(no subject)
8/17/2007
A gust of steam accompanies Sabitha's exit from the bathroom. She's been in there long enough for the mirror to coat over with mist and then begin to run, and the small room could double as a sauna at the moment. Her head is ducked so she can skim the towel in one hand over her hair, scrubbing it dry as she pads into the main room in bare feet beneath the wrap of a robe. It is neither brown nor silk.
Bahir lies stretched across the bed, shoulders bunched with tension. He lifts his head as the door opens, and sits up as Sabitha exits. He barely even takes the time to appreciate the wet and naked before he says, << Frost contacted me. >> In tone, his mind seems poised for movement. << /Our/ Frost, >> he adds, undertone that of, << (The right one.) >>
Sabitha , in contrast, stills, and her mind swirls in a startled eddy before settling as she looks across at him and lowers the towel in her hand. << And? >> she questions, mental voice breathless and expectant.
<< She said it won't be long, >> he answers, mind rippling with restless need. Bahir reaches out for her, patting the bed at his side. "I'll comb your hair," he murmurs aloud. << She wants us to start keeping track of when the guard changes. Schedules of changes, things like that. She won't leave us here. She said. >>
Sabitha moves forward, leaving the pause of step to come, all told, to only a brief moment that she covers with the gift of a grateful smile as she turns to sweep her brush from a dresser's surface and crosses to settle next to him on the bed. "Thanks," she murmurs, and then adds silently, with heartfelt relief, << God, Bahir. I was starting to think she was dead. She's okay? >>
<< Me too, >> Bahir admits. He runs his fingers through her hair carefully, cautious of tangling and pulling. The brush rests a moment. << I was worried. I don't know. She seemed fine. Confident. You know -- herself. She didn't tell me what was going on, but I didn't really ask. >>
Sabitha leans backwards slightly, one hand sliding to rest light against his knee. << Does she have a plan? Are we running? >>
<< She always has a plan. >> Bahir rests his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. << I think we're running. She is going to do it when the other her, the counterpart is gone. I don't know. Maybe she'll pretend to be her. She didn't say. She wants to make note of schedules, though, so I imagine she will be in touch again to finish planning. >> His tone lightens, turning teasing: << You ready for this? >>
Sabitha makes a small sound, nearly a snort as she leans into his touch and turns her head to look back at him over her shoulder. << To be done with this place? I didn't think anything could be worse than those first few weeks, but this place comes close. >>
<< Mm. >> Bahir lifts the brush and begins to run it through the ends of her hair, leaning forward to breath her scent and place a kiss on the cheek she turns toward him. << At least it will be something to /do/. >>
Sabitha responds with a small smile, fond but distracted, before she turns forward again to allow him access to his task. << I don't like being here, >> she answers, and there's a fierce undercurrent of unhappiness that colors her mental tone. << And once we're free? What then? >>
<< I don't know. >> Bahir's tone becomes detached and clinical. << She said something about killing the others, and taking their place -- but there's no other you, here. We could try to get back, or we could try to disappear. >>
Sabitha falls silent for a moment, mentally and vocally, and presses her lips together as her mind whirls across options. Eventually she wonders, << What do you want to do? >>
<< I want to go home. >> Greenhouses, gardens: Bahir doesn't seem to know what that means. He pictures her with him, though, side by side with the scent of loam heavy in the air. << I want to watch things grow. >>
The hand on his knee twists and Sabitha turns to catch at his hand in a tight squeeze. << Then that's what we'll do, >> she replies, warmth and affection twining the words into something soft and longing. << Whatever's easiest, maybe. We can see, once we're free. Test the waters. See what the government plans to do. >>
<< Free. Oh, God. >> Bahir laughs, then, brush falling to the side as he murmurs something in Arabic; the unspoken, repeated aloud perhaps. His touch skims up the side of her neck to curl through the heavy weight of her hair and pull it up against the back of her head. Invigorated just by the thought of it, he smiles at her. << That sounds good to me. Better than good. >>
Sabitha catches his smile with one of her own, delighting in the sight of it, and she twists her fingers through his in a slow caress. << They might send us back anyway, >> she murmurs, a touch reluctantly. << If we play nice, and they can. I don't know that it's worth the risk, though. >>
<< Whatever's easiest, >> Bahir repeats, his eyes closing. << I'm tired of Magneto's doomed war there; I'm tired of their prison-style hospitality here. I almost don't care what happens after, as long as it is something different. Fuck, but it is boring in here. >>
<< Want to play Rummy? >> Sabby offers with a low, rumbling laugh as she leans forward to steal a kiss while his eyes are closed. << I never was much good at poker. >>
"I have no idea how to play Rummy," Bahir confess into her hair as he leans forward to kiss it, and resume brushing it. From quiet whispers, words drift louder; almost normal, in fact, but ever-pitched for the hidden cameras. "I do know how to play poker, but I am not very good at it."
