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Turning Circles

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Simon's eyebrows are long and flat, level in a way that makes her feel safe.

He's got the face of a careful man, someone who thinks and plans, rolling words around in his mind, in his mouth, before he finally speaks. Like if she were a kite, flying around, soaring high and buffeted by the winds, he'd be the boy on the ground holding her string, tethering her, making sure she wouldn't be lost. Making sure there was always a connection.

She rolls up on her elbows, lets her fingers dance just above his face. She doesn't want to wake him, just wants to drink him in. Dropping a light kiss on one eyebrow, holding her breath to see if she did nudge him awake, she listens to his breathing, uninterrupted, serene, and snuggles back down against his side.


She wakes up in the middle of the night despite the lulling hum of the ship. Just a feeling in the depths of her stomach, like a friendly tap on the shoulder. She slips from the bed, leaving warm sheets and warm Simon behind, and heads for the engine room. Her footsteps are slow but sure; she can pretty much make her way from one end of the ship to the other with her eyes closed and her ears plugged up.

Keeping a hand out so that she can stroke the walls as she goes, she makes her way up then over then down to the center of the ship, where the engine spins like a mighty heart, perfect, unstopping, strong.

Steadier than Simon's breathing, and her eyes tear up at the beauty of it. She rests on tired feet for long moments, taking it all in, one hand absently reaching up to push back her disordered hair. She starts at how cold her hand is against her face, brings her fingers to her mouth; she's been gone long enough, and she needs to get back. She needs to let Simon warm her up.


Even his murmurs as he drowses are grammatically correct, enunciated with clarity. "Where have you been?" he sleepily asks, addressing the question to a lock of her hair laying across his outflung arm.

"Down to th' engine," she whispers into his ear when she's curled up facing him. His arm tightens around her as a dissatisfied growl escapes his throat. Such a pretty throat. "I -" she hesitates.

He's got one eye cracked just the slightest bit open, watching her. With his gaze on her, she's not sure she can say it, that the real reason she left wasn't because she missed the engine. She squirms a little, rucking up the linens on his big bed. "I wanted to miss you a little, and come back and see you again." That's the best she can do, with her tongue feeling as big as her heart, when her eyes want to open wider, even wider, just so she can see all of him and never have to miss a look, a smile, the light on his face.

Those level, safe eyebrows lift, and his eyes come fully open. His hand snakes around her, pulling her close. "Kaywinnit," he says, pushing fabric aside with his chin and making space for himself; her hands come up to cradle his head as his lips touch the skin between her breasts, "look." He rolls onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "Look," he says, spread out beneath her, "you have me."