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Re-Entry 09: Video/Spam
((Backdated a couple of days to take place after this.))
[Lab and Engine Room Filters]
[Felix, probably unsurprisingly, hasn't let the incident in the CES deter him much. He's still been at work on time every day, seemingly perfectly composed, as ready as ever to keep the ship running and prepare for the port. The only difference at all is that he doesn't go to the CES anymore.
Today, though, he looks rather distracted.]
I'm sorry for the short notice, but I need the day off today. I can tell you why tomorrow.
[Or show them, he hopes.
He hesitates, then switches to--]
[Private to Barbara]
Did you know there was a healer on board?
[Open Spam]
[The process takes a while, and it hurts more than he expected it would... but then, how do you anticipate something like this? For everything he's seen on the Barge, wonders and horrors alike, and even after seeing Charles healed, he'd never even imagined this would be possible until Merlin mentioned it only a few hours ago. He hasn't even really come to grips with the idea before it's happening, before this beneficent stranger's blood is moving into his veins, and suddenly his right leg feels like it's on fire, and--
--then it's now, and he's walking on two legs for the first time in a year. Slowly, carefully. He's not used to it anymore. He's gotten accustomed to the limp. This feels too light and too heavy at the same time -- more volume, less weight -- and the skin, he has skin again, feels too raw, and nothing feels quite as right as he thought it would. But his ankle bends where it's supposed to, and he can feel it when it does. He can walk. He can run, at least once he gets used to it again.
He ends up literally walking the entirety of the Barge, up one deck and down the next. By the time he gets to Level Eight, it's finally sunk in and he's jogging, just because he can.]
[Friends filter -- if you think you're on it, etc.]
[After that, he's kind of exhausted, but in a good way. He's flushed, smiling, bright-eyed like he hasn't been since the flood where he wasn't even himself.]
Hey. Something happened.
[Lab and Engine Room Filters]
[Felix, probably unsurprisingly, hasn't let the incident in the CES deter him much. He's still been at work on time every day, seemingly perfectly composed, as ready as ever to keep the ship running and prepare for the port. The only difference at all is that he doesn't go to the CES anymore.
Today, though, he looks rather distracted.]
I'm sorry for the short notice, but I need the day off today. I can tell you why tomorrow.
[Or show them, he hopes.
He hesitates, then switches to--]
[Private to Barbara]
Did you know there was a healer on board?
[Open Spam]
[The process takes a while, and it hurts more than he expected it would... but then, how do you anticipate something like this? For everything he's seen on the Barge, wonders and horrors alike, and even after seeing Charles healed, he'd never even imagined this would be possible until Merlin mentioned it only a few hours ago. He hasn't even really come to grips with the idea before it's happening, before this beneficent stranger's blood is moving into his veins, and suddenly his right leg feels like it's on fire, and--
--then it's now, and he's walking on two legs for the first time in a year. Slowly, carefully. He's not used to it anymore. He's gotten accustomed to the limp. This feels too light and too heavy at the same time -- more volume, less weight -- and the skin, he has skin again, feels too raw, and nothing feels quite as right as he thought it would. But his ankle bends where it's supposed to, and he can feel it when it does. He can walk. He can run, at least once he gets used to it again.
He ends up literally walking the entirety of the Barge, up one deck and down the next. By the time he gets to Level Eight, it's finally sunk in and he's jogging, just because he can.]
[Friends filter -- if you think you're on it, etc.]
[After that, he's kind of exhausted, but in a good way. He's flushed, smiling, bright-eyed like he hasn't been since the flood where he wasn't even himself.]
Hey. Something happened.
[Spam]
Which means, as much as he doesn't want to be coddled, he's very bad at coddling in turn. Dean is up and on his feet. That's good enough. If he wears out... well, there are ways to deal with that.
Now, Felix chuckles at the understatement -- this is good -- and nods.] I'd hope so.
[He lets one hand drop back to the one on his knee, covering it. Usually, that's to pull it away, but this time he pushes it down, guiding it down over the spot where only yesterday flesh and bone would have disappeared under a hard ridge of silicone and metal, smooth and whole now. He returns the smile and leans back in to return the kiss, too.] This is good.
