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Chapter 14: Amazing
John shakes off the tiny bit of worry that has wormed its way into his brain as he climbs back into their one-side-cold bed. He stretches out on his back and rests his head on the palms of his hands, absentmindedly pushing away the rather tough pillow. He gives up sleep as a bad job, instead concentrating on the image that his lover has just presented to him unknowingly. It is so unlike Sherlock to be unaware that he is being observed, especially by John. Normally, one can feel the other's presence when they are rooms or even light years away from one another. He considers whether he should be concerned with Sherlock's obliviousness to him. Of course, it could simply be that Sherlock is experiencing a whole new set of emotions, and they all seem to center around a singular mass of azure cells floating in that tank in the lab.
John has one, too, though, somehow the idea does not seem to fascinate him nearly as much. He knows himself: the fascination will come when he wakes up wearing the costume, as he has come to think of it. He is actually looking forward to the first day that they can finally explore the wilderness on their own, sans masks, sans gloves, nothing but themselves. No matter what is going through Sherlock's mind, at least they will be together. He closes his eyes against the dullness of the shadowed rafters in the ceiling.
He lets his thoughts ramble for a bit, finally settling on a memory from before he answered the Admiral's want-ad. He remembers finally feeling like his life could mean something again, that the empty sound of loneliness that never left his ears could be hushed. He thinks about his sister's histrionics when he told her he was taking the job, the foolish way she cried and clutched at his shoulders. It was all foolish; and he knew it, she knew it, too. Of course, it was absolutely the truth that they had no one else but each other after the past couple of wars on Earth. He has not spoken to Harriet since that day; he never even sent her a notice that he had made it aboard the Neo-Tethys in one piece. She has never tried to contact him, either; and there is no possible way that she did not see or hear at least something about the Time Gate. Not when the information was everywhere. He is curious as to whether she even knows about his promotion to Ambassador or if she knows about his very obvious relationship with Captain Holmes.
Unbidden, the constantly curious look in Sherlock's glossy peridot eyes appear in his mind. He contemplates the depths of what he feels for the other man, never questioning it, always knowing that even without the words that the emotion is returned. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and sits up. John swings his legs over the side of the bed and moves swiftly across the floor, fully intent on marching into the lab and dragging Sherlock back to bed cave-man style. His plans are completely waylaid, however, when he walks directly into the man's chest with a thud and a surprised croak that he will swear did not come out of him. He gets his bearings and steps back, placing his hands on Sherlock's forearms.
In the dim light from the dirty pane of the small window of their room, John can see the flash of emerald in Sherlock's irises staring down into his face: the reality is so much better than the vision from a moment ago that spurred him forward. He has no control over the exhale that pulls itself out of his chest. Sherlock notices the sound and dips his head, one of his long-fingered hands making a web over John's bare shoulder before he kisses him. Suddenly their tongues are fighting for dominance and Sherlock is the cave-man dragging his lover towards the bed. He pushes John down into the mattress as he clambers over, straddling the muscular thighs with his own before his fingers drift southward, dipping gently into the waistband of John's pajamas. John's hips roll upward and he tightens his grip about Sherlock's pelvis, grinding them together. Sherlock pulls away, his mouth still close to the shell of John's ear with a soft whisper: "It's almost over." When he speaks so closely, the rasp of his stubble is clearly audible against the skin of the side of his face.
It takes John a moment to understand what Sherlock is talking about through the haze of want fogging his brain. His hands go to the captain's arms and he anchors himself long enough to get his thoughts in order. "What is almost over, Sherlock?" He is quite proud of the fact that his voice sounds somewhat normal.
"The growth period of the avatars, John; probably no more than two or three days." Sherlock's gaze moves from John's eyes inward. John's hand slides up Sherlock's arm and cups his chin, forcing those marvelous eyes to return to him. Weak pink daylight is slowly seeping into the room through the window high above the bed, casting deep shadows under Sherlock's eyes and highlighting his prominent cheekbones. John sighs, hugs Sherlock close to him and rolls over so that they are side by side.
