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inbox // ximilia
// m.cabrera
TEXT • AUDIO • VIDEO
XIMILIA
[ he can at least ease up on the intense training for a little while, even if these days it's mostly to give himself something to keep him busy, feeling a bit on edge at times while he isn't too certain what to do with himself while trapped in a space without a mission in mind, without a purpose to keep him moving. honestly, if he's not fighting, he might as well be sleeping, which is ultimately going to be for the best for both his exhaustion and the wound he promises to keep from opening again.
reaching for a fresher clean shirt, he slips it on over his shoulders, fingers slowly closing up the buttons as he watches her walk towards the door. ]
I'll avoid the house call next time too. [ not that it's bothered him having her here, but he imagines she'd probably be more comfortable in her own territory.
watching her for a moment, he sighs, honest when he adds, ] Thanks for this.
reaching for a fresher clean shirt, he slips it on over his shoulders, fingers slowly closing up the buttons as he watches her walk towards the door. ]
I'll avoid the house call next time too. [ not that it's bothered him having her here, but he imagines she'd probably be more comfortable in her own territory.
watching her for a moment, he sighs, honest when he adds, ] Thanks for this.
[Marta will receive a bottle of wine small note from Hermann that reads:]
Miss Cabrera,
Thank you for all that you have done so far for this station. An uneasy feat being thrust into a crew of strangers with a litany of medical problems and little staff to support you. But you have done an outstanding job given the circumstances.
– Dr. Hermann Gottlieb
Miss Cabrera,
Thank you for all that you have done so far for this station. An uneasy feat being thrust into a crew of strangers with a litany of medical problems and little staff to support you. But you have done an outstanding job given the circumstances.
– Dr. Hermann Gottlieb
[ a few days after christmas, marta will find a small rolled up piece of paper, tied by simple string. it isn't signed with a name, but there's the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, along with the careful scribble of a poem: ]
Each finger holds a story
one bathes in tears
one shudders from its screams
others will crave
the promise of Unknown
by a sail or a dip
to swallow in mystery
But the smallest will find
that it needs
nothing
than to curl with another
a Dear Friend
in the silence of night
for no finger wants a story
that ends with the burden
of Lonely
[ it doesn't much matter to her where she works; from clinics in cuba to hospitals in massachusetts and eventually the thrombey estate, she's grown quite adept at adapting, doing what she can with what she has. but it doesn't seem necessary to clarify, so she merely nods in acknowledgment before making that turn to leave—
it's the sincerity in his voice that draws her back, prompts a faint smile on her lips. ]
Of course.
[ and, in case he makes the mistake of thinking this were anything close to an inconvenience, she adds: ]
I'm glad you called.
it's the sincerity in his voice that draws her back, prompts a faint smile on her lips. ]
Of course.
[ and, in case he makes the mistake of thinking this were anything close to an inconvenience, she adds: ]
I'm glad you called.
[ one night or possible afternoon, with time still being a tricky thing to tell sometimes, marta will find a string of words suddenly directed to her mind: ]
marta — hurts like a
ask her to
fuck
bleeding — shit shit — gonna bruise
what
fuck — dying
no time
marta — hurts like a
ask her to
fuck
bleeding — shit shit — gonna bruise
what
fuck — dying
no time
[ all marta knows is it's quiet — that time in the day where there's a strange lull that seems both infinite and fleeting at once. his words come to her during her attempt to fill the space with another book, in such broken pieces that worry is inevitable. ]
Kovacs?
[ whether or not that translates to a text back, she doesn't know. she's already on her feet, blinking away the last few words from his message — dying, no time — hoping neither are true.
there are only two places she can think to look for him, but he couldn't have been in the infirmary where she'd just been. fortunately she remembers the way to his room, busting in with a lot less grace in her haste. ]
Kovacs!
Kovacs?
[ whether or not that translates to a text back, she doesn't know. she's already on her feet, blinking away the last few words from his message — dying, no time — hoping neither are true.
there are only two places she can think to look for him, but he couldn't have been in the infirmary where she'd just been. fortunately she remembers the way to his room, busting in with a lot less grace in her haste. ]
Kovacs!
