Clara Oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bossily) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2021-12-04 07:27 pm
bossily) wrote in ximilialog2021-12-04 07:27 pm
open
CHARACTERS: Clara & OPEN
LOCATION: kitchen, sunlight room, common area, sleeping quarters
DATE: First half of December
CONTENT: General catch all for December.
WARNINGS: nothing yet, will update as needed!
Kitchen
I am the boss.
[Clara's voice chimes out in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She's tall enough to see over the counter maybe, but not so tall that she isn't almost nearly eye to eye with a jar. With one arm in a sling and the other on her hip, she's scowling over at the jar with every ounce of sass she can muster toward an inanimate object.]
I am the boss, and because I'm the boss here, you're going to do as I say.
[She reaches over with her one good hand and tries to open the lid. Tries and tries again, failing each time. There's something close to a frustrated huff as she finally pushes the jar away.]
Fine, be that way. I didn't want to eat you anyway. It's not like I haven't eaten all day. Not that you would care.
[Yes, she is looking and sounding petulant while talking to a jar in the middle of the kitchen. Don't mind her.]
Sunlight Room
[Some evenings she wanders into the sunlight room with her tattered notebook and pencils. She can lose track of time sitting in the grass off somewhere and waiting for her stars to appear. They're not real, she knows this. But they're beautiful to her all the same, and she's captivated by the sight of them no matter how many times her insomnia leads to her being here alone.
There's snow on the ground now, and she likely isn't properly bundled up for it. But she takes the time to find a decent enough rock to sit on.
She has her notebook open and sitting before her, the map of the simulated stars drawn out with loving care. She's still working on it even now, her good hand put to use sketching slowly. She's so focused on her star maps and writing names for each star and made up constellation that she doesn't notice someone approach.
Whether they stand nearby or sit right near her, her attention isn't torn away so quickly. It takes a moment before she glances over. Her eyes are so dark in the lighting in the room that they seem to reflect the stars she can't pry her gaze off of. ]
Give me a name. Any name, quick as you like.
Common Area
[Clara's managed to obtain a small book collection from the random things that come in from the drops. She's a book nerd at heart, and her English teacher side is missing academic discussion. So she heads to the common area and makes herself comfortable, setting out her small collection of books like a lure meant to pull people in for conversation.
Of course, she's just as content curling up in a chair and reading beside someone for a while. You don't have to talk to have a good time, especially when you can go on and on about the things you've just read once quiet time is over.
She also wouldn't mind taking the time to set aside her very worn and ancient copy of Pride & Prejudice in order to discuss her many high opinions of Jane Austen. And if she so happens to mention that Jane is a fantastic kisser, it's only for the sake of keeping the conversation going.
Reluctant engagers that she spots looking her way when she glances up over the top of her book earn a quiet cough, and a shove of one of the books down along the couch in a silent invitation.]
Bedroom; closed to close CR
[Clara's making an effort to be present around the station, to be out and about despite her injury. It's not a major one, and Bones did a brilliant job patching her up. She'll be good as new eventually. But for now she fluctuates between good days and ones where she's easily frustrated and in pain. Those days get fewer and far between as the month wears on. But the first days back see her retreating back to her room after attempts to act like everything is fine out and about with the others.
For those that know her best, it's easy to see the exhaustion in her eyes, even as she acts bubbly and chipper with everyone around her. She didn't have any control over whether or not she hurt her arm. She still doesn't even remember how it happened. But what she can control is her attitude after the mission, and she's determined to make this down period be as good as she possibly can.
Which means occasional catnaps or hiding away in her room to sort through the assortment of hats and belongings that the Doctors are starting to pile up. She organizes things into whatever containers she can find, labeling each box simply with Doctor and leaving them to figure out the proper owner. Her bowtied Doctor's hats are arranged in a neat little row on his bed. She's not even going to get into the weird bed beef or brick she found that presumably belong to her other Doctor. They're just left where they are, like a dirty secret she'll never bring up and hope he never wants to talk about. And her own few belongings are meticulously re-organized as if she actually had left anything a mess. She may have a broken arm but that isn't any excuse to have a messy room.
Her door is always open to those close to her, without their needing to knock or ask if it's okay for them to pop by. When anyone does happen to stop by, she's quick to offer them a dimpled grin and toss them one of her dresses that she's just picked up off the floor. Yeah, she's just about done here.]
