Bahir
=XF= 210 |Natalie| - Residences - Chemekata Military Base
The front door opens into a wide and airy space lit by full-length windows on the far wall. The California mountains spread lush beyond the glass, with the reservoir a glitter of light. To one side stands a coat closet, and to the other, a watercloset. A few steps further in, the kitchen curves around with a small stove, refrigerator, and sink. The counter wraps to form an island, beyond which the rest of the apartment is visible. The living area is wide-set with full length windows allowing California sunshine to spill across the thick carpet. Glass doors slide open, leading out onto a small stone terrace.
An alcove just past the kitchen counter opens to two rooms: one is a spare room, given over to any number of uses, while the other is the master suite, startlingly luxurious in choice of bathroom fixtures. The view from the large window in the bedroom is marvelous, sharing the same prospect as the living room.
Tonight's dinner was no easy feat - the remnants of various Thai dishes that are scattered around Natalie's living room, balanced on the coffee table and tucked onto the floor, smell delicious. They /were/ delicious. A round-trip to San Fran away for perfect Thai takeout, reheated for consumption. It's like old times, if you ignore the part where they're in California, and all of Bahir's earthly belongings are packed away. Natalie's been doing a great deal of that. Ignoring. Conversation is light, filled with denial and focusing on things academic and personal and not at all job related. As she leans forward to steal another rice noodle, she notes, "I still want to see that zombie movie. The one with Woody Harrelson. It looks killer." Deep.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Bahir admits, leaning back with his hands folded loosely over his abdomen. He is full. He is so full that he keeps whining intermittently about it and then leaning forward to steal another bite. You know, that kind of full. "If you want to see zombies, you should've asked to get assigned to the mission." Oh, wait. Are we avoiding job discussion?
Natalie looks horrified, turning wide eyes to Bahir behind the frames of her glasses. "Seriously? Zombieland? You haven't... Bahir. It looks /amazing/. They drop a /piano/..." Her lecture is abruptly curtailed by the suggestion, and she breaks off, nose wrinkling as she slumps back into the couch. "I don't do that shit," she answers.
"They drop a piano...?" Bahir looks over at Natalie, and kicks weakly at her ankle to prompt her to continue. "Do they do something awesome with it, or does it just fall?"
"On a zombie!"
Bahir looks seriously unconvinced by the amazingness. "Oh."
Natalie grumbles and adjusts so that Bahir can't reach her ankle. Not without effort, anyway.
Bahir puts the effort into kicking her. He is determined. "What else do they do?"
Natalie's ankle is on the couch! Does he stand? Is he /that determined/? "Stuff," she grumps, enthusiasm clearly dimmed.
He is not that determined. Bahir gives up with a disgruntled mutter. "Sorry. I am sure the movie will be completely amazing and awesome and other good adjectives beginning with a."
"Yeah," says Natalie, disgruntled.
"Woman makes ghosts yet still has an inexplicable affection for horror movies," Bahir tells his interwoven fingers. "Kind of weird!"
"They aren't ghosts," Natalie answers grumpily. After a moment's pause, she adds, "And I can't always make them, anyway." Clearly she has at some point told him about the kidlets and their missing time.
Obviously. Bahir shrugs. "Well," he says. "Close enough."
"Real ghosts would be way creepier," Natalie disagrees instantly.
"More moaning and chains," Bahir agrees.
"I hate you," Natalie announces. She leans forward to punch at his shoulder.
Bahir takes the opportunity to kick her. "Filthy liar."
Natalie IS STILL ON THE COUCH. "Truth!"
IF SHE CAN PUNCH HIM, HE CAN KICK HER. "Not even close. You just wish your mutation involved moaning and chains."
FEET ARE WAY AWAY FROM HANDS. "You just wish your mutation were as cool as mine," Natalie retorts.
LOOK IT IS SIMPLE GEOMETRY. "My mutation is pretty fucking cool," Bahir says immediately.
"Filthy liar." NO KIDDING WHAT IS BAHIR FLEXY BENDY BOY?
WELL YES, ACTUALLY. HOT, RIGHT? "Your jealousy is transparent."
Abruptly, Natalie falls silent for a moment, her frowning gaze directed toward the floor.
Bahir glances over at Natalie, and shifts slightly, leaning toward her. "Hey," he says after a moment.
Natalie stirs slightly, unfolding her legs to lean toward Bahir in return. Just as abruptly, she requests, "Dance with me?"
Bahir blinks once, and then grins. He rises and holds his hand out to Natalie, solemn.