[ one of the stitches opens up while he's in the shower, sensing it by a sudden ache throbbing by his shoulder blade. he hisses between his teeth as he thinks of marta, how she'd told him to be careful and what kind of concerned lines she might wear on her face if he asks her to check on it, but in his defense, he's not even sure how it's worked open again; he hasn't even been recklessly looking for a fight in all these days where he hasn't been sure how to fill the time.
when he reaches back, there's blood on his fingertips, and he swears beneath his breath, quiet at first, until his foot slides against the slippery tile beneath him, slipping back and banging his elbow hard on accident against the shower knobs.
there's no doubt it'll bruise, just another decorative piece along the rest of the beaten marks across elias ryker's body, but he still mutters a league of swears like he's dying. not because the pain is too much to bear — no, he's used to it as much as he's used to breathing. but because there's no time to be getting mixed up in these trivial wounds.
not when there are bigger things coming apart for him on the inside.
he's plenty frustrated by the time he finally slips out from the shower, skin dipping wet as the droplets cling to him as the only thing to cover his body. with kirigan out of the room, he doesn't have much concern for covering up, another few quiet swears leaving his lips as he rubs his towel over his damp hair.
when the door suddenly bursts open, he peaks out from behind the cotton, brows tight with his surprise, stunned to brief stillness, more confused by her sudden panicked presence than the fact that he's standing naked in the middle of his room. ]
Marta? The fuck? What are you — ?
when he reaches back, there's blood on his fingertips, and he swears beneath his breath, quiet at first, until his foot slides against the slippery tile beneath him, slipping back and banging his elbow hard on accident against the shower knobs.
there's no doubt it'll bruise, just another decorative piece along the rest of the beaten marks across elias ryker's body, but he still mutters a league of swears like he's dying. not because the pain is too much to bear — no, he's used to it as much as he's used to breathing. but because there's no time to be getting mixed up in these trivial wounds.
not when there are bigger things coming apart for him on the inside.
he's plenty frustrated by the time he finally slips out from the shower, skin dipping wet as the droplets cling to him as the only thing to cover his body. with kirigan out of the room, he doesn't have much concern for covering up, another few quiet swears leaving his lips as he rubs his towel over his damp hair.
when the door suddenly bursts open, he peaks out from behind the cotton, brows tight with his surprise, stunned to brief stillness, more confused by her sudden panicked presence than the fact that he's standing naked in the middle of his room. ]
Marta? The fuck? What are you — ?
[ why is it that time seems to drag on when it is least convenient?
she feels a little like she's moving through molasses. all the panic and adrenaline that had propelled her here at such speeds seem long gone now, replaced instead by a gaping sort of blankness that is only filled up by the sight of him.
standing there.
naked.
wet.
somewhere along the line her gaze falls the same way something cold and leaden drops into her gut, and it's in getting that eyeful that marta realizes, right, she is definitely not supposed to be seeing any of this.
she spins on her heel, squeezes her eyes shut. slaps her hands over her face all too belatedly and god she can feel the heat there already. somehow this is all his fault. ]
I — you called me!
she feels a little like she's moving through molasses. all the panic and adrenaline that had propelled her here at such speeds seem long gone now, replaced instead by a gaping sort of blankness that is only filled up by the sight of him.
standing there.
naked.
wet.
somewhere along the line her gaze falls the same way something cold and leaden drops into her gut, and it's in getting that eyeful that marta realizes, right, she is definitely not supposed to be seeing any of this.
she spins on her heel, squeezes her eyes shut. slaps her hands over her face all too belatedly and god she can feel the heat there already. somehow this is all his fault. ]
I — you called me!
