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In the dark privacy of her quarters, with no-one around but the droid standing motionless at the foot of her bed, apprentice Deskyl meditates. Remembering how to establish a telepathic link is hard, and doing it is even harder, but she thinks in this case it will be worth it.
Hello? It's more a sense of presence than a proper word, easily mistaken for just another thought by someone not expecting such a thing.
The hot water definitely feels good. The sensation feels more real, now, than it did before they had that moment of fusion.
That's probably a good thing. It's going to take some work, getting herself disentangled from him when this is all done - if they even want to - but for now, they need it.
It doesn't take long for her to start getting sleepy. It's been an exhausting day, and the water is so warm and cozy.
Aww.
He gets them out of the shower, once they're clean enough, dries them off and heads back to the bedroom.
He's so good.
Nightgowns are over here, and then once they have one of those on they should let the droid back in.
C'mon in, sweet.
Yes ma'am. She follows her back to the bed and gets the hairbrush out of the nightstand to fuss over her with.
I'm keeping the boy, she signs, when the droid is done. I hope you get along okay. I think you will.
I'm sure it will be fine, ma'am.
...I don't want you to put up with things just because I want them. It has the feel of an old, repeated argument.
Yes, ma'am. I'll tell you if I don't like him.
All right.
He enjoys the feeling of the hairbrush, and then the confirmation that she's keeping him(!).
He hopes the droid does like him.
Very cozy.
He finds himself (themselves?) drifting off very quickly.
He doesn't even need to say love you. They both know it.
They do.
They dream together, sometimes with two bodies, sometimes with one; an admixture of beauty and violence, hope and despair.
It's the first really restful sleep he's had since he got here.
Until someone wakes him, he's out.
His meal comes first, again.
He startles awake, briefly, almost bangs his head against the wall.
It's just the droid.
Dazed, he accepts the tray, then crawls back into bed without touching the food.
It takes her a second to come fully awake, and another few to figure out what's going on.
You have to eat.
we can eat when...yours comes...
He shakes his head.
Reluctantly, he sits up and drags his tray closer to him.
Yeah, I know. But you need your strength. We don't know how long it's going to be.
...Oh. Right. He could almost forget, yesterday, what was happening.
He eats quietly.
She stays with him, snatches of poetry bubbling up in the background, never quite coalescing into verse - space, so much space... manoeuvre and spread out and breathe... use my own bare hands if i have to... everything you have ever wanted, placed at your feet.
Her food comes soon after, just as nice as dinner was; fruit-smothered crepes and peppered bacon and a yogurt parfait, with milk and juice and fancy offworld tea.
As soon as he's finished with his own food (or as much of it as he can choke down, anyway), he lets himself return to her body to taste her lavish breakfast.
She's been waiting for him, picking idly at the top layer of the parfait, and only starts eating in earnest when he's ready; again, she takes her time with it.
He appreciates it, and communicates his enjoyment of the food as thoroughly as he can.
It's nice to have somebody I can talk to. Not that she can't talk to the droid, but there's not a lot of complexity there, and it's hard doing it all in words, even signed ones.
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