Natalie stands, stepping toward Bahir to take his hand and then tug him a few steps to a clear space, just in front of the tall windows that show off the rising Chemeketa moon.
Rerouted without complaint, Bahir teases, "Tango?" as he places his other hand at her hip.
Natalie slides into Bahir, hands falling into place with easy familiarity. Her ponytail shivers as she shakes her head. "Still don't know how," she reminds, her smile slight. "Waltz."
Bahir heaves a put-upon sigh, but does not further the joke. It takes him a moment to shift from stiff memorization into smoother muscle memory, but it is a short moment. He grins at her, squeezing her hand, and then draws them both across the floor in a smooth glide. They lack music, but it is not terribly hard to find a compromised timing. "I wonder if anyone else here knows how to do this."
Natalie's muscle memory is not nearly as good, her movements not half so practiced, but her trust of Bahir is deep and well-practiced, and she moves effortlessly with his lead. "Probably some," she murmurs, tilting her head just enough to look up at him with quiet eyes. Her smile is sad. "Do you remember the first time we did this?"
"Long time ago," Bahir says. His voice is soft, matched to hers, and his expression is vaguely wistful, gaze distant. "Long, long time." His eyes sharpen on her again, focused, and his smile shifts a little wry.
"Not that long," Natalie answers, shaking her head softly again. With a flicker, they are joined on their dance floor - Natalie and Bahir, far more awkward, far more unsure. Her smile widens a touch, and she stretches to speak loudly, /this/ form of communication still uncommon between them, if not uncomfortable. The words draw into sharp focus at the front of her mind as she looks up at him. << It was the beginning, I think. >>
"Well. They were very busy years, then," Bahir says, grinning down at Natalie, and glancing over at their illusionary counterparts. He does look a little older now -- no gray hairs, he's not Percy, but there are faint lines of tension and strain that had not been there. He is not listening, telepathy courteously shielded. HA HA.
Natalie tiptoes up and taps a finger against his forehead, silent request to open up in there. Her fingers brush against his cheek briefly before they find his shoulder again, and she frowns faintly. << Listen to me! >>
The gesture is helped by the touch of skin, telepathic reception intensified. "Wh--?" << What? >> he says after a quick telepathic glance to confirm that, yes, she was trying to get his attention. Humor hues his thoughts.
Natalie's smile returns, quiet and fleeting. << I said, >> she repeats, feet moving in time to an unheard beat as she curls her fingers at his shoulder. << It was the beginning, I think. >> Behind them, a smiling Natalie calls Bahir an overconfident prat.
<< Well, at least you already had a good idea of the kind of person I was, >> Bahir teases, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles in counter-caress.
<< From the start, >> Natalie agrees, the tones of her mind sadder than the expressions she lets creep onto her face. Her fingers twist in his, encouraging the touch. Affection and wistfulness twines through her mind, coloring every syllable. << You have always been good to me. For me. Look at the difference. >> Telepathic touch can feel the complete ease with which ghosts disappear, blinking out of existence with no effort at all.
Bahir pauses the whirling slide of their steps, drawing Natalie into him rather than leading her across the floor. He tips his head, brushing a kiss on her brow as he lowers their joined hands. << Your friendship is an unlooked for gift, Natalie, >> he says, allowing the usual strict sterility of his thoughts to fall away, emotion seeping through to hue his words with something more than affection. << I can't imagine how I would've gotten through the past few years without you -- and I can't imagine what it will be like to not have you nearby. >>
Natalie blinks rapidly for a moment, squeezing his hand as telepathy speaks things words never quite have. Emotion is thick in her throat and in her mind, echoing and amplifying Bahir's. << Me either, >> she says simply. She lifts her eyes to fix them on his, dark and serious. << You have changed so much about my life. You are so much the reason I am me. >> Memories swirl, fleeting and fast, touching on mutation and research and heartache and pain and worry and fear and change. << It's silly, >> she adds after a moment, her mental voice tentative. << But I can't even imagine who I'd (I'll) be, without you. >>
Bahir squeezes Natalie's hand and then lifts it, kissing her knuckles. He holds it there, between them, and regards her with a steady fondness. "Yeah," he breathes, words spoken but intimacy scarcely lessened by the softness of his words. << For all there is in New York for me-- >> His thoughts touch on research, on home, on family, on friends, on /hot, fresh takeout/. << --there will always be something missing. Your friendship -- You mean.... >> Even telepathically, he does not have the words, and has to rely on something more primitive: an empathic surge reflects shared affection, colored by closeness, ease, and trust, but heavily foreshadowed by looming loss.