[ it's a sudden case of deja vu, for something that he thought he'd learned his lesson on, now avoiding his typical naps in the nude so that a knock at the door doesn't result in some young girl getting an eyeful of whatever he happens to be sporting down below from his fresh dozing.
but right now, his hands aren't at the door, simply caught in the towel now slowly sliding off from his head as he stares at marta's stunned gaze, still more confused than ever when she spins around and accuses him of bringing about this incident. ]
What the hell — I —
[ clutching tighter at the towel, he foregoes trying to dry himself off, simply bringing it around his waist and tying it at his hip to at least cover up the essentials of what's likely making her nervous all of a sudden, even if he really thinks he's not the one who should be apologetic and accommodating right now. ]
I never called you. I was in the shower. When the fuck would I've done that?
but right now, his hands aren't at the door, simply caught in the towel now slowly sliding off from his head as he stares at marta's stunned gaze, still more confused than ever when she spins around and accuses him of bringing about this incident. ]
What the hell — I —
[ clutching tighter at the towel, he foregoes trying to dry himself off, simply bringing it around his waist and tying it at his hip to at least cover up the essentials of what's likely making her nervous all of a sudden, even if he really thinks he's not the one who should be apologetic and accommodating right now. ]
I never called you. I was in the shower. When the fuck would I've done that?
[ she can't hear much movement behind her, a fact she feels conflicted about. on the one hand, he isn't getting any closer — good. on the other, shouldn't he at least try getting dressed? the sound squeezed out from behind her hands is strangled, as if pained. ]
Don't you swear at me, cabrón, you think I would've come in here on my own otherwise??
[ there's really no reason for her voice to grow as loud as it does, but somehow it comforts her to be able to fill the gaping expanse of skin — of space! space! — between them with volume. like him, she is not about to let him pin this incident on her. ]
Coño, you said you were dying!
Don't you swear at me, cabrón, you think I would've come in here on my own otherwise??
[ there's really no reason for her voice to grow as loud as it does, but somehow it comforts her to be able to fill the gaping expanse of skin — of space! space! — between them with volume. like him, she is not about to let him pin this incident on her. ]
Coño, you said you were dying!
[ the fact that he's never heard her this fired up about something before makes it telling that she's being serious about her intentions in coming here, even if he's still plenty confused as to why she would assume he'd be calling her over here in the first place.
putting the towel over himself seems to be satisfactory enough in his mind to be considered "covered up", so he doesn't scramble to put on any clothes, especially since he's technically still damp across his skin. ]
Dying? What — ? Look at me. Does it look like I'm dying!?
[ maybe not a good time to be telling her to look at him, but even so, he's arms out in preparation anyway in case she does happen to turn, just to prove he's still in one piece. ]
Where the hell you'd hear that?
putting the towel over himself seems to be satisfactory enough in his mind to be considered "covered up", so he doesn't scramble to put on any clothes, especially since he's technically still damp across his skin. ]
Dying? What — ? Look at me. Does it look like I'm dying!?
[ maybe not a good time to be telling her to look at him, but even so, he's arms out in preparation anyway in case she does happen to turn, just to prove he's still in one piece. ]
Where the hell you'd hear that?
[ we'll say it's the inherently subservient side of her, the one that aims to please and avoid confrontation, that has her sliding her hands down and chancing a look over her shoulder — there's certainly no other reason anyone here can think of that would prompt her to look. none at all. ]
I — guess not... but.
[ but? but what? what can she insist on that she can't see for herself right here, in front of her very own eyes, a perfectly fine (wet) body, the picture of health (wet wet wet wet—)
she flings a hand up, finger right in his face, something both accusatory and warding off. ]
I'm not crazy, okay? I know what I heard. Read. It was that — that stupid mind text thing!
I — guess not... but.
[ but? but what? what can she insist on that she can't see for herself right here, in front of her very own eyes, a perfectly fine (wet) body, the picture of health (wet wet wet wet—)
she flings a hand up, finger right in his face, something both accusatory and warding off. ]
I'm not crazy, okay? I know what I heard. Read. It was that — that stupid mind text thing!