On a scale of Clara, you're an organization genius; and how sad you're rooming with a hoarder, how do things look? Be honest.
Wildcard
[the choose your own adventure & write your own starter option]
LOCATION: kitchen, sunlight room, common area, sleeping quarters
DATE: First half of December
CONTENT: General catch all for December.
WARNINGS: nothing yet, will update as needed!
Kitchen
I am the boss.
[Clara's voice chimes out in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She's tall enough to see over the counter maybe, but not so tall that she isn't almost nearly eye to eye with a jar. With one arm in a sling and the other on her hip, she's scowling over at the jar with every ounce of sass she can muster toward an inanimate object.]
I am the boss, and because I'm the boss here, you're going to do as I say.
[She reaches over with her one good hand and tries to open the lid. Tries and tries again, failing each time. There's something close to a frustrated huff as she finally pushes the jar away.]
Fine, be that way. I didn't want to eat you anyway. It's not like I haven't eaten all day. Not that you would care.
[Yes, she is looking and sounding petulant while talking to a jar in the middle of the kitchen. Don't mind her.]
Sunlight Room
[Some evenings she wanders into the sunlight room with her tattered notebook and pencils. She can lose track of time sitting in the grass off somewhere and waiting for her stars to appear. They're not real, she knows this. But they're beautiful to her all the same, and she's captivated by the sight of them no matter how many times her insomnia leads to her being here alone.
There's snow on the ground now, and she likely isn't properly bundled up for it. But she takes the time to find a decent enough rock to sit on.
She has her notebook open and sitting before her, the map of the simulated stars drawn out with loving care. She's still working on it even now, her good hand put to use sketching slowly. She's so focused on her star maps and writing names for each star and made up constellation that she doesn't notice someone approach.
Whether they stand nearby or sit right near her, her attention isn't torn away so quickly. It takes a moment before she glances over. Her eyes are so dark in the lighting in the room that they seem to reflect the stars she can't pry her gaze off of. ]
Give me a name. Any name, quick as you like.
Common Area
[Clara's managed to obtain a small book collection from the random things that come in from the drops. She's a book nerd at heart, and her English teacher side is missing academic discussion. So she heads to the common area and makes herself comfortable, setting out her small collection of books like a lure meant to pull people in for conversation.
Of course, she's just as content curling up in a chair and reading beside someone for a while. You don't have to talk to have a good time, especially when you can go on and on about the things you've just read once quiet time is over.
She also wouldn't mind taking the time to set aside her very worn and ancient copy of Pride & Prejudice in order to discuss her many high opinions of Jane Austen. And if she so happens to mention that Jane is a fantastic kisser, it's only for the sake of keeping the conversation going.
Reluctant engagers that she spots looking her way when she glances up over the top of her book earn a quiet cough, and a shove of one of the books down along the couch in a silent invitation.]
Bedroom; closed to close CR
[Clara's making an effort to be present around the station, to be out and about despite her injury. It's not a major one, and Bones did a brilliant job patching her up. She'll be good as new eventually. But for now she fluctuates between good days and ones where she's easily frustrated and in pain. Those days get fewer and far between as the month wears on. But the first days back see her retreating back to her room after attempts to act like everything is fine out and about with the others.
For those that know her best, it's easy to see the exhaustion in her eyes, even as she acts bubbly and chipper with everyone around her. She didn't have any control over whether or not she hurt her arm. She still doesn't even remember how it happened. But what she can control is her attitude after the mission, and she's determined to make this down period be as good as she possibly can.
Which means occasional catnaps or hiding away in her room to sort through the assortment of hats and belongings that the Doctors are starting to pile up. She organizes things into whatever containers she can find, labeling each box simply with Doctor and leaving them to figure out the proper owner. Her bowtied Doctor's hats are arranged in a neat little row on his bed. She's not even going to get into the weird bed beef or brick she found that presumably belong to her other Doctor. They're just left where they are, like a dirty secret she'll never bring up and hope he never wants to talk about. And her own few belongings are meticulously re-organized as if she actually had left anything a mess. She may have a broken arm but that isn't any excuse to have a messy room.
Her door is always open to those close to her, without their needing to knock or ask if it's okay for them to pop by. When anyone does happen to stop by, she's quick to offer them a dimpled grin and toss them one of her dresses that she's just picked up off the floor. Yeah, she's just about done here.]