"Blackjack?" Sabby suggests, smiling slightly as she turns forward again. There's a moment's silence before a thought drifts wistfully toward Bahir. << Do you really think his war is doomed? >>
"That's easy. Counting." Bahir waggles her brush in vague fashion, but sobers at the turn of her thoughts. << I don't know. Don't you think he already lost it? I mean, look at it here. It's not that bad, really. >>
"Easy," Sabby scoffs, and then falls back to silent speech as she considers it for a moment. << I guess it depends on what 'not that bad' means. I don't think winning Manhattan is a loss. I don't think the work we were doing meant nothing. >> Images flicker lightly across her mind, not of greenhouses filled with growing vegetables but of teenagers huddled in torn buildings until they could be ushered to a place with electricity and safety and actual beds to sleep in.
<< I think that we did good work. We saved people, >> Bahir says, brushing a light touch across the back of her hand. << We saved kids. But the kids we saved there are probably living normal lives now, most of them. Better lives, at least. >>
<< Here? >> The question floats soft at the front of Sabby's mind and she ducks her head, hand shifting under his. << I don't know, Bahir. Maybe it would happen here anyway. Maybe it can happen without violence. But I'm not sure don't ask don't tell is really a normal life. >>
<< Adel isn't dead here. Percy isn't dead here. >> Bahir exhales in a long, slow sigh, running his hand up her spine. << Lower death toll. >>
Sabitha falls silent again, and her head drops an inch lower as she leans back into his touch.
The brush falls entirely to the side as Bahir wraps his arms around her, drawing her loosely into an embrace. << Do you want to go back? >>
Sabitha settles fully against him and drops her hands light to his as she leans her head back to rest nearly cheek to cheek. Her skin is warm and still damp, brisk with the scent of soap. << More people here are alive, >> she answers softly. << But I don't know them. I don't like them. >> There is a brief pause and then she allows, << I would not mind if we stayed, but I don't want to stay in this New York. >>
<< I hate feeling them. >> Like a phantom limb horribly real, or a lost tooth that suddenly isn't, Bahir pokes warily at the intrusion poking against mental scars, the awkwardness of it highlighted and shared. << I wonder if we could get far enough away where I couldn't feel it. >>
Sabitha's hands tighten over Bahir's at the mention and she lifts her head a bit, straightening. << I'm sorry, >> she brushes across his mind in a whisper. << It kills me that /this/ one is still alive and how he is. For you-- >> She doesn't finish the thought with words, but emotions speak it plainly, swirling sympathy and yearning with happier memories of a time when they were four, brushed over liberally with a rosey water-color that makes small adjustments to reality here and there.
<< He's-- >> Senseless loathing and resentment bubble to obscure any real meaning, and Bahir falls silent a moment. He takes comfort in the feel of her in his arms, drawing against her with a breath. << God. I am tired of this. It will be good to do something. >>
Sabitha's arms loop over his and she tucks back against him again. << Do something, >> she agrees. << Be somewhere else. Do what we choose. Be /free/. >>
"Mmm," Bahir murmurs fondly. "Mmm-hmm!" << --so we have to figure out their schedule. Shouldn't be too hard, right? >>
<< Not at all, >> Sabby confirms, turning her head to bury a half-smile in the curve of his neck. << Some of it we know already. >> She adds a quick mental run-down of habits and ticks noticed so far, as well as what powers she's aware of. << We know how to pay attention. >>
<< I guess if we tried to take notes, they'd get suspicious, >> Bahir not-really mourns. He leans back, and pulls her after him with a grin. << Just having something to do -- I feel better. I feel better than I have for weeks. Let's celebrate. >> By, you know, having sex, it seems. There is little enough else to do, and buoyant hope and affection lift his words.
<< I just showered! >> Sabby not-really protests, already turning into him with easy comfort as she adds, << This is not productive. >>
<< No, but it's nice. >> It is nice, and it is slow; Bahir is in no rush. His touch is almost reverent, and always affectionate. It is a suitable distraction before they begin to real work of skulking and spying, freedom their sought goal.
Set Tuesday night, Bahir and Sabby plot.