[ he's almost surprised that she does look, with how flustered she seems to be about (honestly a more reasonable reaction than the other woman who'd caught him in a similar state, their eyes doing a great deal of more shameless lingering). but he's trying to prove a point here, which is that the wounds on his body are all (mostly) healed up and serving nothing life-threatening, even if he does technically have the one at his back providing a faint issue, albeit a forgotten one with the current situation.
when she steps back up to him with that pointed finger, it's almost like a challenge that he feels the need to instinctively fight back on, mouth already opening to argue —
but he staggers with mention of the stupid mind text thing, as he realizes suddenly.
his shoulders slump a bit, brows still tight and knit even as the gears in his head turn. ]
The ... mind text thing. You heard me when I — [ he's speaking aloud at this point, his famed envoy intuition finally doing its job in pointing out the obvious to this little mystery, lips pursing as he struggles between remaining firm and feeling sheepish about the realization of his fault. ] I guess I might have ... maybe been thinking of you in there. Must've called out to you.
when she steps back up to him with that pointed finger, it's almost like a challenge that he feels the need to instinctively fight back on, mouth already opening to argue —
but he staggers with mention of the stupid mind text thing, as he realizes suddenly.
his shoulders slump a bit, brows still tight and knit even as the gears in his head turn. ]
The ... mind text thing. You heard me when I — [ he's speaking aloud at this point, his famed envoy intuition finally doing its job in pointing out the obvious to this little mystery, lips pursing as he struggles between remaining firm and feeling sheepish about the realization of his fault. ] I guess I might have ... maybe been thinking of you in there. Must've called out to you.
[ her eyes narrow at that first sign of defeat. it isn't a flat out surrender yet, not with the way his lips purse and his jaw clenches, but she can see it there, working its way to the surface. ]
Maybe thinking of me, [ she repeats in a tone so dry it could have spared kovacs any further toweling (not that his previous toweling had done much of anything—), ] in there. [ she punctuates her words with a pointed look to the bathroom door, still cracked open enough that some steam wafts through.
maybe she's been reading too many romance novels lately, but this isn't usually the way things go when someone confesses to having thought about you in the shower.
she drops her hand, but it's only so she can ball it to a fist at her side. now it's her turn to clench her jaw, and maybe that's why when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a warning. ]
What else did you think about?
Maybe thinking of me, [ she repeats in a tone so dry it could have spared kovacs any further toweling (not that his previous toweling had done much of anything—), ] in there. [ she punctuates her words with a pointed look to the bathroom door, still cracked open enough that some steam wafts through.
maybe she's been reading too many romance novels lately, but this isn't usually the way things go when someone confesses to having thought about you in the shower.
she drops her hand, but it's only so she can ball it to a fist at her side. now it's her turn to clench her jaw, and maybe that's why when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a warning. ]
What else did you think about?
[ as soon as the words are out, there's an awareness of how it might sound without the proper context, something that gets confirmed by the shift of her body language, the way she tenses up to signal that he'd really put his foot in his mouth.
rather than scramble to correct himself though, since he's never one to desperately cave in his faults towards fixing his mistakes, he lets the phrasing linger a bit, keeping his face (mostly) composed as he watches the clench of her jaw, the tightness that makes his own grip a bit as he clenches his teeth behind closed lips once he begins to consider his words.
with a sigh, he leans in towards her, maintaining his calm eye contact with her stern gaze. ]
I was thinking — [ he lets the words float for a moment, like he's almost testing to see where her thoughts drift, a fascination in the quick evolution of her responses, from concern to embarrassment, to something that borders an almost sheepish threat. ] That my wound opened up and I might've needed a nurse to take a look. [ his lips curve into a smirk, the smugness hardly a secret. ] Guess my favorite one came to mind.
rather than scramble to correct himself though, since he's never one to desperately cave in his faults towards fixing his mistakes, he lets the phrasing linger a bit, keeping his face (mostly) composed as he watches the clench of her jaw, the tightness that makes his own grip a bit as he clenches his teeth behind closed lips once he begins to consider his words.
with a sigh, he leans in towards her, maintaining his calm eye contact with her stern gaze. ]
I was thinking — [ he lets the words float for a moment, like he's almost testing to see where her thoughts drift, a fascination in the quick evolution of her responses, from concern to embarrassment, to something that borders an almost sheepish threat. ] That my wound opened up and I might've needed a nurse to take a look. [ his lips curve into a smirk, the smugness hardly a secret. ] Guess my favorite one came to mind.
