coming back here feels safe, like coming home. Even miserable and exhausted and worried and... frightened, though he can't even let himself look at that head on, let alone identify the cause of it. He passes through the false airlock and makes his way to their shared berth and some of the weight and ache lifts away, even as some of it just shifts, or intensifies. It's still home, and anywhere with Jedao is still better than anywhere without him.
He pads through the door and heads immediately for the bottom bunk, dropping down next to Jedao and curling in against him, pressing his face into his shoulder.
He's been reviewing the network, catching up on everything out there in public, updating his files, trying to keep busy and ignore the persistent ache from his death tolls. Not to mention how long it's been.
If he doesn't see Fives at dinner, he's going to track him down, he decides. That's a reasonable amount of time. He's letting them do this. He's -
Fives walks in, and Jedao drops his comm immediately into the sheets, turning toward Fives even as Fives collapses beside and on him.
He tilts his head to rest the weight of his cheek on the crown of Fives' head as well as he can, reaching for one of Fives hands and gripping it tight.
"Oh, vod'ika," he murmurs quietly, and his own nervous worry feels suddenly weirdly far away. Either he'll find a way to make it work, or he won't. But he has what he needs, and that's Fives. He doesn't ask any questions, not yet, not if Fives needs company and silence first. Presence, acceptance, the small intimacy of the endearment that Fives taught him: those first.
If he doesn't see Fives at dinner, he's going to track him down, he decides. That's a reasonable amount of time. He's letting them do this. He's -
Fives walks in, and Jedao drops his comm immediately into the sheets, turning toward Fives even as Fives collapses beside and on him.
He tilts his head to rest the weight of his cheek on the crown of Fives' head as well as he can, reaching for one of Fives hands and gripping it tight.
"Oh, vod'ika," he murmurs quietly, and his own nervous worry feels suddenly weirdly far away. Either he'll find a way to make it work, or he won't. But he has what he needs, and that's Fives. He doesn't ask any questions, not yet, not if Fives needs company and silence first. Presence, acceptance, the small intimacy of the endearment that Fives taught him: those first.
We should talk. [He sounds so enthusiastic, which is to say, completely neutral.]
Tris has no idea how well sound will travel through the metal door to the Roci. She pulls out her communicator instead.
"Jedao, it's Tris. I'm outside the door to Jim's cabin with soup and ice cream. Can I come in?"
"Jedao, it's Tris. I'm outside the door to Jim's cabin with soup and ice cream. Can I come in?"
Edited 2018-02-07 02:46 (UTC)
"You're a scholar and a heroine," he announces, slightly raspy. "Roci, open the main hatch, she's here to save me. Are either of those in containers you can take up a ladder, or do I have to stumble down?"
The spaceship's interior, regrettably, is largely vertical.
The spaceship's interior, regrettably, is largely vertical.
Dated somewhere around 3/10ish, or wherever it makes sense/fits
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callmefives
2018-03-14 09:34 am (UTC)(link)
Fives is waiting in Jedao's cabin at fish-feeding time, which isn't all that uncommon: he likes to watch the bright little creatures dart around and compete for the flakes of food as they drift down from the surface, to see how they emerge from the gently swaying plants or the hidden crevices in the little coral reef he'd constructed for them to hide in. It's... soothing. And pleasant. And he likes seeing Jedao appear to enjoy them as well.
But instead of sprawling on the bed with a book, or scrolling through the network as he waits, the way he normally would, he's standing by the tank, jittering a little. When the door slides open he turns to meet Jedao, wide-eyed and a little stunned looking. "Quentin offered to see if he could... if he could figure out how to fix our aging," he blurts with absolutely no preamble.
But instead of sprawling on the bed with a book, or scrolling through the network as he waits, the way he normally would, he's standing by the tank, jittering a little. When the door slides open he turns to meet Jedao, wide-eyed and a little stunned looking. "Quentin offered to see if he could... if he could figure out how to fix our aging," he blurts with absolutely no preamble.
It gives Jedao pause for a moment too, blinking and still. Not bad-blank, but still a brief scuffle to reorganize a flurry of potential emotions.
"I didn't think to ask," he says at last, and if he isn't as stunned as Fives, it's clear the news means quite a lot to him too, more than he can immediately process. "Does he really think he could?" Jedao knows far less than he should about Quentin's magical specializations.
"I didn't think to ask," he says at last, and if he isn't as stunned as Fives, it's clear the news means quite a lot to him too, more than he can immediately process. "Does he really think he could?" Jedao knows far less than he should about Quentin's magical specializations.