On a scale of Clara, you're an organization genius; and how sad you're rooming with a hoarder, how do things look? Be honest.
Wildcard
[the choose your own adventure & write your own starter option]
bedroom, hoarder edition;
[ if clara ever wants honesty, there's probably really never going to be anyone else who'd offer it so bluntly. and when he steps inside, catching her dress in his hands when she gives it a toss, his brow quirks up in observing her attempt at making things at least a little bit tidier in a space that had begun to look more like a storage closet than an actual bedroom.
he'd already begun to stay over, always steering away from the doctors' side of things, even if he occasionally side eyes the cluster of miscellaneous items that seem like the result of blind shopping through the station's occasional supply drop. it hasn't necessarily bothered him, not when clara's proven to be plenty distracting anyway, giving a lot more to give his attention to than the abundance of hoarding, but it does catch his eye whenever he comes around, like he's trying to decide if it's worth asking about or if he's better off without the knowledge of what goes on in the doctor's mind.
tossing her dress to hang over his shoulder as he moves further inside, he at least gives the room a careful look since she's apparently worked herself towards the effort, broken arm and all. ]
Can't you just toss half that crap to the trash? Would they even notice?
no subject
Not only would they notice, they'd likely never let me hear the end of it. And in turn, I would never let you hear the end of it.
[She goes to grab a few more of their things to gently place them in the little boxes and crates she's made up for them. Typically she'd already have gone to greet him with a kiss by now, but she's distracted by an urgency to exert control over the mess. It's got to be taken care of.]
At least my side is as tidy as usual?
[When she says it, it's done in a cute suggesting tone, one that implies she knows the mess is a problem and she's trying her best to take care of it.]
no subject
[ but then it'd be his encouragement of throwing it all away that, inevitably, she likely would have reason to give him an earful. not that he'd likely feel guilty over it, as long as the trash is gone.
but she's using that voice with him, the kind that just seeks to lure out the positive affirmation, and he sighs, rolling his eyes in a plenty endearing manner. ]
Your side's fine. [ it's his "good job" spoken the kovacs way.
silently, he gives her working hand a nudge away as he starts to take over for her, grabbing items and just tossing them in to give her a bit of a break after how much she's likely exerted herself all afternoon. ]
Shouldn't the slobs at least be the ones cleaning after their own mess?
no subject
[She points out in a way that suggests it should explain everything. For a point in her favor, she does relent control over the clean up. She lets him take over, reaching up to tug her dress off of his shoulder.]
I found this wedged between my bed and the wall, by the way. No idea how we managed to get it there.
[Her eyes go to the dress, as if she's reliving the memories from the night before. Or maybe it had been from a couple of days ago? There's a faint hint of a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face, any stress she had previously been feeling momentarily taken off her shoulders.]
I only wore this dress so you could take it off. And now it's so wrinkled I'll never be able to wear it again.
[It's all false lament, of course. She really doesn't care, and doesn't expect him to either. But she's still wearing that fond smile on her face as she smooths the dress out over her bed.]
no subject
[ she'd told him that once and he's seen the clear evidence of it, the way those other two usually don't consider the circumstances of what their overblown projects tend to leave behind. it's like clara represents the necessary balance in order to keep things from overflowing when they go too far.
he turns his head to peer over his shoulder when she talks of the dress, a smirk rising on his lips as he recalls the memory of taking off that very same dress from her, peeling it off carefully to keep from disturbing her arm. he really couldn't answer where he'd discarded it too, too preoccupied at the time with latching his mouth against newly exposed skin. ]
Wrinkles won't stop me from taking it off of you again. [ not much would stop him, if that's what she wants him to do. ] At least I didn't tear it off.
no subject
Which, unfortunately, isn't quite as sharp of a look as she'd like. He really has a way of making her go soft.]
Well, I certainly admire your show of restraint. As does my entire wardrobe, sparse as it is.
[There's a dry retort before she abandons the dress to creep over behind him, one arm wrapping around him. She really appreciates him helping out, but knows he likely wouldn't want to draw attention to the fact he's doing it. So instead she rounds back to the topic of the Doctors. Specifically, the Doctors and her place with them. The role she plays in their lives in comparison to the role she's supposed to be playing here.
