It's slow, a bit ridiculous, but ultimately sweet. Little things that they both start to notice together.
At a restaurant where they would both use the restroom before sitting down for their meal.
Lena notices first, smiling wildly to herself without making a comment as Fareeha wets her hands and retrieves two pumps of soap from the dispenser. Every time the ritual to the bathroom was performed, Fareeha would usually stay leaning on the wall, watching Lena as she washed up.
'Sterilization sequence, it keeps the limbs cleaner than soap and water would.'
But this is the first time since being around the woman that Lena has seen Fareeha wash her hands without them being caked beyond whatever the 'sequence' could kill off.
It isn't until the second time, at some Thai place does Lena glance down and see Fareeha washing her hands. She leans over, pecking a kiss on her cheek, catching Fareeha be surprise. The water tap shuts off, Fareeha looking a bit sheepish as Lena hands her a paper towel. Thankfully the restroom is empty.
A moment is shared.
Fareeha stands, watching Lena wrap her prosthetics in her hands, her fingertips gently stroking the back of Fareeha's knuckles. It's muted, but it's there, feeling as real as ever. It's a new feeling that drags up tatters of old fear.
But it's been getting better.
She expects Lena to make a humorous quip, some playful jab that would make her huff in mock annoyance. But she doesn't. Just a smile, and a kiss makes Fareeha's heart feel too big for her chest.
They walk hand in hand back to their booth.
"Here I am! Stuck in the middle with you!"
The guitar picks up and Lena breaks out into a dance that's very much of her just shaking her ass. She is completely uncoordinated but too happy to care, pretending that the wooden spoon in her hand is a microphone and the kitchen a dance floor. Fareeha watches her, wine glass in hand half empty in exchange for the endless chuckles bubbling from her throat.
A twirl and an impressive distance to be slid in socks later, Lena shoulders into Fareeha with a lopsided grin. She does an absurdly cute shimmy and Fareeha is very close to throwing her head back in full blown laughter. Lena slaps a hand onto her back, leaning in close enough for Fareeha to see the rosy blush covering her face.
"-and say, please" Lena sings, very very close with her wanders hooking into Fareeha's waistband. Fareeha's lungs stutter, Lena warm body presses in close as she hold out the last note. "Please."
Fareeha doesn't hear the rest of the lyrics, isn't even sure if Lena sings them. All she can think about is her hand resting on the small of Lena's back, how close she is, how much she wants to kiss her lips. Until Lena is reaching up, with Fareeha already slouched over, it isn't long until Lena's lips are on hers. They're sticky and sweet from the tasting of the icing Lena was preparing.
And she gets lost in it all, the buzz of the wine filling in the gaps and making her a bit bolder, a bit more eager, just a bit more hungry. Fareeha's hand splays downwards, edging on the top of Lena's ass who groans low into the kiss. She sets her wine glass onto the counter and threads her fingers through unruly brown locks. Every part of her aches to feel closer to the woman.
It's a quick escalation into a flurry of teeth and tongue, they taste each other with breaths coming out ragged. Suddenly desperate, the kitchen somehow feeling degrees hotter. The wooden spoon clatters onto the counter next to her and Lena is cupping the sides of Fareeha's face.
Lena is the first to pull back from the kiss with a sharp hiss. Fareeha has shoved her thigh in between Lena's legs, her hand now both on Lena's hips. It doesn't take much encouragement for Lena to grind herself forward onto the firm muscle.
"Bloody fuck." The whispers words spread like a wildfire across Fareeha's neck where Lena has buried her face in.
Something swirls in Fareeha at the sound and the high moan that follows after. Though she cannot see her face, Fareeha watches Lena's back as is rises and falls, shudders, shakes, and absolutely quivers with every thrust of her hips; she needs more.
"Beautiful." She murmurs, more of a breathless prayer as she can't tear her eyes away. Fareeha feels Lena's lips curl into a smile against her skin.
Lena's arms wrap tight around the back of Fareeha's neck, it's a split second before she realizes what Lena is about to do. With a bit of a bounce, Lena straddles Fareeha's waist with her legs, Fareeha's hands taking the weight.
And not a moment later, the shattering of glass.
It takes a few blinks until both of them realize what the noise was. Glancing down, there is a broken wine glass on the tile and a quite artistic spatter of deep crimson on the cupboards.