[ she barely moves as he closes in on her, his lion to her lamb, but for marta the fact she doesn't shrink away is strength in itself. nevermind that the muscle along her jaw twitches, nevermind that her throat struggles around a swallow as he purposefully tries to lead her guilty mind to its guillotine.
when he smirks and shatters all pretenses, marta isn't surprised. but she's not nearly skilled enough to hide the flicker of — something — flutter through her expression, before she's gritting her teeth around a grimace in the wake of it. ]
Pretty sure I'm the only one.
[ then she's shoving a hand in his face toassert dominance get some of her personal space back. there's no time for — this, whatever this is. he may not be dying, but her coming here out of concern hadn't been completely off, so she'll slide back to the areas she's more familiar with.
she gestures towards his bed. ]
Show me.
[ wait. ]
Your back.
[ wait. ]
And put some pants on, por dios!
when he smirks and shatters all pretenses, marta isn't surprised. but she's not nearly skilled enough to hide the flicker of — something — flutter through her expression, before she's gritting her teeth around a grimace in the wake of it. ]
Pretty sure I'm the only one.
[ then she's shoving a hand in his face to
she gestures towards his bed. ]
Show me.
[ wait. ]
Your back.
[ wait. ]
And put some pants on, por dios!
Edited (help) 2021-12-30 23:59 (UTC)
[ it's a mix of something between a dare and his own reflex in setting up his guards, in resisting the admittance to his own simple oversight. but it's also in part a study, like he's always prepared to observed, to note the way people react and respond, like he simply isn't done until he has a read on everyone's corners, answers often held in the ones not often easily perceived.
a slightly cruel test here maybe, but he doesn't intend to play it too dangerously, especially when she seems to do well in knocking down his teases. even when she presses him back, he maintains his smirk, feet moving backwards a few steps before placing his hands on his hips to watch her grip that more assertive nature.
he gives her a pensive stare for a moment, brow raised like he can't quite decipher why she's so panicked. then again, modesty about the body isn't so commonplace where he comes from. ]
This coming from the woman who stripped me down while I was unconscious. [ he gives a light roll of his eyes, but sinks his shoulder, giving in to the request. ] Thought you were a professional in the medical field. You always get this weird when people have their clothes off when they're awake?
[ when he turns around and away from her, he gives a tug to the towel to toss carelessly on the bed, moving in to reach for a pair of pants laying there beside it. not that he gives much warning for it, so it's entirely up to her whether she's fast enough to steer her eyes away. ]
a slightly cruel test here maybe, but he doesn't intend to play it too dangerously, especially when she seems to do well in knocking down his teases. even when she presses him back, he maintains his smirk, feet moving backwards a few steps before placing his hands on his hips to watch her grip that more assertive nature.
he gives her a pensive stare for a moment, brow raised like he can't quite decipher why she's so panicked. then again, modesty about the body isn't so commonplace where he comes from. ]
This coming from the woman who stripped me down while I was unconscious. [ he gives a light roll of his eyes, but sinks his shoulder, giving in to the request. ] Thought you were a professional in the medical field. You always get this weird when people have their clothes off when they're awake?
[ when he turns around and away from her, he gives a tug to the towel to toss carelessly on the bed, moving in to reach for a pair of pants laying there beside it. not that he gives much warning for it, so it's entirely up to her whether she's fast enough to steer her eyes away. ]
[ now listen—
at least, that's what marta means to say, or some flustered equivalent of, but whatever words her indignation had conjured up promptly get extinguished in her throat like a bucket of water to flames. the idea of defending herself and refuting against his accusatory tone doesn't seem quite so important when she's suddenly made to scramble to avert her eyes again and—
wait. wait.
he's right though. begrudging as she is to even silently admit it, he is right. she's a goddamn professional (twice over!), she's seen plenty of naked bodies before. nevermind context at the moment. the second he turns around, he's showing his wound again, and that, above all else, has to take priority.
so she grits her jaw, keeps her eyes levelled to the laceration at his back, and takes a few steps forward to give herself a better look.
(she takes a deep, steadying breath too. it's quiet, but the dampness on his skin might feel a little extra cooled for a second.) ]
The good news is your wound is mostly healed up, despite the bleeding. Your stitches are fine to come off today.