A gust of steam accompanies Sabitha's exit from the bathroom. She's been in there long enough for the mirror to coat over with mist and then begin to run, and the small room could double as a sauna at the moment. Her head is ducked so she can skim the towel in one hand over her hair, scrubbing it dry as she pads into the main room in bare feet beneath the wrap of a robe. It is neither brown nor silk.
Bahir lies stretched across the bed, shoulders bunched with tension. He lifts his head as the door opens, and sits up as Sabitha exits. He barely even takes the time to appreciate the wet and naked before he says, << Frost contacted me. >> In tone, his mind seems poised for movement. << /Our/ Frost, >> he adds, undertone that of, << (The right one.) >>
Sabitha , in contrast, stills, and her mind swirls in a startled eddy before settling as she looks across at him and lowers the towel in her hand. << And? >> she questions, mental voice breathless and expectant.
<< She said it won't be long, >> he answers, mind rippling with restless need. Bahir reaches out for her, patting the bed at his side. "I'll comb your hair," he murmurs aloud. << She wants us to start keeping track of when the guard changes. Schedules of changes, things like that. She won't leave us here. She said. >>
Sabitha moves forward, leaving the pause of step to come, all told, to only a brief moment that she covers with the gift of a grateful smile as she turns to sweep her brush from a dresser's surface and crosses to settle next to him on the bed. "Thanks," she murmurs, and then adds silently, with heartfelt relief, << God, Bahir. I was starting to think she was dead. She's okay? >>
<< Me too, >> Bahir admits. He runs his fingers through her hair carefully, cautious of tangling and pulling. The brush rests a moment. << I was worried. I don't know. She seemed fine. Confident. You know -- herself. She didn't tell me what was going on, but I didn't really ask. >>
Sabitha leans backwards slightly, one hand sliding to rest light against his knee. << Does she have a plan? Are we running? >>
<< She always has a plan. >> Bahir rests his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. << I think we're running. She is going to do it when the other her, the counterpart is gone. I don't know. Maybe she'll pretend to be her. She didn't say. She wants to make note of schedules, though, so I imagine she will be in touch again to finish planning. >> His tone lightens, turning teasing: << You ready for this? >>
Sabitha makes a small sound, nearly a snort as she leans into his touch and turns her head to look back at him over her shoulder. << To be done with this place? I didn't think anything could be worse than those first few weeks, but this place comes close. >>
<< Mm. >> Bahir lifts the brush and begins to run it through the ends of her hair, leaning forward to breath her scent and place a kiss on the cheek she turns toward him. << At least it will be something to /do/. >>
Sabitha responds with a small smile, fond but distracted, before she turns forward again to allow him access to his task. << I don't like being here, >> she answers, and there's a fierce undercurrent of unhappiness that colors her mental tone. << And once we're free? What then? >>
<< I don't know. >> Bahir's tone becomes detached and clinical. << She said something about killing the others, and taking their place -- but there's no other you, here. We could try to get back, or we could try to disappear. >>
Sabitha falls silent for a moment, mentally and vocally, and presses her lips together as her mind whirls across options. Eventually she wonders, << What do you want to do? >>
<< I want to go home. >> Greenhouses, gardens: Bahir doesn't seem to know what that means. He pictures her with him, though, side by side with the scent of loam heavy in the air. << I want to watch things grow. >>
The hand on his knee twists and Sabitha turns to catch at his hand in a tight squeeze. << Then that's what we'll do, >> she replies, warmth and affection twining the words into something soft and longing. << Whatever's easiest, maybe. We can see, once we're free. Test the waters. See what the government plans to do. >>
<< Free. Oh, God. >> Bahir laughs, then, brush falling to the side as he murmurs something in Arabic; the unspoken, repeated aloud perhaps. His touch skims up the side of her neck to curl through the heavy weight of her hair and pull it up against the back of her head. Invigorated just by the thought of it, he smiles at her. << That sounds good to me. Better than good. >>
Sabitha catches his smile with one of her own, delighting in the sight of it, and she twists her fingers through his in a slow caress. << They might send us back anyway, >> she murmurs, a touch reluctantly. << If we play nice, and they can. I don't know that it's worth the risk, though. >>
<< Whatever's easiest, >> Bahir repeats, his eyes closing. << I'm tired of Magneto's doomed war there; I'm tired of their prison-style hospitality here. I almost don't care what happens after, as long as it is something different. Fuck, but it is boring in here. >>
<< Want to play Rummy? >> Sabby offers with a low, rumbling laugh as she leans forward to steal a kiss while his eyes are closed. << I never was much good at poker. >>
"I have no idea how to play Rummy," Bahir confess into her hair as he leans forward to kiss it, and resume brushing it. From quiet whispers, words drift louder; almost normal, in fact, but ever-pitched for the hidden cameras. "I do know how to play poker, but I am not very good at it."
