Oh, how wrong we were to think That immortality meant never dying
The moment of distraction he'd offered is accepted, Nate letting out a breath he'd been holding for too long and leading Saartjie into one of the examination rooms. Weak moonlight streams in through the window, the doctor seemingly content with it until he remembers he's not at home, until he remembers that even if everyone he spends time with can see in near darkness, she is not one of those people. With a distracted hum, Nate finds a lamp and a box of matches, lighting it and bathing the room in its warm light.
He leans into the moment of reprieve as much as he can, fishing out a small pot filled with a thick, greenish ointment from the bag he'd grabbed and smearing a generous dab over the discolouration on her face, so long as she let's him get close enough for it. If not, he's happy to pass the pot over, to hold up a mirror instead.
But Nate can not avoid this subject forever, cannot dodge questions. Can't hide this strange thread between them, no matter how he wants to, given his current circumstances. He launches into a slow explanation, filled with second-guessing and worries. For all he'd imagined himself beyond this kind of hesitation, reality is happy to slap him back into place. As the truth falls from his lips, Nate reminds himself that he can't be hurt, at least not physically. He wonders if her condemnation would have the same effect, though thankfully, it doesn't come.
His hand is grabbed, Nate opening it with no small amount of reluctance. And there, silvery and straight on his hand, is a scar that matches hers. One whose mate sits on Sunjata's hand, back where he is at home. "I am." He breathes, staring at Saartjie with an unblinking one-eyed gaze, working his jaw before he corrects himself. "We are." Might as well not leave any room at all for misunderstandings.
"Yes." Nate says fiercely, as if the force of his answer makes it even more true. As if it can make up for the current hiccup they're in. "We're... in the middle of something right now, it's... it's complicated, but yes. He's happy." Offering Saartjie a strained smile, he continues, trying to not offer a chance to question his words. "I can bring you to him, if you want. Once we're done here."
He leans into the moment of reprieve as much as he can, fishing out a small pot filled with a thick, greenish ointment from the bag he'd grabbed and smearing a generous dab over the discolouration on her face, so long as she let's him get close enough for it. If not, he's happy to pass the pot over, to hold up a mirror instead.
But Nate can not avoid this subject forever, cannot dodge questions. Can't hide this strange thread between them, no matter how he wants to, given his current circumstances. He launches into a slow explanation, filled with second-guessing and worries. For all he'd imagined himself beyond this kind of hesitation, reality is happy to slap him back into place. As the truth falls from his lips, Nate reminds himself that he can't be hurt, at least not physically. He wonders if her condemnation would have the same effect, though thankfully, it doesn't come.
His hand is grabbed, Nate opening it with no small amount of reluctance. And there, silvery and straight on his hand, is a scar that matches hers. One whose mate sits on Sunjata's hand, back where he is at home. "I am." He breathes, staring at Saartjie with an unblinking one-eyed gaze, working his jaw before he corrects himself. "We are." Might as well not leave any room at all for misunderstandings.
"Yes." Nate says fiercely, as if the force of his answer makes it even more true. As if it can make up for the current hiccup they're in. "We're... in the middle of something right now, it's... it's complicated, but yes. He's happy." Offering Saartjie a strained smile, he continues, trying to not offer a chance to question his words. "I can bring you to him, if you want. Once we're done here."
NATE