She's starting to feel ordinary and useless in this place, like she can't meaningfully contribute to the missions in the same way everyone else can. She doesn't have powers, isn't a fighter, doesn't have a specific skill set she was trained for. She's just Clara, and for once in her life, she wonders if that's enough. If she's enough. Her ego and pride never have let her entertain those sorts of thoughts before. But after being knocked down a few thousand pegs after facing the raven, things are...well, different. Everything has changed.
But she knows that he doesn't see her that way. That he'll let her talk and get out what she needs to without judging her. Or without judging her too much, anyway.]
Ask me if I've ever thought about not being their carer. I know you must have wondered just now.
no subject
he thinks about what she's requesting him to ask, how it has been a question he's wondered. anytime they've talked of her life, it's typically been with the doctor paired in the subject, like he's been such a frequent presence that he even wonders how much of her life she's lived without him there. it's in part what he's even hoping to fix with this deal, to help her return to the life she seems to love so much — being amongst the stars with the doctor.
less concerned with clean up, he turns his body so that he can sit at the edge of the bed (mindful to not sit on anything questionable), fingers reaching out to gently grasp at her hips, reeling her in close so that she stands in front of him between parted knees, leveling out their varied heights much more. ]
Have you thought about it? You said you were a teacher, right?
no subject
[She's suddenly aware of the fact that they're almost eye to eye now. It's not often that happens, and she's almost distracted by getting to look into his eyes. Her attention isn't that easily swayed for long though, and she glances down to his very tempting lips before continuing to explain herself.]
I did what I had to do. I gave up being his carer. Permanently.
[Is she going to explain the how and why of that? Absolutely not.]
Then I was pulled back here. And you know what they say about old habits dying hard. I'm not sure I could ever go back to Earth and just be a teacher again. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to steal a life for myself. Something separate and only mine.
no subject
when she talks about right before she came, he wonders how all of that aligns with her death, if it'd taken place after or somehow before she'd made the choice of giving it all up. but she doesn't linger there, and so he doesn't ask.
but he thinks about what it means to separate entirely from someone who's completely affected their life, and he knows he's had to find ways to make that choice, even when the choice had already been made for him.
two hundred and fifty years is long enough. move on. never, he'd said. not ever. ]
Sometimes ... [ he starts quietly, his gaze drifting off, even as his fingers remain at her hips, almost tempted to hold her closer. ] Sometimes there are people who just ... redefine us. They pull us out from a shell we've spent our entire lives in, make us see things that we just — we never believed to be real. About the world, about ourselves. They save us.
[ he pauses for a moment because he can see her, see quell at the other side of the room, like a lurking ghost, and he closes his eyes, focusing his thoughts in only on clara. ]
It's easy to get lost in that. To think there's nothing else, to imagine that there isn't a life outside of the person who changed your whole world. [ he opens his eyes again, this time turning to look directly to clara in front of him, no ghost in the room. ] But maybe there can be. And you — I think you can do anything, be anyone. Whatever you want.
no subject
But more than that, she doesn't want to say that she realizes she doesn't need him.
Clara finds herself leaning in toward him, hand pressed against the top of his thigh. She leans in until her nose brushes against his, and lips seeking out his in a tender kiss. It's short and sweet, her smile content as she's pleased just to be close to him.]
I would have turned thirty about a week ago, if my math serves me correctly. Or I guess my birthday came and went same as any other year, now that I'm here. It's the first time in years I've felt ready to try being someone else.
[Only because she knows she has to be. But he gives her hope and strength, in thinking that she can be something more. That there's more for her out there after she erases the Doctor's memories of her and steals away her own time machine. There has to be something more than just that.]
Because with the Doctor, it feels like I've known him for billions of years. The reality of it is I've only known him for...three or four years?
[Could it really be so little? It feels like she's lived an entire lifetime at the Doctor's side. But he's changed her so much in such a short time. And she knows she's made an impact on who the Doctor is, and will one day become. She cares for him so much, but has a newfound understanding that their time together is limited. Not even being here on the station together can change that.]