[ tone even. calm. professional. ]
The bad news is it's a little swollen. Possibly infected. I hope you can sleep on your stomach.
at least, that's what marta means to say, or some flustered equivalent of, but whatever words her indignation had conjured up promptly get extinguished in her throat like a bucket of water to flames. the idea of defending herself and refuting against his accusatory tone doesn't seem quite so important when she's suddenly made to scramble to avert her eyes again and—
wait. wait.
he's right though. begrudging as she is to even silently admit it, he is right. she's a goddamn professional (twice over!), she's seen plenty of naked bodies before. nevermind context at the moment. the second he turns around, he's showing his wound again, and that, above all else, has to take priority.
so she grits her jaw, keeps her eyes levelled to the laceration at his back, and takes a few steps forward to give herself a better look.
(she takes a deep, steadying breath too. it's quiet, but the dampness on his skin might feel a little extra cooled for a second.) ]
The good news is your wound is mostly healed up, despite the bleeding. Your stitches are fine to come off today.
[ tone even. calm. professional. ]
The bad news is it's a little swollen. Possibly infected. I hope you can sleep on your stomach.
[ there's a certain kind of modesty that he lacks when it comes to his skin, and with the way he's been caught like this more than a handful of times in the last few months already, it's almost become a running joke that's more tiring than entertaining — at least until her reaction offered up a different kind of surprise.
unfortunately, once he turns around, he can't observe more of her reaction, but at least he's accommodating her request, yanking his pants off of the bed to pull them up over his legs. he can hear her behind him, half-expecting that she may be walking up to smack him one, but instead, she seems to have taken his words about professionalism, apparently jumping right into nurse-mode.
with his face turned away, he wears a brief private smirk — a result of her ongoing surprises tonight — securing the button at the front of his pants before peering back over his shoulder. ]
Usually like landing on my back on a bed, but I can switch it up. [ she can take that however she likes, of course.
he tries to give a roll of his shoulder, feeling that slight ache where the wound rubs against the joint. ] Would you believe me if I told you I didn't purposely try to fuck it up again?
unfortunately, once he turns around, he can't observe more of her reaction, but at least he's accommodating her request, yanking his pants off of the bed to pull them up over his legs. he can hear her behind him, half-expecting that she may be walking up to smack him one, but instead, she seems to have taken his words about professionalism, apparently jumping right into nurse-mode.
with his face turned away, he wears a brief private smirk — a result of her ongoing surprises tonight — securing the button at the front of his pants before peering back over his shoulder. ]
Usually like landing on my back on a bed, but I can switch it up. [ she can take that however she likes, of course.
he tries to give a roll of his shoulder, feeling that slight ache where the wound rubs against the joint. ] Would you believe me if I told you I didn't purposely try to fuck it up again?
[ while marta certainly finds herself pondering the ethical ramifications of slapping a hand over an already injured person's back (especially when he offers up that colorful comment), she ultimately opts to keep her hands to herself. though she does fold her arms under her bust just to be safe. ]
Does it really matter what I think?
[ ...well. does it? from the way she talks, it's clear her opinion is not often something she's asked for. ]
If you didn't even notice it reopening, it must've happened while you were sleeping.
[ the previous evening was one of the times he hadn't spent it in the infirmary — a habit she still hasn't quite figured out, but it's obvious enough he's trying to avoid something (or someone) in doing so. so it's purely speculation at this point, and it probably wouldn't matter much what his answer is, and yet she feels compelled to ask anyway. ]
...Nightmares?
Does it really matter what I think?
[ ...well. does it? from the way she talks, it's clear her opinion is not often something she's asked for. ]
If you didn't even notice it reopening, it must've happened while you were sleeping.
[ the previous evening was one of the times he hadn't spent it in the infirmary — a habit she still hasn't quite figured out, but it's obvious enough he's trying to avoid something (or someone) in doing so. so it's purely speculation at this point, and it probably wouldn't matter much what his answer is, and yet she feels compelled to ask anyway. ]
...Nightmares?
