okteiviakom | The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Sunday Evening

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The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, Sunday Evening

Octavia was still planning to try sailing to Haven. She was just doing it concurrently with trying to figure out how all the places she'd been on the Ground fit on what the east coast looked in this time. The table she was sitting at in the galley was a mess of charts and notes, and in the middle of it all, there was a hand-drawn map. Octavia had sketched out the coastline, and had spent most of the day marking down both the present-day names she could find on her map app as well as the approximate locations of places from the Ground.

It was getting late, but she was still working on it. Right now, she was hard at work trying to figure out whether it could really be as simple as this time's Annapolis turning into Polis by her time.

... Okay, right now, she was kind of slumped over the table, her head cushioned on one arm.

Just resting her eyes, just for a little bit.

[ooc: For that guy that's returning. The tall one.]

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"Sha." Duke hummed softly and leaned a little into her touch. It ached when she hit one of the bruises, but her hands felt so good otherwise. The last person to touch him there, other than the doctors and nurses and paramedics, had been Helena. "I missed you. So much."

"Ai don mema yu we, seintaim."

Understatement. Octavia considered sharing some of the things she'd been doing while he'd been gone, but decided he really didn't need to hear about those tonight.

Her fingers worked slowly, thoroughly, but she was already halfway down his back.

"People kept telling me you'd be back, but..."

"It's hard not to think the worst," Duke said, closing his eyes. "I remember."

"People also kept telling me I came back," Octavia added, with a very faintly wry tone.

They both knew that wasn't exactly the straight-forward comfort others might have thought it was.

Duke reached his hand back, looking for hers. "I'm glad it didn't take me years."

Even if he did come back a little bit broken.

Octavia took his hand. Only needed one to handle the last few inches at the small of his back.

"I would've welcomed you even if it took you decades," she murmured. "But I'm glad it didn't."

"You sure about that?" Duke asked, his teasing tone not quite fully covering for the insecurity underlining the question. "You didn't see what a wreck I'll be when I get old."

Octavia leaned forward, and pressed a soft, careful kiss to the back of his shoulder.

And then stayed there, as she said, "I know you."

"I don't know if I can do it again," Duke said softly. "Even if it is . . . slow. Natural."

Octavia sounded like she didn't want to ask.

"What?"

She did it anyway.

Duke's hand came up to his temple. That was likely to turn into a new nervous habit if he wasn't careful.

"Get old."

Octavia wanted so, so badly to just lean against his back and wrap him up, but she was far too aware of all his bruises to subject him to that. Honestly, she even felt a little bad about the hug from earlier, now.

The best she could do was rest her chin lightly against his shoulder, watching him in profile.

"Why not?"

Duke shuddered faintly. "I could -- feel. Myself dying. Even before my heart gave out --" The shaking wasn't faint anymore. "I could barely walk. Danny and Nathan kept having to help me. It was bad enough just for a weekend, Tavi."

Fuck.

Octavia was still avoiding a full lean, but her free hand came up to his other shoulder and squeezed it.

"But it wasn't natural," she tried. "You don't know how it's going to be like. You don't know if that's it."

"What, so instead of going fast, I'll just fade out slow?" Duke asked, bitter. "That's not better."

He wanted her to hold him. Even if it hurt. That was all he'd wanted the whole weekend, while his body broke down. But instead, she could hardly stand to touch him.

(He knew that wasn't the truth. He knew she was just being careful, trying not to hurt him more. But brains could be filthy, rotten liars, and emotions did what emotions did.)

Octavia's little intake of breath sounded a little hurt. And then her voice sounded a little sharp. "So your preferred choice is what?"

Duke shook his head. His breath shook going in and out, and for once he didn't stop to try to even it out. "I don't know." He was exhausted, which wasn't helping anything. "I don't know."

At least the squeeze on his shoulder was still pretty firm?

"Well, sorry for saying I don't care what age you are, I guess."

That was a little petty, yes. He wasn't the only one too exhausted to be having this conversation rationally.

Duke shrugged out of her grip and eased himself down to lie on his side, his back to her. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Octavia's hand flopped down onto her lap and stayed there, and everything was quiet for a moment.

"I did the math, in the bunker," she said, her tone going just a shade icier than she'd perhaps meant it to. (Or perhaps not. He'd pulled away from her touch and she was tired.) "I took the time difference of how long I'd been here and how much time had passed on the Ground, and I counted, and I thought you were going to be an old man if I ever made it back to you."

And she'd still wanted that for the longest time, until the needs of her people finally ran over all her personal wants.

"You can feel what you want to feel. But you don't get to tell me what I do or don't know about what I'm talking about."

Duke was still shaking, subtle tremors running up and down through his chest. "I don't want to argue with you."

"I'm not trying to argue with you."

No, she had a tendency to sound a little more definite than that. Not that she did, anymore: her voice had gone milder again. Softer, if you knew how to listen for it.

Octavia watched him, unsure of what to do.

"You're just pissed," Duke said. He couldn't deal with reassuring her right now. "I know the feeling."

Octavia didn't want him to reassure her, anyway.

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. After a moment. Wondering how other people did this.

Duke took a few deep, slow breaths, trying to get the shaking under control again. Then rolled over to press his face into her side. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "Just . . . lie down, okay?"

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