Utha was frustrated.
There had been a new batch of prisoners brought to them today, and while Utha was eager to continue their experiments, The Architect somehow was not. He had stared dispassionately as she stood in front of him, signing with furious movements that their tests had been going nowhere and they didn't have time for him to mess about. The Architects nonchalant response had been to shrug (another frustratingly human habit he'd picked up lately,) and stalk off in the direction of the library. Utha had stood there furiously, signing curses at his retreating back and hoping fervently he tripped on his books. And so began another useless morning, in which Utha paced restlessly around the cells, cataloging the sleeping prisoners and other pointless busywork. Once her initial annoyance had worn off, she started to feel a little bad. The last few months had been difficult on the both of them, so much of their hard work had accomplished nothing at all.
He must be as frustrated as I am, Utha realised with a small twinge of guilt.
Eventually the prisoners began to wake up, their shrill cries for release grating too much on her already frayed nerves, and she had retreated to the library to think. She cast the most withering look she could muster at her companion as she stormed in and threw herself into the nearest chair. She deliberately had chose one facing away from him, and although she could feel his eyes on her, she knew he wouldn't bother her. Not if he valued a peaceful existence for the next few months.
It had been a hard day.
She caught herself. Was it day though? Time became impossible to measure here. The passage of minutes and hours, even the seasons, had after a time slowly lost all meaning. Such things didn't touch them here so deep underground. Sometimes The Architect would suggest that she venture to the surface, that the fresh air and moonlight might do her some good. And always Utha would shake her head, a small sad smile upon her face. The air was perfectly fine down here, she would tell him, and privately, she wasn't sure she could stomach even moonlight anymore.
Perhaps she had been down here too long.
Her cat Hafter had settled in her lap, and she planted a quick kiss on his furry head. Hafter had been a rescue, something she'd picked up on one of her trips to the surface back when she still had the interest. Thinking back Utha didn't really know why she'd taken him in. A remnant of the old life maybe? A token to prove something inside herself was still human.
"Utha." The deep, resonate voice sounded almost tentative. While she and The Architect were usually on friendly terms, Utha's temper was legendary. And even after all their time together, the Architect was sometimes still unsure as to what would trigger one of her moods. Preparing to snap, Utha turned towards the voice. He was seated in his usual chair in the corner, only partially visible behind an immense pile of books on his desk. "Utha," he said again, "the odd gesture. Is it the same as what we do?"
The question caught her off guard. Affection hadn't been something easily learned for The Architect. There was no such thing among his own kind, and in the early days of their acquaintance, it was something Utha had been loathe to dispense. As time wore on however, she had begun to notice the small things. Light touches across her shoulders, fingers briefly brushing together as he handed her books. They were done quickly, furtively, as if he expected to be chastised. If Utha had to judge, she would almost say he was shy.
She remembered the first time they had kissed. He had reached to hand her one of his treasured books and it slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground. The Architect had quickly stooped to pick it up, and gripped by some strange compulsion, she brought one hand to rest lightly on the small of his back. He visibly tensed, and when he had slowly risen and their eyes met, she was filled with an unimaginable ache. And that was how a very startled Architect had ended up sprawled ungracefully in his favourite chair with a small dwarven woman in his lap, kissing him senselessly. She had thought their passionate embrace rather one sided at the time. The obvious conclusion didn't present itself until much later; he simply didn't know what to do. He watched her with wide eyes as she had gripped his shoulders in a way that had to be painful, kissing, biting, stroking; anything to elicit a response. When the haze faded and everything came back into focus, she gifted him with one last bite on his already swollen lower lip. He had stared back at her warily, a single drop of blood making its way down his chin.
"I don't understand," he had said.
Utha rose from her chair and dropped Hafter to the ground, ignoring the derisive look it gave her as it slunk away.
"I suppose...it is similar," she signed, " Not all kisses mean the same thing. Mostly, they mean love."
The Architect quirked his head to the side, as he often did, "When we touch our lips together, is that what it means? Love?" He forced the last word out, slowly, testing it. Utha was sure he hadn't heard him say it before. This was something she never thought she'd ever have to explain to anyone.
She grinned, eyeing the Emissary possessively as she made her way over. "You saying you love me?"
The Architect merely frowned in response, he seemed to be thinking. "When we kiss, how is it different?"
She placed her hand on his forearm, stroking the wiry flesh gently. They didn't communicate in words very much anymore. At least, he didn't, and she couldn't. Somehow she got the impression that even if she could speak they wouldn't need to. So different from the early days, where Utha would furiously sign as one completely misunderstood the other. But now so much of what they did was done in silence, so much meaning given through glances and casual touches.
Utha smiled up at that face. So much like a ruined painting. So gentle and curious.
"Hafter does not speak. Hafter does not know. Hafter is not beautiful."
The Architect flinched, and Utha caught his hand as it went to his ruined face.
"No, Architect, it is definitely not the same."
And that was that. Utha grasped the front off his robes, pulling him forward. Their lips clashed awkwardly, and the small woman could feel the warm currents of air as The Architect's breath came in uneven gasps. He didn't seem to know quite where to put his hands. Utha wound her arms about his neck and revelled in the embrace, in the smell of him. She felt as if she could drown, and if she died here that would be ok.
Time passed, and eventually they parted. But not before Utha managed one last teasing bite, grinning at his look of utter bewilderment, and those gorgeously swollen lips.
She decided she wasn't quite so angry anymore.