undonewithout | oh if you knew just what a fool you have made me

They find their way into the new shape of things over the next month. The barriers and boundaries, walking the tension between what Gideon desires and what Harrow can allow, all of it kept secret and safe within the walls of their apartment. It doesn't always work; there are fights and frigid silences, Gideon throwing herself into workouts as an act of aggression and Harrow immersing herself in a book or Sextus' latest draft of theories and theorems with as much pointed intensity. When it's successful, though, when all the fractured pieces of themselves come together into some temporary whole...

Harrow does not find it unpleasant. Not entirely.

She insists that they act no different than usual in public, still necromancer and cavalier, still as Ninth as they can be in a pre-Resurrection backwater. It's the only way it can work, and though Gideon makes no secret of her opinion, grumbling at home and out, trying to catch Harrow's hand or stand a little closer than ordinary, she bears it with an aggrieved stoicism that sets Harrow's teeth on edge and almost amuses her all at once. She harbors no illusion that Gideon's patience will last forever; this new change will soon find itself brayed to the world--or merely to the Sixth (bad enough, and Harrow already suspects the Warden and his Hand know some scrap of it anyway) and Maeve (even worse)--but for now something close enough to privacy reigns between them.

The one topic Gideon can't let go, refuses to let go despite arguments and at least three battles with constructs, is the idea of a date. The term isn't unfamiliar, nor the concept, but both strike Harrow as wholly unnecessary. They know what they are, what they've become to one another; that should suffice, and yet for her cavalier, it's only the beginning. She wheedles and pleads, starts dropping it into conversations at points both ludicrous and logical, and while Harrow will never admit to being worn down, she's intelligent enough to see that getting this out of Gideon's system may be the only way of shutting her up.

The one least liable to result in questions or a disapproving look from Sextus, that is.

Gideon picks the day, and Harrow the place. At the appointed hour, they set off for Petros Park, Harrow casting furtive looks at anyone they pass and keeping her hands tightly folded, her arms rigid to discourage any soft touch or brief tangle of fingers. "I forbid you from enjoying this," she mutters as they walk, when everyone else is out of earshot. "So wipe that smile off your face. You look like a loon."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

wedobones

"Since when did you forbidding me from enjoying a thing mean that I didn't enjoy it?" says Gideon, coppery eyebrows raised above the frames of her sunglasses, best shit-eating grin firmly in place. Gideon's got a bag in her hand; she's out a lot of thought into what to bring for them eat, focused in things that she knows Harrow likes best.

Maybe she'll even enjoy herself, too.

From:

undonewithout

"It should have been a lesson you learned the first time your enjoyment directly led to your being buried under a pile of oss," Harrow says, rolling her eyes when she looks back to see Gideon still smirking, those idiotic glasses firmly in place. "Simple cause and effect, comprehensible even to an infant directly out of the vat womb. But not you, apparently."

From:

wedobones

"Not me, apparently," says Gideon, still smirking. They're heading in the direction of one of the furthest corners of Petros Park; it had been Harrow's condition for agreeing to the date at all. "Maybe it's because I was never in a vat womb?"

From:

undonewithout

"Maybe it's because you took too many blows to the head training with Aiglamene," Harrow mutters in response, gritting her teeth against the swell of revulsion that comes when she first sets her feet on the grass. The place she's picked is beautiful and utterly secluded--one of those of more importance than the other--but Petros Park itself teems with thalergy, green things shoving their way out of the ground and birds winging high overhead, endless life signatures coming at her from every possible angle. It reminds her of all her planetary trophies, the last one chief among them--that wet, green jungle, the festering pit of worms it and what she'd found there had set loose within her chest.

The further she walks, the easier it becomes, but her shoulders don't lose their stiffness.

From:

wedobones

She can see the tension in Harrow's shoulders, resists the urge to reach out and touch her because she knows better. She shoves her hands into her pockets and walks her customary step behind her.

"What about there," she says, finally. "Under the trees."

From:

undonewithout

"Yes, I know, that's where I was going," she says testily, continuing her grim forward motion towards the tree-shaded clearing at the edge of the park. It is lovely here, the ground dappled in what light filters its way through the leaves overhead, and Harrow looks for a spot that's clear and flat enough.

"There," she says, pointing at a space just in front of one broad trunk. "You did remember to bring a blanket, right?"

From:

wedobones

A smile twitches the corner of Gideon's mouth at that, and she nods.

"I bought a blanket," says Gideon. "And cushions. And like three things I'm pretty sure you'll eat."

From:

undonewithout

"Well," she says, looking back at her cavalier in time to see that crooked smile flicker at the corner of her mouth. She flushes, setting the edge of her tongue between the sharp ridges of her premolar and letting the sting keep her from answering Gideon's smile with one of her own. "Good."

Turning back to the tree in front of them, Harrow casts down a knuckle from her pocket, unfolding it into a short, thin plaque of bone, a platform between herself and the ground. "You can set it all up on there."

From:

wedobones

She will never ever get bored of seeing Harrow blush like that. She doesn't bat an eyelid at the bone platform, stepping onto it and setting down the bag that she's carrying. She unrolls the blanket, unpacks the pillows and then settles, unpacking the food and drink that she'd bought with her. She'd been in the kitchen all morning.

From:

undonewithout

Harrow sits once the blanket and pillows are down, her skinny legs crossed, her hands fidgeting with one of the empty bags as she watches Gideon unpack the rest and lay it out--the containers of food, the flask of water still dripping in condensation, the plates and glasses and utensils. Gideon hadn't let her in the kitchen all morning--not that difficult a task, but the principle of the thing seemed to matter more today than usual--and so she'd been ignorant of the sheer size of the effort until now.