Being here, this is our last hurrah.
no subject
birthdays have never been something he's given much attention to, his own coming and going without really making much of a celebration of it. if he were asked his own age now, he wouldn't know exactly what number to give, just a rounded guess — he'd probably hit forty just a few years before he went on ice. ]
Sometimes that's all it takes. [ three centuries of life and he'd only known quell a handful of years. probably for even less time than clara's known the doctor.
he sighs, looking up at her as he tries not to think about the deal they're making, the chance he's trying to get for her. ]
But you've got a chance here. Whether it's with the Doctor or not, whether it's ... finding out something for yourself that you didn't get to before — you're here now. You've got time with them and you ... you get to see for yourself what comes next. [ one of his hands reels back to pluck hers, raising it up so he can press a kiss to the center of her palm. ] Whatever you decide, I'm pretty sure they'll just want to see you happy, Clara.
no subject
[He's incredibly good at calming her down and reasoning with her emotional side. She can get so caught up in the things that she feels sometimes, and he manages to anchor her right down to her more logical side. It's a nice balance, one that makes her truly feel like she isn't facing this alone.
They're doing it together, just like he said they would. Her fingers curl inward, hand slipping free of his hold so she can press her palm against his cheek.
Her eyes look to his for a moment, before glancing over to the boxes full of Doctor belongings. They linger there for a moment before she's unable to stay out of Takeshi's orbit any longer. He pulls her right back into the center of his gravity with just his presence alone.
He still has cuts along his cheek and nose in various stages of healing. He really is always hurt, she realizes. There's a protective urge to want to keep that from happening. But just this once, she doesn't need to be a carer. She can just let things be, and that's enough.]
I want it for you too.
[Her touch trails downward slightly, thumb ghosting along a cut on his nose and down to his lips. Her touch lingers there for a moment before slipping back, fingers sliding over his neck to comb through his hair. There's always an urge to taste him, the feeling of his lips against hers addicting. But she isn't in any rush, letting the simple intimacy of the moment bring them closer together.]
no subject
there's no chance here. not when he'd already lost everything long ago, not when he doesn't know the first thing about being happy. even here, when he's given a chance to make a change, he's decided that his past is too fucked up to even touch, that it's much more worth giving whatever little he has to saving someone else, someone more deserving — someone like clara.
but then her fingers graze to his cheek, a soft touch that slides to his nose, his lips. the latter parts almost wanting to press a kiss to them, exhaling the heat of his breath before she redirects her touch to his neck. his eyes peer up to her then, the realization lingering through this mind of what he's come to want, of the selfish inkling that's threatening to burst in his chest.
all it takes is a touch and he can feel her peeling at his skin, layer by layer, like he can't hide from it, like her gaze can see past every pore and he swallows, his fingers back on her hip, holding her gently, wanting to hold her closer. ]
When you look in my eyes — [ his voice is quiet, a hushed whisper. ] What do you see?
[ he's asked someone before, the answer reminding him that he's in the wrong skin, the wrong life, that he'll have to hand it all back, that everything he does is in exchange for someone else. but right now, the only answer he cares to hear is hers. ]
no subject
I see a boy that lost everything so young. One that's incredibly brave. And stronger than he seems. And is kinder than he or anyone else believes.
[It's easy to see the boy she had seen in his dream. His eyes aren't physically the same, obviously. But they're still exactly the same to her.]
And don't you dare tell me I couldn't possibly still see him in you, Takeshi Kovacs. You can change your face, change your body. Get a different voice. But you can't hide who you are beneath all that. Not from me. I see you.
[His soul, she means. She sees the part of him that really matters. The part of him that draws her in with its light, no matter how dim he thinks it may be glowing.]
There's darkness there. But I can still find my way to you even through it. And I'd find my way and know it was you no matter what eyes you end up with.
[Because they may change. Everything changes. But this here, whatever they have, it doesn't have to. Not unless they both want it.]
no subject
he should really stop her from looking in to him so closely, but he knows it's too late. she'd seen a peek at his demons in those dreams at the castle, knows so much of the weight that he carries, and even despite everything he still has yet to tell her — quell, especially — it's almost like she doesn't even need to know. because her words prick at him beneath his skin, saying all the things she shouldn't say but that he's almost been so longing to hear. ]
How do you see me? [ he asks quietly, although the question remains rhetorical, almost like he's just asking out loud from uncertainty, like he isn't sure how it is that she's been able to see him so closely, or more importantly — why would she want to?