Natalie shakes her head, fast and hard as tears spring to her eyes. << Don't, >> she says instantly, breathing the word aloud on a whisper to match the firmer mental command. "Don't." Her hand tightens in his. << I know you have to go. I hate it, but I know... >> Emotion sweeps by, sharing the recognized sense of loss, of purposelessness, of /yearning/ that being trapped away from his life's passion brings. It's tinged with no small share of her own. << Don't make it harder than it already is. >>
"You started it," Bahir says, trying to tease and failing a little, voice rough. He releases her hand only to wrap both his arms around her and pull her in. It is inevitable that a hand will lift, two fingers curling through her ponytail. The shields over his telepathy remain thinned, but he holds back the touch of his mind.
Natalie falls into him, her own arms wrapping tight around his middle and squeezing almost to the point of pain. She buries her face against his shoulder, letting tears seep into the fabric of his shirt. There's silence for a moment, and then she says, << I lied. Come back. >>
<< You're so fickle, >> Bahir whispers, words overlain with a teasingly misogynistic cast. She is fickle because WOMEN are fickle. He holds her close, solid and steady and warm, and releases her ponytail only for his hand to fall against the nape of her neck, thumb sliding over skin. He rests his cheek against the top of her head, the continuing touch of his thoughts a steady flow of bittersweet affection.
Natalie's mind returns the touch, floating between sadness and warmth. She stays like that for some time, her cheek turned against the solidity of his shoulder, her fingers laced against his back, eyes closed against the touch of his hand against her skin. Eventually she speaks again, although she does not stir. << I'm not coming to see you off tomorrow. >>
<< Well, that will keep me from being tempted to change my mind at the last minute. >> The words are teasing, but there is truth beneath them, an acknowledgement of the pain of separation.
<< You've had plenty of time to change your mind, >> Natalie says, sad acceptance twisting around her words. << I know you're going. I just don't think I can watch it. >> Somewhere, a drifting thought gives wry acknowledgement to the melodrama of the statement, but it doesn't undercut the truth behind it.
Bahir squeezes the back of Natalie's neck, acknowledgement and acceptance conveyed wordlessly, and his arms tightening just slightly.
Eventually, Natalie pulls back. She takes a single deep breath, steadying herself as her hands find Bahir's shoulders again and she tips her head to look up at him. For a moment, she stands in silence.
With slight reluctance, Bahir allows Natalie to ease back, but his arms remain looped around her. As she looks up at him, he lifts his hand to take her ponytail between his fingers and give it a light, affectionate tug.
Natalie wrinkles her nose at him in instant annoyance, half-hearted and reflexive. Exhaling, she slides a hand from his shoulder to his cheek, tapping her thumb lightly there. After a drawn out pause, she says quietly, "You know I love you, right? You are the best friend I've ever had."
Bahir gives her just a slight smile: slight, but warm. "I love you too, Dr. Natalie Jo Simon." He starts to say more, then stops, and shrugs. What is there TO say? They said it all telepathically. His lips quirk.
Natalie gives Bahir a grin in response to that, warmth flashing in her eyes as she lifts on her toes to brush her lips against Bahir's cheek in a feather-soft whisper of a kiss. Rocking back, and then drawing back, she says, "I'll see you later."
Bahir's tone is teasing as he smiles back at her and says, "I look forward to it." He hesitates a moment, standing still as she withdraws, and then swoops in to press the lightest of chaste kisses to her lips, pulling her in again. /Then/ he lets her go, stepping back.
Natalie stills at that touch, standing exquisitely motionless in Bahir's arms for a long moment, her eyes closed. She opens them again when he steps back, and there is something naked and yearning in her eyes as she looks at him. The moment stretches out, thick with hesitation that draws taut until it seems that something between them must snap. At the end of it, Natalie steps back as well, and does not say any words of farewell.
Eyes moving over her features, Bahir watches her, studies her: he all but memorizes her expression, his own eyes a little wide, his posture a little too tense. When she steps back, he draws a breath. It never quite makes it to words. He dips his head, eyes closing in a silent goodbye, and then he crosses to the door.
Natalie folds in on herself when he goes, listening to the door close before she abandons the makeshift dining room, dance floor of her living space for the small comfort of her bed. She doesn't need mutation for the ghosts tonight. They are thick enough behind her own eyeballs, a bittersweet ache as she curls up and gives into tears. The next morning, she still does not say goodbye.