Horseriver feels Jedao's return to consciousness like a sudden wiggle in a tooth he's been absently prodding. If there's a few moments of relief (proof of the worry he'd never admit to) sent across before he withdraws to his normal level of background sensation, well, he's trusted Jedao with more than that.
He's wandered far from where the Admiral dropped them off, half-exploring and half-looking for somewhere away from the crowd of people. The hunting lodge he finds at the edge of a forest serves both those purposes admirably. It's from there that, some time after he feels Jedao 'wake up', he sends out another touch of emotion - a suggestion that there's something interesting to see, mixed with his least cutting amusement. Not a demand for his presence but asking in a way he can't with words.
He's wandered far from where the Admiral dropped them off, half-exploring and half-looking for somewhere away from the crowd of people. The hunting lodge he finds at the edge of a forest serves both those purposes admirably. It's from there that, some time after he feels Jedao 'wake up', he sends out another touch of emotion - a suggestion that there's something interesting to see, mixed with his least cutting amusement. Not a demand for his presence but asking in a way he can't with words.
What Horseriver gets back, with precisely the same messiness and lack of ceremony as a girl in a romcom dumping her boyfriend's possessions on the lawn in the middle of a fight, is a tangled vehement muddle of pain, fear, guilt and resentment, with permeating, overriding frustration running through it all. And then weariness, and then the odd twang of sympathetic indignation, and then a sense of tight-bound productive obsessive worry-focus, and the accompanying impatience for anything that isn't fixing the shit that imploded in his sleep, and lastly resignation, flecked with curiosity and the affectionate-ache of missing him.
Jedao will come and see, and sigh, and rest his head on Horseriver's knee, and grouse at him in person. But not right now. If all goes well, tomorrow morning.
Jedao will come and see, and sigh, and rest his head on Horseriver's knee, and grouse at him in person. But not right now. If all goes well, tomorrow morning.
Edited 2018-05-02 23:43 (UTC)
backdated to midway through the port, cw gore in thread
magician_king
2018-05-15 01:10 am (UTC)(link)
Quentin misses their second date. He stands him up in the coffee shop, when he's never been anything other than five minutes early for even a casual romp around the enclosure when they were still just friends.
When he's able to check the time, later, he curses long and loud, and immediately makes a nurse send a text for him, dictating;
Mister Coldwater would like to apologize and explain that he's been admitted to the hospital. He's resting, but will contact you again when he can.
When he's able to check the time, later, he curses long and loud, and immediately makes a nurse send a text for him, dictating;
Mister Coldwater would like to apologize and explain that he's been admitted to the hospital. He's resting, but will contact you again when he can.
Jedao gave it time. Life is strange, and life is long, and certainly there are more distractions here than on the barge. When it became obvious Quentin wasn't coming, Jedao checked back at his hotel, to find him missing there as well.
There's a message, already waiting, just in case, hoping horribly that it's only him: If you've changed your mind, I hope you know that of course I respect your decision, but I will always value your company.
Less passive aggressive than you don't need to avoid me. The temptation to include a threat for anyone else reading was unprofessionally strong, but he didn't. Not sense warning anyone. A new reply comes almost immediately.
Thank you for letting me know. Is Mister Coldwater awake now?
There's a message, already waiting, just in case, hoping horribly that it's only him: If you've changed your mind, I hope you know that of course I respect your decision, but I will always value your company.
Less passive aggressive than you don't need to avoid me. The temptation to include a threat for anyone else reading was unprofessionally strong, but he didn't. Not sense warning anyone. A new reply comes almost immediately.
Thank you for letting me know. Is Mister Coldwater awake now?
Edited 2018-05-16 02:30 (UTC)
As fast as humanly possible, Quentin sends over image attachments. Hand written spells, put into the communicator as photographs, well lit, carefully framed. It's only an hour and a half, all told.
Hand written, on the last page, is a note that he really is sorry.
Hand written, on the last page, is a note that he really is sorry.
Text me the minute you're back.
Hi also you if you're not- but seriously leaving this message for Jedao my own to see.
Stuff is happening.
Hi also you if you're not- but seriously leaving this message for Jedao my own to see.
Stuff is happening.
[After the flood ends for him, in the middle of the night or very early morning, it actually takes about two hours before Jedao sees the message. Normally he's more attentive, but normally he isn't murdering his Hexarch in a borderline fugue state. And Mikodez has a lot of security measures to disable; Jedao is resignedly certain he hasn't got them all. By the time he's washed off the smell from the nerve scorcher and put on a fresh uniform, two hours and maybe ten minutes.
The boy would have known exactly how many.]
Thank you for being kind to my son.
[That, first, and absolute.]
Where do you need me?
The boy would have known exactly how many.]
Thank you for being kind to my son.
