Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me

[sugarlips]

Desolation. That's what Harrow feels when the King Undying tells her that what she wants most is impossible. Not even what she wants, but what she needs. She cannot live without Gideon Nav, and she will not. Unending life, in spite of being what she had sought after in the beginning, is now unthinkable. She looks up into his surprisingly normal face, his unearthly eyes, and lets her gaze drop.

A horrible certainty rises in her, and becomes a morbid hope. Her face is serene with unspeakable grief, none of her wild plan showing as she asks to see the body of her cavalier. He grants her this, and she walks like a woman to the gallows down the ship to the cold storage. He has the grace to leave her alone with her grief, of course, and she opens the door with her heart in her throat.

The chill of the corpsetorium echoes the cool calm of her mind. Her chest aches, her throat is sore from screaming, but the sight of Gideon, hole in her chest, laying on a slab like so much dead meat does not inspire the crushing grief she had expected to. It fuels her. Motivates her to think harder, to dissect the theorems she studied and the one megatheorem that led to this cursed conclusion (damn Sextus for being right).

Harrow has no idea how long she sits there, her mind working in overdrive, peering inward to slowly pull out the stitches she had made in her own soul only mere hours before. It feels like only seconds at the same time it feels like eons. She has to do this carefully, slowly. I will not live without you. she thinks to herself and to the traces of Nav that exist inside her. She repeats it like a mantra. I told you that I am undone without you. We are both undone if I must go on alone.

It's the most delicate work she's ever done, and it hurts. It's a pain right down to her marrow, like she's trying to peel layers of calcium off of her own bones. At the end of it, it feels like she's holding a doll in her metaphysical hands. A little gauzy imitation of Gideon Nav. She pulls it free of herself, feels blood drip from her forehead into her eyes, and with all of the ferocity she had to hold back during the excavation, she slams the soul back into its rightful body.

Comments

[bonebutchblues]

"This water's nicer," she says stupidly, tugging Harrow to sit on a submerged bench. She won't stop petting her though. She doesn't want to stop touching her, ever. She also doesn't want to examine her not wanting to stop touching her ever. She just wants to touch Harrow and be warm and not think.

[sugarlips]

Harrow snorts a laugh in spite of herself. Well, Nav's not wrong. This water is warm and clean and not making her feel all crusty from salt.

In fact, she's realizing just how exhausted she is because of that heat. So much so that she doesn't fight being pulled onto a bench and into Gideon's lap. She sits side-saddle, her cheek still pressed against Gideon's shoulder.

She slips into a light rest, floating between sleeping and waking. It's stupid, she thinks, but she feels safer than she ever has, and she is in no hurry to unpack that.

[bonebutchblues]

OK, well she was aiming to put Harrow beside her, but when Harrow sits on her lap, her body and face warm even beyond what the water causes. She stays in that silent moment a long time, until finally she grabs at a bar of soap and begins to lather up Harrow's grimy hair.

[sugarlips]

Yes, well, Harrow isn't doing her best thinking right at the moment.

She returns to alertness at the hair lathering, blinking and mumbling. She seems to realize all at once that she's sitting on Gideon and that she should be embarrassed about that, so she lets the water help her bob off and onto the bench beside her fussing cav.

The suds fall onto her shoulders in a rusty brown foam and Harrow frowns at them. "Eugh."

[bonebutchblues]

Gideon can't deny to herself her disappointment when Harrow leaves, but it was too good to last, wasn't it? At least she's allowing Gideon to wash her hair. Someone has to.

"Fucking nasty" she agrees.

[sugarlips]

Excuse, she is perfectly capable of washing her own hair, thanks!

"Bet yours is worse," a ghost of a smirk flickers onto her face.

[bonebutchblues]

"I wouldn't take that bet." She tries to let her fingers say all the things she can't out loud. She lets all her tenderness go into her hands as they gently work out gunk and untangle snags. Finally she's satisfied for her work for this first round. "Hold your breath for me?"

[sugarlips]

That smirk flickers into a smile for a moment before her face relaxes into the touch, gone slack from all its usual creases and concentration. It's nice, nicer than she expected, to let someone else wash her hair like this. She tries to remember the last time her mother did this for her, and can't.

There's a tenderness to Gideon that Harrow wouldn't have thought possible until a very short time ago. It makes her feel very strange to have it turned toward her in such a way.

The question has her heart climbing up into her throat with a metallic sort of ping. She swallows it back down and nods, doing as bid and holding her breath.

[bonebutchblues]

She cups her hands and begins pouring water over Harrow's head. It's all very full of baptism imagery. Then she moves on to her back.

[sugarlips]

The irony is not lost on Harrow, and it crinkles amusement around her eyes. She sighs, full of contentment and something else she doesn't dare name.

Her head lolls slightly as Gideon moves on to her back, the way she slouches making her shoulderblades prominent and the top of her thoracic spine stick out like a ridgeback lizard. All at once she grabs one of Gideon's hands and holds it out, spreading her smaller palm and thinner fingers against the cavalier's.

"Are you angry with me? For... separating us?"

[bonebutchblues]

Gideon stops when Harrow grabs her. She’d be content enough to continue in silence, but apparently that isn’t an option. Still, there’s a long beat before she answers.