[Spam]
Dean lets Felix move his hand and while it's not the revelation to him that it is to Felix - the prosthetic was only ever a piece of information to him, something he was vaguely aware of but not ever allowed to see or touch, and if he were more interested in analyzing it he would realize this was the intention of that. Not, specifically, so that it's that much easier for Dean to just accept that Felix's body is whole again now, of course, but so it never became something real to him. Not really.
Still all the same, Dean's fingers are curious and confident, bold now that he has permission, taking over where Felix leaves off; his mouth stays on Felix's, his eyes half closed as useless at this range and for this task, but he feels his way down Felix's calf, over his ankle, until he's stopped by his boot. Back up.
The corners of his mouth turn up slightly behind the kiss and he already knows the answer, insistent and forward as his grip is with zero pain reaction, but there's that part of him. Things that are too good to be true, even here. He checks in anyway the next time they come up for breath, pulling back enough to see Felix's face.] Okay?
[Spam]
It makes him a little distracted during the kiss, his attention more on the slow path of Dean's wandering hand than on his lips, but when Dean pulls away to check in he nods quickly, eyes snapping open and up to his face.]
Okay. [He's a little breathless, eyes wide, but earnest and honest.] Definitely okay. [He licks his lips.] Very okay. [And if there was any doubt before, there certainly isn't now as he pulls Dean back in to him, hands fisting in his shirt. A second later, he's tugging Dean onto the couch next to him and slipping off it so that their positions are reversed -- Felix on his knees in front of him -- and grins in relief at the lack of pain as much as in anticipation when he reaches for his belt.] Don't move.
[Spam]
Like, at all? Or a little is okay? [He's teasing, but it doesn't last long, because Felix has known how to definitively shut him up for a while now.
And Dean does do his best and keeps it up for as long as he can; it feels good just like it always does but more because Felix is happy and he wants to keep that, he wants badly to be a part of that. But even if Felix does most of the worl there comes a point where things are definitely more painful than enjoyable and where he can't quite catch his breath anymore, his hands giving him away by not quite being steady. He doesn't exactly care, but he does have to stop; they made it off the couch and back again anyway and that's where Dean is sprawled, panting and boneless, while he puts the bare minimum back together about himself.]
Holy shit. [The hunter is grinning though, idly wiping sweat away from his mouth with the back of one hand. He's going to need another shower before he goes anywhere and he's okay with it.] Thank you, whoever the fuck. I need to send them flowers or something. Christ.
[Spam]
The upshot is that he's out to experiment -- and to celebrate -- not to torture poor Dean, and he's weary enough to stop without argument when it's called for. He's quiet, but not unhappily so, silently cataloging the changes good and bad. On the one hand, the terrible scar on the other leg is gone; on the other hand, he was baffled when he took off his shirt and realized that his tattoos are, too. Plus, his leg is whole and healthy, but in the comedown he's realizing that something about it feels strange, like his kneecap no longer fits quite right.
Stretched out on the couch next to Dean, unabashedly naked because it's been years since he had both the freedom from shame and the privacy to be so, he twists that knee slightly back and forth and grins a little distractedly.] Mmm. [He glances over at him and raises a brow.] Oh -- so now you're happy about it.
[Spam]
[If it's torture, Dean is a willing participant; he's been ever so slightly more tactile than before since the CES so when he drops his hand back into his lap, he soon raises it again to brush back some of Felix's hair, leaves it touching him when he's done. Dean has pulled his boxers back on and never takes off his necklace, but other than that he's much the same.
The leg is still new enough that Dean writes off Felix's fussing with it to that, distracts himself instead by tracing visually over the unblemished skin where the tiger used to be. He hasn't decided yet if he likes that or not, it's just something new to be learned again.]
So, is there a catch or what? Do you do something weird on the full moon now or something? [Dean honestly doesn't think Felix is stujpid enough to do something like that, not with his aversion to non-humans, but as soon as he says it he remembers Chris and Lark and is suddenly very interested in the answer.]
[Spam]
He spots Dean's glance and follows it down to his right shoulder, tracing his fingers over thoughtfully the now-empty stretch of skin.] I guess this is the catch... Think I should get a new one? [He glances over his shoulder, even though there's no way he can see his own shoulderblade.] Is the other one gone?