[That, first, and absolute.]
Where do you need me?
Hey you okay?
[Quentin is generally low maintenance. Also, miraculously, he's self-aware enough have sent this well in advance of reaching anxiety spiral. Probably something else is going on, probably this looming feeling can be dispelled with a painless little ask.]
Love you. Let me know if I should bring soup or smthng.
[Quentin is generally low maintenance. Also, miraculously, he's self-aware enough have sent this well in advance of reaching anxiety spiral. Probably something else is going on, probably this looming feeling can be dispelled with a painless little ask.]
Love you. Let me know if I should bring soup or smthng.
Alec doesn't think about how he keeps turning to Jedao for backup. He doesn't think about how they keep attaching to the same people, albeit mostly in very different ways. Or rather he does, and then he puts it very neatly, very completely in its own little box in its own little drawer in his head and he files it away, usually next to his thoughts about who he would turn to for backup with Jedao, who he fully expects will never say word one to him either way.
The long and the short of it is he doesn't approach him in the dining hall or the library or the showers. They're passing in the hall and he tips his body language ever so slightly towards Jedao before he actually raises a hand and says, "Hey, you got a minute?"
The long and the short of it is he doesn't approach him in the dining hall or the library or the showers. They're passing in the hall and he tips his body language ever so slightly towards Jedao before he actually raises a hand and says, "Hey, you got a minute?"
Jedao himself is - not in his best headspace ever. Which means that in the hallways, he looks perfectly calm and put together, and almost never sweaty, messy-haired and grinning.
Jedao sees the first tilt, but chooses not to respond until Alec greets him explicitly, nodding and turning slightly in turn.
"Sure. Where?"
Jedao sees the first tilt, but chooses not to respond until Alec greets him explicitly, nodding and turning slightly in turn.
"Sure. Where?"
Fives is tired, as usual, and angry when he comes in late in the morning and drops onto the edge of the low bed. He's missed his maintenance shift in the infirmary, and now he needs to cool off somewhere away from everyone before he has to deal with the barge for his dinner shift.
"Hux ambushed Selina on the deck last night," he informs Jedao flatly without preamble. "Filthy Sithfucking shabuir shot her in the knee from cover so he could loom over her and gloat while he finished her off. His voice takes on an edge of vicious satisfaction as he looks up at Jedao and continues, though. "And then she nearly killed the hut'uun for his arrogance."
"Hux ambushed Selina on the deck last night," he informs Jedao flatly without preamble. "Filthy Sithfucking shabuir shot her in the knee from cover so he could loom over her and gloat while he finished her off. His voice takes on an edge of vicious satisfaction as he looks up at Jedao and continues, though. "And then she nearly killed the hut'uun for his arrogance."
Jedao is already scrambling up from his desk at the new, vicious tension threading through Fives, curling over him and going tense himself when he hears the beginning of what happened, then cracks into a wide, toothy smile that seems almost not to fit on his face, savagery hiding uncertain relief.
"Oh, good girl."
"Oh, good girl."
[ As asked, Clark sends him the instructions to his inbox, with a bit more detail and even the commands in Kryptonian, if he'd feel more secure that way.]
[From here]
Jed'ika? [Fives is deeply flushed, his short hair mussed and his lips very clearly damp and red from kissing. He also looks a very odd cross between in tensely turned on and just as intensely guilty, and the background of the image, while it's Tris's bedroom, rather than the shop downstairs, Jedao might recognize the building style.] I... uh- [He grimaces. He feels almost ridiculous asking this, but he has to or he'll feel much worse than ridiculous.]
I know you won't mind but I have to ask anyway is it all right if I have sex with Tris? [He finally manages to blurt out all in a rush. That's not really all he's asking, because it's much more than just sex, but... that's the core of it, and he's sure Jedao will understand the rest.]
Jed'ika? [Fives is deeply flushed, his short hair mussed and his lips very clearly damp and red from kissing. He also looks a very odd cross between in tensely turned on and just as intensely guilty, and the background of the image, while it's Tris's bedroom, rather than the shop downstairs, Jedao might recognize the building style.] I... uh- [He grimaces. He feels almost ridiculous asking this, but he has to or he'll feel much worse than ridiculous.]
I know you won't mind but I have to ask anyway is it all right if I have sex with Tris? [He finally manages to blurt out all in a rush. That's not really all he's asking, because it's much more than just sex, but... that's the core of it, and he's sure Jedao will understand the rest.]
[It's a really good look on him. And - Tris - whom Jedao is technically aware is at least as adult as Fives, but - he still ends up doing some rapid and squirmy mental juggling. After a few seconds he catches up with himself enough to respond.]
