(no subject)
She watches him sleep, alone in his bed, a carefree smile on his face. She wonders what he's dreaming about. A simple touch could look into his mind, she could see for herself - but somehow she prefers to wonder, prefers the mystery.
She has her three loves now, and she almost smiles to herself, thinking of them. So long, so alone, and now she has people who need her again. John, his mind so open, so clear to her, the first one to see her, talk to her; the one who had always loved her as much as she loved him, the one that understood her instinctively. Radek, so desperate to speak to her for so long - he'd all but willed himself into having the gene out of love for her. And this one, this enigma, who she had disliked for so long because her other loves disliked him - who she'd hurt, trying to protect them.
She would make it up to him, she promised herself. She would make it all better, make him stop hurting, make him talk to her again, make him love her.
Ah, but the sparse surroundings and military-issue sheets hardly seem like the right setting for him. A gentle flick of her transporters, nowhere near enough to wake him, and she's brought him to a different bed, softer, warmer, creamy blue silk sheets accenting his skin tones far better than the coarse white could.
She watches still, waiting for him to wake, wondering what he'll think of the curtained bed, the thick, soft carpet, the drapes hanging across the walls, the apparent lack of a door.
His sleep grows troubled, and he tosses and turns a little; now, she does touch his mind, soothing him. Calvin, love, I'm here, it'll all be alright...
She has her three loves now, and she almost smiles to herself, thinking of them. So long, so alone, and now she has people who need her again. John, his mind so open, so clear to her, the first one to see her, talk to her; the one who had always loved her as much as she loved him, the one that understood her instinctively. Radek, so desperate to speak to her for so long - he'd all but willed himself into having the gene out of love for her. And this one, this enigma, who she had disliked for so long because her other loves disliked him - who she'd hurt, trying to protect them.
She would make it up to him, she promised herself. She would make it all better, make him stop hurting, make him talk to her again, make him love her.
Ah, but the sparse surroundings and military-issue sheets hardly seem like the right setting for him. A gentle flick of her transporters, nowhere near enough to wake him, and she's brought him to a different bed, softer, warmer, creamy blue silk sheets accenting his skin tones far better than the coarse white could.
She watches still, waiting for him to wake, wondering what he'll think of the curtained bed, the thick, soft carpet, the drapes hanging across the walls, the apparent lack of a door.
His sleep grows troubled, and he tosses and turns a little; now, she does touch his mind, soothing him. Calvin, love, I'm here, it'll all be alright...