"Ah, bloody fuck." This time Lena groans disappointmently, squirming in Fareeha's arms until she lets her back down. "Sorry 'bout that love."
"It was an honest mistake." A wicked grin spreads across her face. "It's nothing to wine about."
The mood instantly changes with Fareeha feeling very smug with herself and Lena staring deadpanned at her. She chuckles at Lena's exaggerated eye roll and retrieves the dustpan and brush for her.
"That, that was a crime." They both crouch over, a towel in hand to wipe up the spilled drink. Fareeha presses a quick kiss onto Lena's pouting lips, unable to hold back the smile on her face.
A buzzing fills the air and their heads pop up at the sound.
"Ah, cake's done! Take it out, yeah? I'll finish cleaning this up."
Fareeha nods, standing back up and walking over to the oven. A quick turn of the knob, a button pressed and she opens the door. The rich smell of chocolate wafts throughout the flat, heavy enough to send tingles down the back of Fareeha's neck.
"Will you hand me the oven mitts, habibti." Fareeha says without a second thought, impaling a bamboo skewer into the center of the pastry to see if it was cooked.
Wait
Her eyebrows draw together at the realization. Maybe it was the alcohol in her system, maybe they 'fun' just moments ago, or the shattering of the glass or something else distracting Fareeha. It had to be, why would she need oven gloves if her hands were rated for over 200 celsius. Fareeha glances back, heart in her throat once more at the sight of Lena's bright smile and two polka dot mitts in hand.
It also might be the hot air of the oven or it might be a blush on her face. Perhaps of embarrassment or of love, she doesn't know.
But Lena just keeps smiling, placing a kiss of her own onto Fareeha's lips and giving her the oven mitts.
"Here you are, love." She says as if nothing were wrong, but her eyes sparkle with such warmth.
And so Fareeha smiles herself with a soft "thank you". The quilted cotton slides easily over her metal hands. She swears she can feel the warmth through the gloves.
An upgrade, Lena takes the day off to go in with Fareeha to the local hospital.
The place is huge, she stands with her mouth agape, staring in awe. Fareeha just smiles and stands with her, she did that too when she left the place for the first time after her recovery. To think she had spent four months of her life in the building before even seeing the outside of it.
Fareeha tells her little stories as they pass through the halls, up the stairs cause hey, it's healthy and the view through the glass is brilliant. They pass by a few waiting rooms, slowly the general patients pitter away to those with prosthetics, some old faces that Fareeha can recognize. She looks down to their clasped hands.
Navy blue against Lena's skin.
A stirring reminiscent of something she used to cry about. It's there, she knows, it'll always be there.
But she smiles and swears she can feel Lena's heartbeat through her hand.
Synthetic skin
A trial, meant to enhance touch sensations, an extra layer to protect the joints, a textured surface to help with grip. The ability to look and feel just like human skin.
Still relatively new, but recommended considering Fareeha's job and workplace where grit could get trapped and damage the joints. It all makes logical sense, Fareeha finds herself agreeing with all the selling points. She turns to Lena, mind half made but curious to what she has to say.
"Think it's great," Lena is rubbing her thumb across the back of Fareeha's hand. "If you want to, love."
Up to her. Fareeha gently unwinds her hand from Lena's, bringing both of them into her lap. Their smooth surface shine in the light of the office room. Blue and gold, her favorite colors. They are a sight that she hated so much at first, but now. The fondness in her heart wins against the disgust that simmers below.
Steps, a journey, Lena told her it took her years until she was comfortable looking at herself in the mirror.
But synthetic skin to mask her prosthetics. Who is really benefiting from that cosmetic point?
"Is it possible…"
And it is. After much conversation, they decide on the model that Fareeha wants. Thin, minimal sensory enhancement, and colored to match the segments below. As if it isn't even there.
She doesn't want to forget the journey they have taken together. How when she sees the blue and gold fingers, now all she can think about is Lena's hands intertwined with hers. Fareeha can't completely ignore the nipping memories at the back of her head, they are meant to be remembered; a lesson.
But it doesn't mean she has to live in them.
So days later, another trip, and they walk out of the hospital hand in hand. The change is barely noticeable, the touch still muted, her hands still slightly colder than the rest of her body with a hum as if it were the casing of a computer.
And this time, Fareeha is okay with that.
