Ethics
Summary: She's the one with scarless skin, but he's the one who traces every inch of it knowing they are there.
Notes: I don't exactly remember how this one happened. I'm pretty sure Li just gave me a list of prompts, and she meant this one alone to be the un-sexy related one (in a list of sexy-times related ones Weaves, Li and I were writing), but then this fell out and everyone went bug eyed with surprise and love.
One shot; some other universe. Written in the fall of 2011.
For Li: This is your fault. Even if you didn't mean to make it happen.
.
.
.
She's the one with scarless skin, but he's the one who traces every inch of it knowing they are there. Even more because you can't see them. A hundred thousand scars no one can see, that drive her into the edges of delirium, a land he knows well. All of his scars of that time were polished away, while the deeper work was done.
Now they exist only in the madness of the mind, of memory, of loved ones so close and too close to touch. Who can't hold hard enough, soft enough, understand that crying is a plateau long, long lost. That talking truth is a art that went out with the ethics of war. The understanding that nothing was too much to sacrifice for their other.
They don't make each other talk. They don't demand anything.
It's just the rush of abandon that they race for, limbs tangled together like fingers that have forgotten how to hold, one breath and one gasp, one desperate fired need, for something more, on two blondes with blues eyes, everyone see as 'so pretty and well off,' who flounder in the dark, bereft of the spark as soon as it touches and passes - just like the peace they won for everyone else.