Goodbyes.
The front door opens into a wide and airy space lit by full-length windows on the far wall. The California mountains spread lush beyond the glass, with the reservoir a glitter of light. To one side stands a coat closet, and to the other, a watercloset. A few steps further in, the kitchen curves around with a small stove, refrigerator, and sink. The counter wraps to form an island, beyond which the rest of the apartment is visible. The living area is wide-set with full length windows allowing California sunshine to spill across the thick carpet. Glass doors slide open, leading out onto a small stone terrace.
An alcove just past the kitchen counter opens to two rooms: one is a spare room, given over to any number of uses, while the other is the master suite, startlingly luxurious in choice of bathroom fixtures. The view from the large window in the bedroom is marvelous, sharing the same prospect as the living room.
Tonight's dinner was no easy feat - the remnants of various Thai dishes that are scattered around Natalie's living room, balanced on the coffee table and tucked onto the floor, smell delicious. They /were/ delicious. A round-trip to San Fran away for perfect Thai takeout, reheated for consumption. It's like old times, if you ignore the part where they're in California, and all of Bahir's earthly belongings are packed away. Natalie's been doing a great deal of that. Ignoring. Conversation is light, filled with denial and focusing on things academic and personal and not at all job related. As she leans forward to steal another rice noodle, she notes, "I still want to see that zombie movie. The one with Woody Harrelson. It looks killer." Deep.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Bahir admits, leaning back with his hands folded loosely over his abdomen. He is full. He is so full that he keeps whining intermittently about it and then leaning forward to steal another bite. You know, that kind of full. "If you want to see zombies, you should've asked to get assigned to the mission." Oh, wait. Are we avoiding job discussion?
Natalie looks horrified, turning wide eyes to Bahir behind the frames of her glasses. "Seriously? Zombieland? You haven't... Bahir. It looks /amazing/. They drop a /piano/..." Her lecture is abruptly curtailed by the suggestion, and she breaks off, nose wrinkling as she slumps back into the couch. "I don't do that shit," she answers.
"They drop a piano...?" Bahir looks over at Natalie, and kicks weakly at her ankle to prompt her to continue. "Do they do something awesome with it, or does it just fall?"
"On a zombie!"
Bahir looks seriously unconvinced by the amazingness. "Oh."
Natalie grumbles and adjusts so that Bahir can't reach her ankle. Not without effort, anyway.
Bahir puts the effort into kicking her. He is determined. "What else do they do?"
Natalie's ankle is on the couch! Does he stand? Is he /that determined/? "Stuff," she grumps, enthusiasm clearly dimmed.
He is not that determined. Bahir gives up with a disgruntled mutter. "Sorry. I am sure the movie will be completely amazing and awesome and other good adjectives beginning with a."
"Yeah," says Natalie, disgruntled.
"Woman makes ghosts yet still has an inexplicable affection for horror movies," Bahir tells his interwoven fingers. "Kind of weird!"
"They aren't ghosts," Natalie answers grumpily. After a moment's pause, she adds, "And I can't always make them, anyway." Clearly she has at some point told him about the kidlets and their missing time.
Obviously. Bahir shrugs. "Well," he says. "Close enough."
"Real ghosts would be way creepier," Natalie disagrees instantly.
"More moaning and chains," Bahir agrees.
"I hate you," Natalie announces. She leans forward to punch at his shoulder.
Bahir takes the opportunity to kick her. "Filthy liar."
Natalie IS STILL ON THE COUCH. "Truth!"
IF SHE CAN PUNCH HIM, HE CAN KICK HER. "Not even close. You just wish your mutation involved moaning and chains."
FEET ARE WAY AWAY FROM HANDS. "You just wish your mutation were as cool as mine," Natalie retorts.
LOOK IT IS SIMPLE GEOMETRY. "My mutation is pretty fucking cool," Bahir says immediately.
"Filthy liar." NO KIDDING WHAT IS BAHIR FLEXY BENDY BOY?
WELL YES, ACTUALLY. HOT, RIGHT? "Your jealousy is transparent."
Abruptly, Natalie falls silent for a moment, her frowning gaze directed toward the floor.
Bahir glances over at Natalie, and shifts slightly, leaning toward her. "Hey," he says after a moment.
Natalie stirs slightly, unfolding her legs to lean toward Bahir in return. Just as abruptly, she requests, "Dance with me?"
Bahir blinks once, and then grins. He rises and holds his hand out to Natalie, solemn.