"Blackjack?" Sabby suggests, smiling slightly as she turns forward again. There's a moment's silence before a thought drifts wistfully toward Bahir. << Do you really think his war is doomed? >>
"That's easy. Counting." Bahir waggles her brush in vague fashion, but sobers at the turn of her thoughts. << I don't know. Don't you think he already lost it? I mean, look at it here. It's not that bad, really. >>
"Easy," Sabby scoffs, and then falls back to silent speech as she considers it for a moment. << I guess it depends on what 'not that bad' means. I don't think winning Manhattan is a loss. I don't think the work we were doing meant nothing. >> Images flicker lightly across her mind, not of greenhouses filled with growing vegetables but of teenagers huddled in torn buildings until they could be ushered to a place with electricity and safety and actual beds to sleep in.
<< I think that we did good work. We saved people, >> Bahir says, brushing a light touch across the back of her hand. << We saved kids. But the kids we saved there are probably living normal lives now, most of them. Better lives, at least. >>
<< Here? >> The question floats soft at the front of Sabby's mind and she ducks her head, hand shifting under his. << I don't know, Bahir. Maybe it would happen here anyway. Maybe it can happen without violence. But I'm not sure don't ask don't tell is really a normal life. >>
<< Adel isn't dead here. Percy isn't dead here. >> Bahir exhales in a long, slow sigh, running his hand up her spine. << Lower death toll. >>
Sabitha falls silent again, and her head drops an inch lower as she leans back into his touch.
The brush falls entirely to the side as Bahir wraps his arms around her, drawing her loosely into an embrace. << Do you want to go back? >>
Sabitha settles fully against him and drops her hands light to his as she leans her head back to rest nearly cheek to cheek. Her skin is warm and still damp, brisk with the scent of soap. << More people here are alive, >> she answers softly. << But I don't know them. I don't like them. >> There is a brief pause and then she allows, << I would not mind if we stayed, but I don't want to stay in this New York. >>
<< I hate feeling them. >> Like a phantom limb horribly real, or a lost tooth that suddenly isn't, Bahir pokes warily at the intrusion poking against mental scars, the awkwardness of it highlighted and shared. << I wonder if we could get far enough away where I couldn't feel it. >>
Sabitha's hands tighten over Bahir's at the mention and she lifts her head a bit, straightening. << I'm sorry, >> she brushes across his mind in a whisper. << It kills me that /this/ one is still alive and how he is. For you-- >> She doesn't finish the thought with words, but emotions speak it plainly, swirling sympathy and yearning with happier memories of a time when they were four, brushed over liberally with a rosey water-color that makes small adjustments to reality here and there.
<< He's-- >> Senseless loathing and resentment bubble to obscure any real meaning, and Bahir falls silent a moment. He takes comfort in the feel of her in his arms, drawing against her with a breath. << God. I am tired of this. It will be good to do something. >>
Sabitha's arms loop over his and she tucks back against him again. << Do something, >> she agrees. << Be somewhere else. Do what we choose. Be /free/. >>
"Mmm," Bahir murmurs fondly. "Mmm-hmm!" << --so we have to figure out their schedule. Shouldn't be too hard, right? >>
<< Not at all, >> Sabby confirms, turning her head to bury a half-smile in the curve of his neck. << Some of it we know already. >> She adds a quick mental run-down of habits and ticks noticed so far, as well as what powers she's aware of. << We know how to pay attention. >>
<< I guess if we tried to take notes, they'd get suspicious, >> Bahir not-really mourns. He leans back, and pulls her after him with a grin. << Just having something to do -- I feel better. I feel better than I have for weeks. Let's celebrate. >> By, you know, having sex, it seems. There is little enough else to do, and buoyant hope and affection lift his words.
<< I just showered! >> Sabby not-really protests, already turning into him with easy comfort as she adds, << This is not productive. >>
<< No, but it's nice. >> It is nice, and it is slow; Bahir is in no rush. His touch is almost reverent, and always affectionate. It is a suitable distraction before they begin to real work of skulking and spying, freedom their sought goal.
Set Tuesday night, Bahir and Sabby plot.