Fives tips his head a little into Jedao's touch. "How are you tonight?" he asks quietly, and reaches for one of Jedao's hands to twine their fingers together.
“Have you ever touched wood fire ashes?” he asks, voice a little wistful as he curls his fingers through his husband’s. “They’re so soft, Fives. I feel like I’m all ashes. Soft and muffling. Light as air.” Beyond fragile; already destroyed. A quiet peace after. He drops a soft kiss on Fives’ temple, then on his mouth. “I’m not in pain.”
He has, though he doesn't think Jedao's really looking for an answer. He's walked through them, kicked up by his passage and drifting up around him in a suffocating gray cloud in the aftermath of battle, the charred remnants of one more civilization sifting onto his armor, his skin, clogging his nose and stinging his eyes before he put his helmet back on. A charred remnant, the aftermath of annihilation.
He cups a hand at the back of Jedao's head as he kisses him back, and doesn't let himself taste ashes.
"Did you go to dinner?" he asks softly, rather than anything else he might say, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. His anger at Skywalker and Ford and, to a lesser extent, Bill won't accomplish anything. "I didn't see you the couple times I was out of the kitchen."
"Okay, good. I can bring you something more interesting tomorrow night, though." Because ration bars are, of course, perfect nutrition, but they're also perfectly boring. He tugs at Jedao's hand so he can brush his lips against the knuckles, then presses his face into his belly for a moment, absolutely content where he is.
"You know, at this rate you're still going to be sorting game counters out this time next year," he teases. "I didn't realize how many you had until they were scattered all over our quarters. He doesn't even hesitate to call them ours anymore, even if he does still try to give Jedao some decent amount of privacy in them.
"Not too interesting. Bread and cheese, maybe. Anyway, it's soothing work," Jedao insists. Which is all he needs right now, after scouring himself out.
Fives shifts around a little awkwardly to get all of him on the compact little bed they share, his head still propped on Jedao's thigh, and reaches up to brush fingers through Jedao's hair.
"Bread and cheese we actually have." Unlike some more elaborate things, so he can easily supply those. "We might not have apples soon if we don't get a proper resupply, though." Which is... frustrating, but not dangerous. They have enough food, they just don't have as much interesting food.
"I know, it's just... really hard to convince myself of that sometimes." Hard to believe anyone could actually be content with them if there was any other option at all. But then, Jedao had had options most of his life, ration bars are a choice for him, and have been a lifesaving necessity, desperately hoped and profoundly appreciated when they'd finally come in the worst of circumstances, they've never been an unalleviated fact of life for years on end.
He goes very quiet then, just his breath easing in and out on the steady rhythm of someone who's controlling it consciously as he looks up at Jedao. Deciding if now's a time he can say this, or if he needs to wait... and he finds he can't really be sure, which keeps him solemnly silent.
Fives bares his teeth just enough to catch the pad of Jedao's thumb between them, pressure barely enough to dimple his skin, then kisses it and lets it go. He should have known better than to let himself even think about it, of course, if he wasn't going to follow through... and maybe some part of him had done this on purpose. Known that Jedao would see and demand an answer so that he could finally get it out in the open.
"Do you mind at all... looking at me like this?" That's not the question, of course, it's just curiosity. Because he knows if Jedao doesn't want him to see it he never will. And it's obvious that it bothers him deeply. He's even taking to letting his beard grow past any point he would have previously tolerated, because it lets him go a few more days before he's forced to look into a mirror while he shaves.
"I mind the pain in your shoulders when you remember," Jedao murmurs, and strokes his thumb over the edge of Fives' cheekbone, next. "And I mind that they blocked my spot."
The gears have migrated to other places, over the weeks, but still.
"It doesn't-" He swallows, head tipping automatically into Jedao's touch wherever it falls. "IT doesn't feel like it," he admits. "It's better than before, when I could constantly see them out of the corners of my eyes, and they caught on things and strained my neck." They'd been surprisingly dense and heavy.
"But it's still... it doesn't feel like me, when I look in a mirror." He has to resist the urge to reach up and dig nails into the skin around the base of the horns, as if he could claw them out. It's something he's had to hold himself back from more and more lately. "I'm the only one here." The only clone, brother, soul deep familiar face. "And I don't even look like it anymore."
He trails his fingertips over Fives' eyebrows, then his lids, forcing his eyes to close, touching so gently.
"You look like you," Jedao insists, in a steady cadence. "With two new honking big scars from a wormshit awful skirmish on a wormshit world. You look like my husband, stressed and strong and sweet and brave." Over the bridge of his nose, around the slightly messy scruff of his facial hair. "And very sexy," Jedao adds, tracing along Fives' jawline.
"But it's your body, not mine. Alec had - next phase plans, for more ablation. If you - if that's what you need." His voice quivers just a little for the first time; Jedao doesn't want to do that again. He's not a doctor. And he's knows that's the point, but it scares him, knowing how unprepared he is for something so important.
Fives lets his eyes slip shut obediently and focuses on Jedao's voice, on the warm, steady, beloved familiarity of it. He never would have thought he could love someone not one of his brothers this much... except Jedao is his brother as well, in every way that matters.
"I keep trying to think of them that way," he admits. Scars aren't anything to be ashamed of, and he wears his proudly. Scars are proof that you fought and you survived. "And I just... I can't." And he sounds ashamed of that fact.
He's tensely quiet for a moment after Jedao mentions Alec, and plans for more surgery. "I don't want to make you do that again." He hadn't realized how hard it would be for Jedao going in, and he doesn't want to burden him with something like that, especially not when he can hear the fear in his voice. "And I can't... I can't let Alec." The idea makes him feel physically ill. He'd live with these forever if that was the only option.