Natalie stands, stepping toward Bahir to take his hand and then tug him a few steps to a clear space, just in front of the tall windows that show off the rising Chemeketa moon.
Rerouted without complaint, Bahir teases, "Tango?" as he places his other hand at her hip.
Natalie slides into Bahir, hands falling into place with easy familiarity. Her ponytail shivers as she shakes her head. "Still don't know how," she reminds, her smile slight. "Waltz."
Bahir heaves a put-upon sigh, but does not further the joke. It takes him a moment to shift from stiff memorization into smoother muscle memory, but it is a short moment. He grins at her, squeezing her hand, and then draws them both across the floor in a smooth glide. They lack music, but it is not terribly hard to find a compromised timing. "I wonder if anyone else here knows how to do this."
Natalie's muscle memory is not nearly as good, her movements not half so practiced, but her trust of Bahir is deep and well-practiced, and she moves effortlessly with his lead. "Probably some," she murmurs, tilting her head just enough to look up at him with quiet eyes. Her smile is sad. "Do you remember the first time we did this?"
"Long time ago," Bahir says. His voice is soft, matched to hers, and his expression is vaguely wistful, gaze distant. "Long, long time." His eyes sharpen on her again, focused, and his smile shifts a little wry.
"Not that long," Natalie answers, shaking her head softly again. With a flicker, they are joined on their dance floor - Natalie and Bahir, far more awkward, far more unsure. Her smile widens a touch, and she stretches to speak loudly, /this/ form of communication still uncommon between them, if not uncomfortable. The words draw into sharp focus at the front of her mind as she looks up at him. << It was the beginning, I think. >>
"Well. They were very busy years, then," Bahir says, grinning down at Natalie, and glancing over at their illusionary counterparts. He does look a little older now -- no gray hairs, he's not Percy, but there are faint lines of tension and strain that had not been there. He is not listening, telepathy courteously shielded. HA HA.
Natalie tiptoes up and taps a finger against his forehead, silent request to open up in there. Her fingers brush against his cheek briefly before they find his shoulder again, and she frowns faintly. << Listen to me! >>
The gesture is helped by the touch of skin, telepathic reception intensified. "Wh--?" << What? >> he says after a quick telepathic glance to confirm that, yes, she was trying to get his attention. Humor hues his thoughts.
Natalie's smile returns, quiet and fleeting. << I said, >> she repeats, feet moving in time to an unheard beat as she curls her fingers at his shoulder. << It was the beginning, I think. >> Behind them, a smiling Natalie calls Bahir an overconfident prat.
<< Well, at least you already had a good idea of the kind of person I was, >> Bahir teases, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles in counter-caress.
<< From the start, >> Natalie agrees, the tones of her mind sadder than the expressions she lets creep onto her face. Her fingers twist in his, encouraging the touch. Affection and wistfulness twines through her mind, coloring every syllable. << You have always been good to me. For me. Look at the difference. >> Telepathic touch can feel the complete ease with which ghosts disappear, blinking out of existence with no effort at all.
Bahir pauses the whirling slide of their steps, drawing Natalie into him rather than leading her across the floor. He tips his head, brushing a kiss on her brow as he lowers their joined hands. << Your friendship is an unlooked for gift, Natalie, >> he says, allowing the usual strict sterility of his thoughts to fall away, emotion seeping through to hue his words with something more than affection. << I can't imagine how I would've gotten through the past few years without you -- and I can't imagine what it will be like to not have you nearby. >>
Natalie blinks rapidly for a moment, squeezing his hand as telepathy speaks things words never quite have. Emotion is thick in her throat and in her mind, echoing and amplifying Bahir's. << Me either, >> she says simply. She lifts her eyes to fix them on his, dark and serious. << You have changed so much about my life. You are so much the reason I am me. >> Memories swirl, fleeting and fast, touching on mutation and research and heartache and pain and worry and fear and change. << It's silly, >> she adds after a moment, her mental voice tentative. << But I can't even imagine who I'd (I'll) be, without you. >>
Bahir squeezes Natalie's hand and then lifts it, kissing her knuckles. He holds it there, between them, and regards her with a steady fondness. "Yeah," he breathes, words spoken but intimacy scarcely lessened by the softness of his words. << For all there is in New York for me-- >> His thoughts touch on research, on home, on family, on friends, on /hot, fresh takeout/. << --there will always be something missing. Your friendship -- You mean.... >> Even telepathically, he does not have the words, and has to rely on something more primitive: an empathic surge reflects shared affection, colored by closeness, ease, and trust, but heavily foreshadowed by looming loss.
