giftedthom | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Thom lies sprawled on the floor of his room, one arm flung carelessly over his face. His other hand is wrapped around a bottle of something rather stronger than wine.

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[there is a knock on the door]

He doesn't get up. The door swings open anyway.

[And Delia slips in. It's summer, and yet she's pale and shivering, her left hand curled up and cradled close to her chest.]

Hey, Thom.

By way of greeting, "Delia."

[she glances around the room, and then focuses on him with something that looks like effort]

[she walks in, and falls to her knees (the grace needs a full-and-petticoated skirt instead of jeans, but that's Milliways for you)]

[and she doesn't say anything, just kneels and watches him and holds her hand close as she shivers with an inner cold]

Without looking up, Thom says, "It's fucking hot out, you know."

It's true. His collar is open and everything.

It's fucking freezing.

[she's wearing a jumper. And boots. And still looks pale and cold]

"How d'you figure."

I'm cold. And it won't stop.

"Since when."

Um. Just yesterday, badly. But before that...been getting colder for a month or so. Since my scar started hurting.

Thom lets go of the bottle and reaches out to her, hand open.

"C'mere."

[a faint smile, and she crawls over. But when she holds out her hand, it's shaking.]

He grabs her hand -- his eyes flutter open, startled --

"Cold, Dell!"

-- and pulls her down.

That's what I was sayi-shit!

[she yelps when he pulls her over, over onto him]

[isn't he lucky that the jumper is covering most of her skin]

"What's it from?"

He sounds half-interested. Like his mind's on something else.

The Real-realms of the Dead. Dying star.

[she moves to get off him, her hands and arms braced either side of his body.]

"Sounds fun."

He lets her move away.

Yeah. Sure. Lo-loads of fun.

(Delia, Delia, Deeeeaaleeeuh, come join us, Delia...)

[her teeth are chattering slightly, and she rubs her arms in an effort to get warm. She moved away, but she wants to curl back in. Thom, warm...yes, it's Thom, but more then that he's warm]

She can, for once.

Thom shrugs. Lying down. It's a minor feat.

"You've been missing out."

On?

[she's not far, lying down on the ground next to him. There's space, and she's not up to being pushed away yet.]

"Yeah."

His voice is even, smooth. Must be nothing's wrong.

"They got married, Delia."

...

Excuse me?

[she props herself up on her elbow, stares down at him]

Thom repeats himself. Slowly. As if speaking to a child.

"They. Got. Married. Delia. Are. You. Stupid."

[tears prick her eyes, but she just shakes her head and goes]

No.

[before lying back down again. Head on his shoulder, this time. He insulted her, he can damn well deal with it]

Unexpectedly, perhaps, he damn well deals with it. Puts a thin arm around her.

[she shuts her eyes, curls in closer. Still cold, still shaking, but it's better]

I'm sorry, Thom.

He sneers. "I don't need you to be sorry."

[Delia just nods, silently, against his shoulder]

Several minutes later, he says, softly, tonelessly, "I'm the only person who makes her cry anymore."

[softly,]

She's the only one who can make you feel this bad about it.

Thom half-shrugs; the movement jostles her slightly. He turns his head and looks her frankly in the eyes.

"Think I should feel worse?"

[her mouth works for a moment, soundlessly]

I would give anything for my brother to be here. Even if he hurt me, and made me cry. No, I don't think you should feel worse.

He nods and slides his fingers absently into her hair, but doesn't pull or tug. Just leaves them there. Faint. Oddly gentle.

"Think I should stop?"

[it feels nice, gentle and comforting, and her eyes fall closed again. Can't sleep, mustn't sleep, the nightmares will come and this time he can't rescue her from them]

No. It's who you are, how your relationship is. Can't stop without changing it. Want to change it, that's a different thing, but you need two people for that.

Thom is silent for a while; his breath comes slow and even.

"I don't want to be one big damn happy family."

[a soft, sleepy and husky laugh (a few years ago, men would have dueled Thom for hearing that laugh)]

Then don't. Remain yourself, play your own tune.

Wouldn't they still?

Would anyone object to her making Thom laugh? he does: dark and bright at the same time, as is his fashion; dark humor, white teeth, sweet and girlish voice.

"Don't be stupid."

He lies there as she falls asleep, not moving, not wanting to talk anymore. His eyes are on the ceiling. His thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

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