[ maybe it doesn't necessarily matter what she thinks in the context that he's bound to just do whatever he sees fit anyway, no matters who's encouraging or discouraging it, but it doesn't make him any less curious to learn how her thoughts steer, like it's just instinctive to want to know the way people tick, just as he's very easily learning the kind of things that annoy her.
but he does at least try to ponder when the wound might have opened, knowing that he hasn't exactly been too active as of late, neither in training nor ... well, his bed. but her guess sounds as good as any, and he knows that his return to his bed last night had resulted in the additional return of his restlessness, jolting awake when certain images had returned to his mind.
he sighs to her question, standing still with his back turned for a moment longer, like he indulges in its advantages, shielding away the subtle expressions in his eyes, his lips, as he recalls details from within his sleep, memories resurfacing themselves as they often do. ]
We all get 'em, right?
[ his answer speaks without weight, like it can be shrugged quite easily off of his shoulder when he turns to sit on his bed, eyes peering up at her. ]
Dreamt I was stuck in one of those ... Pride and Prejudice houses, all stuffy with people just spinning around the room cause they got nothing better to do. Was fighting for my life in there.
but he does at least try to ponder when the wound might have opened, knowing that he hasn't exactly been too active as of late, neither in training nor ... well, his bed. but her guess sounds as good as any, and he knows that his return to his bed last night had resulted in the additional return of his restlessness, jolting awake when certain images had returned to his mind.
he sighs to her question, standing still with his back turned for a moment longer, like he indulges in its advantages, shielding away the subtle expressions in his eyes, his lips, as he recalls details from within his sleep, memories resurfacing themselves as they often do. ]
We all get 'em, right?
[ his answer speaks without weight, like it can be shrugged quite easily off of his shoulder when he turns to sit on his bed, eyes peering up at her. ]
Dreamt I was stuck in one of those ... Pride and Prejudice houses, all stuffy with people just spinning around the room cause they got nothing better to do. Was fighting for my life in there.
[ she isn't privy to any of his expressions right now, but she doubts he would have shown much anyway were he turned around. she only has the set of his shoulders to work off of, but who can say if the tension there is due to the answer to her question, or the fact that she even asked at all.
when he offers even that much of a response, marta is surprised. but whatever words of encouragement or sympathy fizzle out like a doused flame when he finally fixes her with a look, and her own expression flattens out into something equal parts exasperated and resigned. ]
That must've been real terrible for you, [ she says around an overly sympathetic sigh. she lifts a had to her throat, covering the majority of it. ] Wearing a whole collar up to here. [ because apparently he's allergic to clothes.
her hand drops to her lip, her brows rise. ]
Will you be able to stay out of trouble while I go get my kit?
when he offers even that much of a response, marta is surprised. but whatever words of encouragement or sympathy fizzle out like a doused flame when he finally fixes her with a look, and her own expression flattens out into something equal parts exasperated and resigned. ]
That must've been real terrible for you, [ she says around an overly sympathetic sigh. she lifts a had to her throat, covering the majority of it. ] Wearing a whole collar up to here. [ because apparently he's allergic to clothes.
her hand drops to her lip, her brows rise. ]
Will you be able to stay out of trouble while I go get my kit?
[ he could be honest about his dreams, since it likely wouldn't be the first she might have noticed he's had them, remembering how he'd jolted awake in that hospital bed the first night, finding her sitting in a chair beside him with a book on her lap. she hadn't asked him then, and so the thought rises that he could simply tell it to her now, to share the weight of what stirs him enough to open his wounds in the night.
because he thinks of what he'd decided there on that rock in the sunlight room, as they burned their dolls carrying the past, how he'd wrote that poem with the thought that she could be a willing friend.
but he's reminded the difficulty that comes with baring it all, the vulnerability, the transfer of weight, and he knows she's the type of person who'd take it, who'd comfort him through it, because she's already shown that selfless good will of hers. and somehow it doesn't seem fair. she shouldn't have to be responsible for his demons.
so he just smirks in light of her words, throwing himself full into the joke, because it's always easier than reality. peering around, he blows a breath, shrugging his shoulders. ]
Think I can stay on good behavior. Promise to even keep my pants on, just for you.
because he thinks of what he'd decided there on that rock in the sunlight room, as they burned their dolls carrying the past, how he'd wrote that poem with the thought that she could be a willing friend.
but he's reminded the difficulty that comes with baring it all, the vulnerability, the transfer of weight, and he knows she's the type of person who'd take it, who'd comfort him through it, because she's already shown that selfless good will of hers. and somehow it doesn't seem fair. she shouldn't have to be responsible for his demons.
so he just smirks in light of her words, throwing himself full into the joke, because it's always easier than reality. peering around, he blows a breath, shrugging his shoulders. ]
Think I can stay on good behavior. Promise to even keep my pants on, just for you.