Natalie shakes her head, fast and hard as tears spring to her eyes. << Don't, >> she says instantly, breathing the word aloud on a whisper to match the firmer mental command. "Don't." Her hand tightens in his. << I know you have to go. I hate it, but I know... >> Emotion sweeps by, sharing the recognized sense of loss, of purposelessness, of /yearning/ that being trapped away from his life's passion brings. It's tinged with no small share of her own. << Don't make it harder than it already is. >>
"You started it," Bahir says, trying to tease and failing a little, voice rough. He releases her hand only to wrap both his arms around her and pull her in. It is inevitable that a hand will lift, two fingers curling through her ponytail. The shields over his telepathy remain thinned, but he holds back the touch of his mind.
Natalie falls into him, her own arms wrapping tight around his middle and squeezing almost to the point of pain. She buries her face against his shoulder, letting tears seep into the fabric of his shirt. There's silence for a moment, and then she says, << I lied. Come back. >>
<< You're so fickle, >> Bahir whispers, words overlain with a teasingly misogynistic cast. She is fickle because WOMEN are fickle. He holds her close, solid and steady and warm, and releases her ponytail only for his hand to fall against the nape of her neck, thumb sliding over skin. He rests his cheek against the top of her head, the continuing touch of his thoughts a steady flow of bittersweet affection.
Natalie's mind returns the touch, floating between sadness and warmth. She stays like that for some time, her cheek turned against the solidity of his shoulder, her fingers laced against his back, eyes closed against the touch of his hand against her skin. Eventually she speaks again, although she does not stir. << I'm not coming to see you off tomorrow. >>
<< Well, that will keep me from being tempted to change my mind at the last minute. >> The words are teasing, but there is truth beneath them, an acknowledgement of the pain of separation.
<< You've had plenty of time to change your mind, >> Natalie says, sad acceptance twisting around her words. << I know you're going. I just don't think I can watch it. >> Somewhere, a drifting thought gives wry acknowledgement to the melodrama of the statement, but it doesn't undercut the truth behind it.
Bahir squeezes the back of Natalie's neck, acknowledgement and acceptance conveyed wordlessly, and his arms tightening just slightly.
Eventually, Natalie pulls back. She takes a single deep breath, steadying herself as her hands find Bahir's shoulders again and she tips her head to look up at him. For a moment, she stands in silence.
With slight reluctance, Bahir allows Natalie to ease back, but his arms remain looped around her. As she looks up at him, he lifts his hand to take her ponytail between his fingers and give it a light, affectionate tug.
Natalie wrinkles her nose at him in instant annoyance, half-hearted and reflexive. Exhaling, she slides a hand from his shoulder to his cheek, tapping her thumb lightly there. After a drawn out pause, she says quietly, "You know I love you, right? You are the best friend I've ever had."
Bahir gives her just a slight smile: slight, but warm. "I love you too, Dr. Natalie Jo Simon." He starts to say more, then stops, and shrugs. What is there TO say? They said it all telepathically. His lips quirk.
Natalie gives Bahir a grin in response to that, warmth flashing in her eyes as she lifts on her toes to brush her lips against Bahir's cheek in a feather-soft whisper of a kiss. Rocking back, and then drawing back, she says, "I'll see you later."
Bahir's tone is teasing as he smiles back at her and says, "I look forward to it." He hesitates a moment, standing still as she withdraws, and then swoops in to press the lightest of chaste kisses to her lips, pulling her in again. /Then/ he lets her go, stepping back.
Natalie stills at that touch, standing exquisitely motionless in Bahir's arms for a long moment, her eyes closed. She opens them again when he steps back, and there is something naked and yearning in her eyes as she looks at him. The moment stretches out, thick with hesitation that draws taut until it seems that something between them must snap. At the end of it, Natalie steps back as well, and does not say any words of farewell.
Eyes moving over her features, Bahir watches her, studies her: he all but memorizes her expression, his own eyes a little wide, his posture a little too tense. When she steps back, he draws a breath. It never quite makes it to words. He dips his head, eyes closing in a silent goodbye, and then he crosses to the door.
Natalie folds in on herself when he goes, listening to the door close before she abandons the makeshift dining room, dance floor of her living space for the small comfort of her bed. She doesn't need mutation for the ghosts tonight. They are thick enough behind her own eyeballs, a bittersweet ache as she curls up and gives into tears. The next morning, she still does not say goodbye.
Goodbyes.