[Spam]
[Not often, but sometimes. He doesn't have to actually look to know the answer about the other tattoo but he does anyway, fingertip shifting to trace where the double circle had been.] It's gone. What were they for? We might be able to find someone if...
[Dean doesn't quite get tattoos for sentimentality or keepsakes. In this, his interest is purely practical, his single tattoojust below his left collarbone functional against demonic possession and nothing more.]
[Spam]
He frowns to himself, now fully distracted from the tattoo discussion. After a second, he gets up to get dressed.] Yeah. [Wait, there had been a question there.] What? [He rewinds, manages another smile when he catches up, slightly sheepish.] They were mostly for getting really frakking drunk on R&R.
[Spam]
Right now he's still just smiling though, even as he pulls himself together more from boneless and relaxed to something more like simply comfortable. It's not that Dean has failed to notice the shift in mood, so much as he refuses to give this one up yet.] Maybe we'll just get you really frakking drunk again and see what happens.
[Spam]
I think I know what's going to happen if I do that. [He raises a brow pointedly.] But feel free to go ahead and get me really fucking drunk anyway.
[He sits back, trying to get comfortable again, stretching his legs out in front of him. He leans against Dean and cocks his head thoughtfully.] Do they look the same to you? [Again, there's that sensation that something's not quite right with the new one. Maybe there's really not. Maybe he was wrong not to ask more questions...]
[Spam]
[He straightens up himself and moves to make room for Felix beside him even though there's plenty of space on the couch; the initiated leaning is kind of new but Dean likes it and lifts his arm only to settle it back down loosely around Felix's shoulders. It's easy for him to just go with it for now, and furthermore, he wants to.
It's also easy for Dean to mimic the tilt of Felix's head, studying his legs as well, considering them against one another. In the end though he has to nod, good mood dampening ever so slightly as his eyebrows pull slightly together.] Yeah. I mean... [Dean stretches his out, too, for a moment because it better explains what he means. Not identical, but the same.] Why? Do they feel different?
[Spam]
Which is strange, perhaps, because he's kept his distance in other ways: he hasn't said a word about the incident since that first day in the infirmary, and he hasn't come to visit any more often than his busy schedule allows. But the occasional squeeze of a hand or brushing back an errant strand of hair, things that aren't really thought about...
He frowns and draws the leg he still thinks of as the bad one up against his chest, rubbing a hand over his kneecap.] It just feels... strange. [He pauses, looking down at it for a long second, then admits:] Maybe this was a mistake.
[Spam]
And maybe he craves the extra time he doesn't get, but that's always been true and no one will know that now, either; Dean is happy and attentive when Felix is around, disappointed when he goes, but he's oh so careful not to make a big deal out of it either way. He's not quite himself, but he tries to be and, he thinks, for the most part succeeds.
Case in point: even as he rubs a thumb over the point of Felix's shoulder in a subconscious, soothing motion, his response comes back firm and immediate. Typical Dean strongarming: he may have been suspicious before, but now it's happened, Felix is happy, and Dean is determined it will be okay.]
No. Like you said, what, were you supposed to say no? Screw that.
I'll see if I can find out who it was - we'll figure it out if we have to. Strange how? [He lifts his free hand to reach over as well, a more intent reprise of his earlier inspection if he can get away with it; he doesn't notice himself noticing Felix has been focusing on the kneecap, but he'll start there, fingertips confident and careful now that they've stopped shaking again.
Of course, there's one other easy explanation.] How long has it been since you lost it?
[Spam]
It's been about... [Even he's surprised when he does the mental math, blinking, glancing back at Dean.] Huh. Nine months, give or take. Not counting the missing year. [Which means it's only been seven or so that he's known Dean, and doesn't it feel like longer? It will occur to him, much later, that he's wrong about this, that they don't know each other well enough for it to have been that long. That they actually know a lot less than they should for that amount of time. Right now, though, he's surprised.]
You think I got used to it. [And that might be true, too. He tucks his arms against his chest and presses a hand to his mouth, like he's staring at a computer readout, thinking. Not used to it enough, if so, that's the problem. Not so used to it that it wasn't a liability, and Dean is right to echo his words here, he thinks. How could he have said no?]