[ as curious as marta can be at times (as curious as she is about him specifically), she isn't one to really pry, preferring to think that the less she asks others, the less she'll be asked in turn. it's one of a handful of survival tactics that's worked out well for her in the past, and though she doesn't have as many reasons to play it close to her chest here among this crew, away from the laws that threaten to tear her family apart, old habits die hard... and there doesn't feel like much point in talking about things that would ultimately just wind up being nothing more than a sob story. there isn't anything anyone here can do about the problems she's still got to face back in her world; it wouldn't be very fair to anyone to act like they could.
of course this doesn't stop her from offering an ear to anyone who might need or want it, but if he doesn't want to talk about it, then maybe he's of the same mind. ]
I'll believe it when I see it.
[ or rather, when she doesn't see it.
but, this is good. a brief little breather to tilt her world back onto its axis. she counts the steps it takes from his room to the infirmary and back so that by the time she's entering his space again, her mind is a little clearer. ]
of course this doesn't stop her from offering an ear to anyone who might need or want it, but if he doesn't want to talk about it, then maybe he's of the same mind. ]
I'll believe it when I see it.
[ or rather, when she doesn't see it.
but, this is good. a brief little breather to tilt her world back onto its axis. she counts the steps it takes from his room to the infirmary and back so that by the time she's entering his space again, her mind is a little clearer. ]
Edited 2022-01-05 02:14 (UTC)
[ despite all his teasing, kovacs really isn't so dead set on tormenting her, even if it's hard to resist it when it comes easy, maintaining a hint of the smugness on his lips up until she leaves the room to get what she needs. once she's out of sight, any amusement falls away from his face, like the quiet emptiness of the room is always enough to transform him, like the facade of his weightlessness has no need to be present.
he sighs, letting it all go, feeling the lingering ache at his back, at where the wound had healed before his dreams had gotten the best of him. for a while, they hadn't been present at all, easier to quiet away when there's an additional warmth at his side, when a body curls against him like a shield from the terrors, but he's returned to sleeping on his own, to being unguarded in the night to the taunting nightmares of his memories.
when he and marta had burned the dolls, he'd known it was just a gesture, just a performance, and it was only when she'd adjusted her own to mirror the imperfections of his that he'd even considered putting a bit of his hope into the idea — that maybe it could actually burn away the weight of the past.
he's not surprised he was wrong.
carefully, he lowers his body to rest on his side, back faced to the wall as his eyes still drift to peer around the empty room. slowly, they close, just gradually flutters that open and close slowly before he doesn't even realize when they shut completely, sleepless nights getting the past of him as he quietly falls into a light slumber. ]
he sighs, letting it all go, feeling the lingering ache at his back, at where the wound had healed before his dreams had gotten the best of him. for a while, they hadn't been present at all, easier to quiet away when there's an additional warmth at his side, when a body curls against him like a shield from the terrors, but he's returned to sleeping on his own, to being unguarded in the night to the taunting nightmares of his memories.
when he and marta had burned the dolls, he'd known it was just a gesture, just a performance, and it was only when she'd adjusted her own to mirror the imperfections of his that he'd even considered putting a bit of his hope into the idea — that maybe it could actually burn away the weight of the past.
he's not surprised he was wrong.
carefully, he lowers his body to rest on his side, back faced to the wall as his eyes still drift to peer around the empty room. slowly, they close, just gradually flutters that open and close slowly before he doesn't even realize when they shut completely, sleepless nights getting the past of him as he quietly falls into a light slumber. ]
Edited 2022-01-05 03:23 (UTC)
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