“Well, I should have expected it,” she says, not actually answering the question at all, “of course a little control freak like you wouldn’t accept Lyctorhood under anything but your own perfect conditions.”

[sugarlips]

The fact that Gideon doesn't answer tells her as much or more as if she had. Harrow's face looks melancholy, contemplative, even if Gideon can't see it. She traces the lines of the cavalier's palm with her finger.

She turns Gideon's hand around and carefully lifts it to her face, brushes her lips over the knuckles feather-light and presses them to her cheek before letting the hand go completely. She's not sorry for it, so she won't apologize, but she hopes Gideon will forgive her anyway. Again. Instead she just whispers, "Thank you," to the water.

[bonebutchblues]

She can’t see that face. She can’t read Harrow here at all. The kiss has her confused, but maybe Harrow’s just mirroring her own action from earlier. It could mean anything. She grunts an affirmation and pulls back to wash her own hair.

Or at least, she tries. There are a couple of awkward, aborted movements as she realizes she can’t lift her arms up with her chest still freshly healing.

[sugarlips]

That grunt sounds like the grunt of a Gideon who has no idea what's going on and doesn't want to admit to it. Harrow turns, in time to see the reach and the wince. She reaches out to gently touch Gideon's arm, pressing it down with firm kindness.

"Let me?" It's half an order and half a question.

[bonebutchblues]

It is exactly that kind of grunt. When Harrow presses on her arms, she lowers them and nods, but also looks away. Harrow's not the only one unsure she deserves tenderness. But still, she sits on the bench, her back to her Necromancer.

[sugarlips]

Harrow tilts her head slightly, wet strings of hair falling against her cheek as she watches Gideon turn. Did she look... shy? That's not something she's ever seen before. She isn't sure how she feels about it.

It motivates her to not be shy herself, at the least. She takes up the soap and lathers it into Gideon's hair, massaging it into her scalp. She drags fingers backwards through shorter hair, keeping the suds away from her face, and for the indulgence of touching.

[bonebutchblues]

Oh that... that's good. That's really good.. That's good in a way Gideon hadn't realized good could be. She exhales shakily, wishing that this weird, surreal moment of warmth and gentleness could never end. If you told her they had both died in that courtyard, and this was their reward, she'd probably be OK with it. She means to mumble some thanks, but what comes out instead is a soft, "oh."

[sugarlips]

It is more meditative and comforting than Harrow expected it to be, washing someone else's hair. Washing Gideon's hair, specifically. It feels almost scandalous, the service of it from a necro to a cav. That only makes her enjoy it more.

She doesn't respond, just curls her lip in between her teeth and chews to fight a smile.

She was right, the crusted blood, sweat, bone powder, and who knows what else in Gideon's hair is absolutely loathsome. It's deeply satisfying to watch it come out and fall away.

[bonebutchblues]

The water around them is far less clear than when they started, but bit by bit the gunk of the battle is coming free of their bodies. Dimly, she thinks that she should be doing something productive, like scrubbing at the parts of herself that she can reach. But she's helpless from the sensation of Harrow's fingers on her scalp. She's hypnotized, paralyzed, unwound. Her eyes slip close and her shoulders slump, not with dark unconscious, but with the warm wonder of the moment.

[sugarlips]

The satisfaction Harrow feels at seeing Gideon fully relax under her touch is akin to solving the complex challenges of Canaan house, but with a softer sort of thrill. A warm little electricity that sparks through her torso to remind her that they're both still alive.

"Lean back toward me," she rinses her hands in the water and combs fingers back through Gideon's hair to clean it, lifting her other hand to brace at the base of her neck as the cav leans.

[bonebutchblues]

She does as she's told without complaint or comment. Startles just a little when she feels Harrow's hand and realizes she's meant to lean into it. But carefully, slowly, she lets the weight of her head fall into Harrow's hand. She still certainly can't look at Harrow, but her eyes are open just slightly. She looks tired, certainly, but somehow peaceful as well.

[sugarlips]

It feels like crossing another bridge together, the way Gideon leans into her hand and allows Harrow to hold her up. A sign of trust that banished her previous fears about not being forgiven.

She carefully rinses red hair with passes of clean fingers, careful to keep water out of the other's eyes and ears. When she deems Gideon well enough rinsed she settles her other hand behind the cavalier's head and smiles down at her, lowering her own face until their brows and noses slot together, frontal sinus to frontal sinus.

[bonebutchblues]

She looks up in time to catch that smile. Her insides warm again with a feeling she can only pinpoint as big gay. She can't bear it, and closes her eyes again. But she's certainly not pulling away. She wants to reach up, touch her back, but her damn arms just don't move that way right now. Instead she whispers the other girls name against her forehead.

[sugarlips]

The whisper of her name makes Harrow's insides squirm. It's strangely not unpleasant. The fingers in Gideon's hair curl a little more, blunt nails lightly scraping scalp.

"Gideon." She responds, softly spoken and with a hint of amusement.

[bonebutchblues]

"Do you... do you want..." she swallows audibly. God she wants to kiss Harrow so bad it is literally making her stupid. But what if that's not what Harrow wants? Now or ever? She's been selfish enough lately, she can't risk ruining this perfect moment with her horndog smooch desires. She chickens out, "do you want to get out of this nasty water?"