[Spam]
And he is, and thorough, feeling around the cartilage, letting his fingers find each muscle, each dip and plane, all the way down from knee to ankle and even the Achilles tendon; he's no doctor, obviously, but he has two legs of his own and he's paying attention and he can't find anything. Dean nods.] Got used to it, or just aren't used to this now. It hasn't even been a day and you've been running around like a kid with his first car all afternoon.
Give it some time. [He leaves off with an affectionate, final pat against Felix's thigh before taking his hand back. Then he adds, just a smidge too hasty to be casual:] And tell me if anything does change so we can deal with it. Or Merlin.
[Spam]
I'm telling you now, aren't I?
[Spam]
What about it, really; either it'll happen or it won't and it's not like Dean has any intention of going anywhere, not like he won't be paying attention, for a while at least. He raised his kid brother with all the secrets and hidden dangers that presented both intentional and ignorant; watching for one, specific problem shouldn't be too hard. He shrugs with the shoulder Felix isn't leaning on.]
Okay. [Then, because he might be tired and he might be still vaguely concerned, but he's still Dean, he smirks and adds:] But I'll be sure to help you keep a real close eye on things and report anything unusual I find.
You know. For science.
[Spam]
[Spam]
[The second part comes as a complete and pleasant surprise, stealing across Dean's face in the quick glance over at Felix and then down at his hand and back. Something warms behind his eyes - something besides the usual heat between them, still locked unviably on the other side of current physical limitations - and something relaxes behind his smile. He doesn't ask people to make time for him and Felix, he suspects, didn't but he's clearly offering to spend at least a bit more of it with him regardless.
So, of course, more teasing.] Maybe I really will teach you to play basketball later. [Or, more seriously:] Shit, or we can just bring dinner back here or something.
[Spam]
Having all that time to himself would be mildly terrifying, but Dean has proven to be a worryingly good distraction. He should go, he realizes, just the way he hadn't stuck around the infirmary too much... Instead, he traces a lazy circle on Dean's thigh and nods.]
Sure. Poker versus triad, basketball versus pyramid, pizza versus sushi...
[Spam]
He's not, himself, worried about the fact he finds it so easy to go along with, comforting. He doesn't think about it either way really, just goes with it, mimicking the movement of Felix's hand over the canvas of his upper arm where Dean leaves his arm slung around. He's smiling - until the last item.]
Sushi? The hell? [He snorts a laugh, shaking his head.] I thought you wanted to be done with algae mush? [A grin, which fades ever so slightly to something more thoughtful, head tilted to see Felix's face.] Before Galactica, before... all that. What'd you do for fun then?
[Spam]
[The question should be a casual one, especially for a seven-month friendship -- this is one of the things he'll realize later they should really have already known -- but it's kind of... not. Not quite, the way Dean's asking it, but also, thinking about the before all that is always fraught with things Felix doesn't want to think about. It's one of the reasons he never lets himself have time off.
He turns back again and shrugs it off, feigning the casualness that isn't quite there.] Studying? Reading? I was a frakking nerd, Dean. I thought you knew that by now.
[Spam]
Was? [The hunter raises both eyebrows to emphasize the tease, but he doesn't pause.] I mean before that. Nerds aren't born nerds, it - [He hesitates, though, because here's Sam again, his first and best reference for all things nerd. And actually, he kind of always had been from the moment he learned to read.
But there'd been a point before that where he'd only wanted to play with Dean's plastic soldiers and legos, and it's a memory that combines with the too-recent birthday to make him shy away from it rather than say anything more specific. He clears his throat and presses ahead.] Movies? Coloring books? Model spaceships or whatever? Fireworks?
[Spam]
Which is really how he justifies not talking about the past. They have plenty to talk about. They don't need to talk about ancient history. He doesn't need to mention how much he used to love art, or how his parents patiently sat by and quietly rolled their eyes while he went through one hobby after another. That all died on Picon, anyway.]
I, uh, I guess that's one of the few good things about this place. I mean, I might be stuck working for a frakking Time Lord, but I never could have gotten my hands on a machine like that back... [Home.] ... before.
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