Oh. Uh. I mean, yes of course -
[Fives and Tris. That's. Something. But it can only be good for Fives, to have more comfort and support and affection in his life, and Tris is wonderful, kind and clever and fierce.]
- have fun and don't tell me the details.
[At least until he's processing Tris as a sexual being with less mental grinding of gears. But he smiles quite sincerely as he waves Fives on.]
Oh. Uh. I mean, yes of course -
[Fives and Tris. That's. Something. But it can only be good for Fives, to have more comfort and support and affection in his life, and Tris is wonderful, kind and clever and fierce.]
- have fun and don't tell me the details.
[At least until he's processing Tris as a sexual being with less mental grinding of gears. But he smiles quite sincerely as he waves Fives on.]
[ Harry had been unsure how to approach Jedao after the port, the more so in light of his conversation with Quentin. But he now feels it's about time. Besides, he has an excuse to talk to him that isn't completely spurious. ]
Hello, Jedao. I seem to recall that we had terms of a wager to settle.
Hello, Jedao. I seem to recall that we had terms of a wager to settle.
Hello, Jedao. [Her voice is soft and warm, and she's sitting cross-legged on the floor in her cabin with the dog in her lap.]
'Are you alright?' is a foolish question. Fives has very scrupulously told me nothing about what you're going through, and I haven't asked him, but I'm not blind. He's worried, and I haven't seen you anywhere.
I bought some new glass supplies in port, when you're ready to come and use them. They'll keep for however long that might take. In the meantime, please let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I want to.
'Are you alright?' is a foolish question. Fives has very scrupulously told me nothing about what you're going through, and I haven't asked him, but I'm not blind. He's worried, and I haven't seen you anywhere.
I bought some new glass supplies in port, when you're ready to come and use them. They'll keep for however long that might take. In the meantime, please let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I want to.
[Immediately after this]
Fives wishes he hadn't even gone. He doesn't even understand what Quentin thought he was apologizing for, or what he wanted him to explain or why, and he's come away feeling like Quentin thinks his own distress is all Fives' fault somehow. Like he'd done everything wrong but he has no idea what he's supposed to have done instead.
So... fuck him. Quentin's not his problem, he's a grown man and he can deal with his own shit. And if he hadn't actually wanted to be family then he should have kept his Sithfucking mouth shut about it. He's so angry he doesn't even realize he's basically storming through the halls until he gets back to Jedao's quarters and finds himself slamming the door, and then he winces in reaction as Tits springs up from her spot at the head of the bed with an affronted yowl.
"Sorry, Jed'ika," he murmurs, his voice even more quiet than usual in reaction, and hoarse as well. Then he pauses for a moment just inside the door to try and collect himself.
Fives wishes he hadn't even gone. He doesn't even understand what Quentin thought he was apologizing for, or what he wanted him to explain or why, and he's come away feeling like Quentin thinks his own distress is all Fives' fault somehow. Like he'd done everything wrong but he has no idea what he's supposed to have done instead.
So... fuck him. Quentin's not his problem, he's a grown man and he can deal with his own shit. And if he hadn't actually wanted to be family then he should have kept his Sithfucking mouth shut about it. He's so angry he doesn't even realize he's basically storming through the halls until he gets back to Jedao's quarters and finds himself slamming the door, and then he winces in reaction as Tits springs up from her spot at the head of the bed with an affronted yowl.
"Sorry, Jed'ika," he murmurs, his voice even more quiet than usual in reaction, and hoarse as well. Then he pauses for a moment just inside the door to try and collect himself.
The outburst - such as it was - actually seems to rally Jedao a little, and he gets up from where he's been sitting and watching the fish, and actually goes to Fives at the door, reaches, then balks and hovers, then puts a deliberate hand on Fives' wrist.
"It's okay," he says softly. At least in the sense that he doesn't require an apology.
"It's okay," he says softly. At least in the sense that he doesn't require an apology.
[After the time as a fox, he feels a lot better. He transitions them into a new book, one picked entirely for Jedao, the first of the Dragonriders of Pern books because he remembers it enough to love it and everything is fine in it. Even if he starts laughing at the cheesiest love scenes while he tries to read.]
[Between the mating flight and all the telepathy, it's so horrible that it becomes absolutely absurd; Jedao ends up discovering the entirely novel sensation of laughing while he's in the middle of throwing up.]
seriously do you read anything that isn't profoundly horrifying
i think you might hate yourself more than i do
are you okay? not like, right now, like, ever
im worried
seriously do you read anything that isn't profoundly horrifying
i think you might hate yourself more than i do
are you okay? not like, right now, like, ever
im worried
Edited 2018-10-04 05:23 (UTC)
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