"Rest, Sherlock." He says as Sherlock's eyes slip closed.
"I am just saying that I think it might be a bit dangerous, John." Greg sits across the dining table from the ambassador, nursing a cup of what is passing for coffee at the moment.
"Dangerous, how?" John queries, taking a deep drink from his own cup; he makes a slight face against the bitter brew, though he is too polite to say anything. George is hooting softly as he works in the kitchen behind them. He sets the cup down on the table, resting his hands beside it. "That's the second time either you, Mycroft or Una has said something to me to that effect. Now, please, for the sake of my sanity, explain."
Greg does not pull any punches. "It seems like the captain may be getting too emotionally involved in the project, John. Maybe it will cause him to lose sight of what's important here. Lookit what happened to that Sully chap."
John rolls that around in his mind for a moment. The sight of Sherlock's face last night and the look on his face when he first discovered the metal caskets to be operational flash through his memory like a slide show. He is not going to be put off, however. "Greg, right now Sherlock is the only one with enough knowledge to make both parts of this mission operational. I understand these fears, though I believe that may be unfounded…well, mostly. Will it help if I say I'll be there with him the entire time? I will keep your concerns in mind."
Greg just nods into his cup, taking another sip and then pushing it away from him on the table. His expression clearly says that is foul. George sounds so happy to be helping out that he knows they will all just grin and bear it.
"How long, then?" He asks.
"From what he said early this morning, it could be as little as two or three days."
Greg whistles. "Wow. That's impressive."
"This is what he does, Greg. He either invents what he needs or adapts whatever is present. It is thanks to him that our re-breather masks aren't as heavy as the originals. Trust me, I had that thing on for five minutes and I thought my head was going to split from the pressure."
George scoots into the dining area, his tentacles making the slightest dragging noises across the floor. He stands between the two men and rests a tentacle on each shoulder. George hoots a bit and then makes a funny sound that seems like a cross between a snort and a hum.
Greg nods in understanding and turns to explain to John when the Odal hooks the two mugs and returns them to the kitchen. "He says that he cares for the captain, too, and wants to be of help."
John smiles and turns in his chair to face the Odal. "George, you are a big help. If it had not been for your speedy data-entry skills, the project would not be as far along as it is now." George makes another satisfied sound and John stands. "Well, I need to get out of here for a while. Fancy a spar?"
Greg grins, his beautiful smile flashing from ear to ear. "Absolutely!" He says and claps John on the back as the move towards the tunnel.
The sparring session goes well and they return to the lab sweaty but relaxed and confident of their skills. John was able to disarm Greg twice, though Greg was unable to get past John at all. John is only thinking of a shower as he tugs off his mask, though the sight that greets him is enough to stop him in his tracks and take his brain completely offline.
The bodies of the avatars have grown ridiculously fast. Sherlock's chemical accelerants have completely eclipsed their expectations. Sherlock stands with his back to the room, his hands clasped behind his back and seems to be in quiet contemplation of the almost-grown Na'vi body floating in front of him. If John did not know what the avatar is supposed to look like, he would never see the tiny missing details of finger and toe nails, eye brows and the intensity of the marks against the blue skin. Fascinated, he moves towards the body in the other tank.
It is like peering into some otherworldly mirror: his facial structure encased in azure skin with a long black que floating down the avatar's back. He studies the hair for a moment, intrigued to see what appears to be a set of tentacles at the very end of the que. They are waving softly in the liquid the body is floating in. It is hypnotically beautiful and strange and wonderful all at the same time. He tears himself away from his avatar to stand beside Sherlock. He gazes at the familiar expression on the body in front of him and then turns to see the original staring down at him. For the rest of his life John will try anything in his power to never erase that look off his lover's face. It is a thrilled expression of amazement, wonder, pride and perhaps a little trepidation of what the future holds. It is innocent and knowing in the same sense that he can absolutely feel Sherlock's heart beating as if there were only one between them.
"Amazing." He whispers reverently.