He opens his eyes again and reaches for Jedao's hand, folds it firmly in both of his own. "Things seem... they seem as settled as they ever get around here." His voice is quiet, intense. A little shaky. And it takes him a moment longer to force the rest out, because he doesn't want to overbalance him when things have been so hard for him for so long, but he knows he's starting to spiral now that he doesn't have anything to fight but himself. "Would it... would it be too much for you if I suicided? To get ride of them?"
He wants to make at least one more pitch for Alec - Jedao could be there, they could do it here, Jedao could even take point, as long as he had someone in charge who knew better what they were doing. But he can tell that Fives has more to say, and bites his tongue. His hands squeeze Fives' tight when Fives finally asks.
"Let me do it," he urges, voice hot and low. Killing he knows how to do.
That's not at all the kind of response he'd expected, and he just blinks up at him for a moment, both hands still folded tight around Jedao's. He finally swallows hard, searching Jedao's face for any sign of fear or distress. "Are you sure? I don't... I can do it myself." I don't want to hurt you again. Any more than doing this at all will.
Fives swallows hard as he lets go of Jedao's hand with one of his own, then, and reaches up to hook it around the nape of his neck. "Yeah," he agrees, rough and low, just as raw in its own way. "Thank you, Jedao-shei."
"Quentin and Tris?" he answers, because it's not like he'll be able to completely hide the death toll, no matter how experienced he is at simply functioning through pain and exhaustion. And the lack of horns, and the uneven bony deformity of his forehead will be obvious enough even if he could. "I don't think anyone else will care that much. I can tell Credence after, he can handle dinner shift without me easily enough." And he's probably going to be stepping down and leaving it to him soon anyway.
"Oh." He winces. "Yeah. Maybe it would be better to tell her after?" It might upset her less. Maybe. Or maybe nothing about it will upset her at all, she's not the same girl she was before she disappeared, after all.
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"Hi, darling," he murmurs, almost as weary but warm and soft.
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He cups a hand at the back of Jedao's head as he kisses him back, and doesn't let himself taste ashes.
"Did you go to dinner?" he asks softly, rather than anything else he might say, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. His anger at Skywalker and Ford and, to a lesser extent, Bill won't accomplish anything. "I didn't see you the couple times I was out of the kitchen."
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"You know, at this rate you're still going to be sorting game counters out this time next year," he teases. "I didn't realize how many you had until they were scattered all over our quarters. He doesn't even hesitate to call them ours anymore, even if he does still try to give Jedao some decent amount of privacy in them.
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"Bread and cheese we actually have." Unlike some more elaborate things, so he can easily supply those. "We might not have apples soon if we don't get a proper resupply, though." Which is... frustrating, but not dangerous. They have enough food, they just don't have as much interesting food.
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He goes very quiet then, just his breath easing in and out on the steady rhythm of someone who's controlling it consciously as he looks up at Jedao. Deciding if now's a time he can say this, or if he needs to wait... and he finds he can't really be sure, which keeps him solemnly silent.
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"Spit it out, love," he prompts, unperturbed.
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"Do you mind at all... looking at me like this?" That's not the question, of course, it's just curiosity. Because he knows if Jedao doesn't want him to see it he never will. And it's obvious that it bothers him deeply. He's even taking to letting his beard grow past any point he would have previously tolerated, because it lets him go a few more days before he's forced to look into a mirror while he shaves.
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The gears have migrated to other places, over the weeks, but still.
"But looking at them, no. It's still you."
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"But it's still... it doesn't feel like me, when I look in a mirror." He has to resist the urge to reach up and dig nails into the skin around the base of the horns, as if he could claw them out. It's something he's had to hold himself back from more and more lately. "I'm the only one here." The only clone, brother, soul deep familiar face. "And I don't even look like it anymore."
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"You look like you," Jedao insists, in a steady cadence. "With two new honking big scars from a wormshit awful skirmish on a wormshit world. You look like my husband, stressed and strong and sweet and brave." Over the bridge of his nose, around the slightly messy scruff of his facial hair. "And very sexy," Jedao adds, tracing along Fives' jawline.
"But it's your body, not mine. Alec had - next phase plans, for more ablation. If you - if that's what you need." His voice quivers just a little for the first time; Jedao doesn't want to do that again. He's not a doctor. And he's knows that's the point, but it scares him, knowing how unprepared he is for something so important.
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"I keep trying to think of them that way," he admits. Scars aren't anything to be ashamed of, and he wears his proudly. Scars are proof that you fought and you survived. "And I just... I can't." And he sounds ashamed of that fact.
He's tensely quiet for a moment after Jedao mentions Alec, and plans for more surgery. "I don't want to make you do that again." He hadn't realized how hard it would be for Jedao going in, and he doesn't want to burden him with something like that, especially not when he can hear the fear in his voice. "And I can't... I can't let Alec." The idea makes him feel physically ill. He'd live with these forever if that was the only option.
He opens his eyes again and reaches for Jedao's hand, folds it firmly in both of his own. "Things seem... they seem as settled as they ever get around here." His voice is quiet, intense. A little shaky. And it takes him a moment longer to force the rest out, because he doesn't want to overbalance him when things have been so hard for him for so long, but he knows he's starting to spiral now that he doesn't have anything to fight but himself. "Would it... would it be too much for you if I suicided? To get ride of them?"
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"Let me do it," he urges, voice hot and low. Killing he knows how to do.
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"Do you want to tell anyone?" Jedao won't tell if he doesn't. But if he does, they should probably do it beforehand.
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