despite the ask, he won't give her a chance to answer, because his own fingers are rising now, brushing light against her lips, like this time he's the one focused on looking her over. with his fingers sliding to her chin, he gently coaxes her closer, enough for him to lean up with his lips close to hers.
without kissing her immediately, he lets their noses brush, exhaling deeply, his breath meant to mingle with hers, steady and warm. how could clara oswald be dead? how could she be anything but alive when he feels her like this, when he's the one who's been dead nearly two hundred and fifty years and yet she's making his heart beat again.
he takes his time before he finally presses his mouth firmly to hers, slow in the initial contact before he brings an arm around her back to tuck her closer to his body, kissing her with fervor of the unspoken words he can't bring himself to say. ]
no subject
She isn't passive but yields to him this time, letting him be the one in control. Her body is tucked in close, so close that he surely can feel the way her heart is racing. The sound of it thunders in her ears, but he keeps her centered. Her entire universe is him, on this bed, in this tiny room. A groan of approval catches in her throat and dies off as she shifts to climb upward, resting on her knees as she straddles his legs.
It's so easy to get lost in him, to be caught up in these stolen moments together. It's with kiss swollen lips and heavy breath that she breaks away. Her head turns, nose brushing against his. Their warm breath mingles, Clara's injured hand slipping up to lightly touch at his cheek once more. As her thumb grazes against the edge of his lips she just rests there for a moment.
He's warm and solid against her, and has her heart beating fast. She can feel the way her chest rapidly rises and falls in time with his. As her eyes close, she thanks her lucky stars that she's alive and has a second chance. And that this is where it's led her.]
I'll always see you, Tak. [She whispers to him, her nose bumping against his. It's a promise. One that she can make, even if his words fail him.]
no subject
this is how it had all started too, with a spontaneous kiss, with hunger lips seeking distraction and taste, but it feels different than it had been when she'd first kissed him in his room, when they shied away from truths that she had yet to fully share with him. she knows them now, and even more surprisingly, is that she knows things about him he never expected to say, things he hadn't even realized he had hoped to keep shielding away from her.
but she sees him, right past elias ryker's sleeve, right past eyes not his own, to see the takeshi kovacs within — the boy inside the man.
he's breathless, wanting her still as she climbs up to press closer to him, his palms grazing over her hips, rounding back to wrap around her back, sliding his touch up across her spine. when she draws back, he doesn't move, remaining close even as his breath shakes with the gentle touch she presents at his cheek.
what she says, he doesn't realize how much he needs those words until they're out there, until he breathes in her voice saying them right to him. his lips press to her cheek, shifting to kiss the other, before he moves to her nose, up and up to her brow, gentle and lingering with each peck. each one voicing the silence of his appreciation.
reeling back, he gets another look at her, a longer stare of those eyes just entranced by her, reaching up with his fingers to brush back her hair before he comes in again for her mouth, hungry and wanting. ]
no subject
A groan catches in her throat as she loses herself in him, a heat and desperation to her kiss that echoes his need for her. She always wants him, finds herself craving him when she least expects it. It's like he's taken root within her, the connection steadily and surely growing as he makes her feel like she's made of sunlight.
This isn't just sex, she knows. It's fueled by emotion and this consuming connection they share. In the back of her mind, she realizes this could be dangerous. They're both diving into this without looking back, not thinking of the consequences. When they're this close and he can make her feel this alive, consequences can be damned.]
We should -
[She manages to get out the words, her lips still against his. The hand on her broken arm touches lightly at his chest, just so she can check and make sure if she's getting his heart racing as well as he's doing with hers. Even the anticipation alone is enough to leave her wanting.]
My bed.
[If they're going to keep going, they should probably relocate over to her side of the room.]
no subject
when he finally nods, he draws back, peering down at her broken arm against his chest. taking her other arm, he lifts it to wrap around his neck, urging it to hold tight before he reaches his palms beneath her thighs, lifting her up as he stands on his feet. with his support and strength, she won't need to us both arms to hold on, nothing but one just to keep herself from tilting back. it isn't a far walk anyhow, just a short walk to the other side of the room, and far from the first time he's lifted her.
it's similar only to that first time with how he carries her, with how the intentions of what they plan to do is obvious; everything else feels like they're miles ahead from where they were then, his emotions pulsing with a different kind of frantic beat for her, like he knows there isn't anyone on this station he'd rather be with right now than with her. ]