It's almost overwhelming, but one look at Gideon's face has her swallowing back any rebuke or protest. "It looks...good, Nav," she says, haltingly. "You've outdone yourself."

From:

wedobones

"I've done my best, anyway," says Gideon, starting to take the lids off some of the containers. "I just wanted you to have a nice time." She blushes. "Or something."

From:

undonewithout

Gideon's blush is absurd, accenting the freckles on her cheeks and adding a new light to the burnt-tea color of her eyes. Even so, the sight of it sinks into Harrow with unexpected warmth. For all that she'd grumbled on the way here, now that it's just them and the quiet of the park, it's not quite as objectionable as she'd thought. She watches her fumble with one of the lids, her long fingers prising it open, and the smallest smile crosses her face.

"Or something," she echoes.

From:

wedobones

"So," says Gideon, opening the water and pouring some for both of them. "I made that rice thing that you liked and salad...I've got dressing on the side but you don't have to have that and I baked bread. Fruit." She shrugs. "Nothing too fancy."

From:

undonewithout

Harrow steadies the glass as Gideon starts to pour, then does the same for the other; the movement is instinctive, easy, something she barely notices she's done until it's over. Nodding, she picks up one of the cups, taking a sip of the water inside. It's not at all a surprise when the clean, acidic taste of lemon washes over her tongue.

"We are eating in the middle of a park, Griddle," she points out, pedantic to the last. "If you'd managed five gourmet courses I'd have died from shock." Her glance over at her cavalier is sharp, even as something warmer lingers just at the outermost edge. "It's...enough that it's things I can eat. I suppose that's the more important thing."

From:

wedobones

"I'm not at gourmet yet," says Gideon, holding a plate out for Harrow to take, "But the bread looks pretty okay, right?"

Cooking has turned out to be one of Gideon's great joys in Darrow. She likes the process - following strict instructions and seeing something come of them.

From:

undonewithout

"Yes, the bread looks okay."

She takes the plate and manages not to roll her eyes, picking up a fork and spearing a bit of the salad. Gideon cooking anything is still a shock, a revelation, but Gideon doing it specifically for her is...another thing entirely. It's more than the service of a cav to her necro, more than fealty and honor and everything they mostly pretended to have up until the very last moment at Canaan House, and that great unknown expanse feels frighteningly empty and full of possibility at the same time.

"So does everything else," she adds. "I meant it before. It all looks...you went to a lot of trouble."

From:

wedobones

"Well, I finally talked you into it, so..." Gideon shrugs, cutting herself some bread, leaving another piece for Harrow, and starting to load her plate with rice and salad and fruit. "Thought I'd better make the best of it."

From:

undonewithout

"It has barely been a month," says Harrow, shooting Gideon another exasperated glare before she reaches for the bread. "Your gross lack of patience is not actually my problem."

What is, she knows, is the flaw and failing that made her push for as much of a delay as she could get. To call this something concrete, to go out into the light as more than what they'd been, felt and still feels utterly impossible. They are not meant to do this; they are not meant to have this, either as necromancer and cavalier or just as Harrowhark and Gideon. They were never built for it.

From:

wedobones

"I'm one hundred percent your problem, boo," says Gideon, grinning as she turns her attention to buttering her bread before she settles back, her plate on the blanket in front of her. "I didn't think it'd be this quiet out here."

From:

undonewithout

"Do not remind me," Harrow replies, the brightness of Gideon's grin grating at her nerves and sinking warm into her chest at the same moment. She pauses, listening to the lack of sound around them; what noise there is is distant, mostly the growl of cars on the road that rings the park, easily ignored. "The trees must have an insulating effect," she says. "Not to mention the fact we're well out of the way of the more popular sections of the park."

From:

wedobones

"It was a good choice," she says, tearing a piece of crust off her bread and chewing it thoughtfully. "I thought we could hang out here until you're sick of being in the sun and then we could go home and watch a movie in the air con?"

Gideon's hoping for more than a movie, but she also knows not to rush Harrow or push her luck.

From:

undonewithout

Out loud, it sounds simple; it's just a few hours in the park with food, an evening at home watching something Gideon thinks of as entertainment and Harrow endures in the absence of anything better. To anyone else, it would be as easy as all that. It's only Harrow that feels the secret weight behind it all, the creeping sense of Gideon's unvoiced hopes. The humiliating reminder of her own inabilities.

She delays by taking a sip of water, then in trying a forkful of the rice. Eventually, she nods. "Let's see how the afternoon goes, Nav."

From:

wedobones

"Fair," says Gideon, shrugging her shoulders as she chews. She's learning not to expect too much at once. They're getting better - Harrow's ended up in her lap on the couch or in bed a few times. She puts her hands where she's told.

From:

undonewithout

Harrow keeps herself from looking too deeply into that shrug, assessing it as some kind of judgement against her. It's as difficult as she expects it to be, though at least the task of forcing herself to eat provides some distraction. She works her way methodically around the plate: rice, then fruit, then a sip of water; a bite of bread and a slim forkful of salad. The routine of it helps.

"It's still bizarre," she says after a few minutes, glancing up at the leaves above their heads, the green of them turned achingly luminous as the sun beats down. "Being this close again to Dominicus. To what isn't Dominicus yet, but will be in a myriad."

From:

wedobones

"Honestly, I try not to think about it too much," says Gideon, shaking her head and taking another bite. "Because it bug-fuck freaks me out if I look at it too hard." She smiles. "Weird to think about what gets us from here to Canaan House. How the Resurrection happened, you know."