Megara stilled for a moment at his words, her eyes softening as she met his gaze. Forever is such a long time, she murmured, her tone quiet, almost reverent. The weight of his sentiment settled over her, and she let it linger, brushing her thumb against the edge of her wine glass. A promise, she thought, her heart tugging at the bittersweet edge of it. The unresolved issue of his heart still hung over them, but there was no doubts over where they stood.
Setting her glass down on the table, Meg glanced toward the couch and plucked a cushion from it, holding it to her chest for a moment before moving to the stool. I think here’s a good place to start, she said, her voice warm.
Tilting her head, she gave him a faint smile over her shoulder. It feels right. To have those words with me. Even if I don’t hear them, I can carry them. Her fingers traced a small circle on her knee, grounding herself in the moment. They’ll be a reminder, no matter what comes of us, that we’re one. We’re Family, and Home.
Her head turned slightly as she shifted her braids to one side, baring the nape of her neck. Alright, you poet, she said softly, her voice tinged with some excitement. Let’s make it permanent.
Nairn hummed, cracking a grin, That's why it's only 'til the end of my life, he teased, though there was a somber undertone to his voice. He understood, and often made light of (much to her annoyance) his circumstance. After I'm gone, you're on your own.
She settled on the stool, and he began to prepare the paints. Patiently mixing some of them, until he had a shimmertone gradiant, that he was certain would catch the light lovely when her hair was up off of her neck.
He pulled up another stool, and settled just behind of her, adjusting how she was sitting, until he was happy with it. Mmm. I'm glad you take peace in them, there's not much I can do to give you peace often. He mused, quietly, as he dipped the tip of the needle.
Nairn worked slowly, meticulously. And he made many passes, ensuring the ink took, before he'd move to the next. Eventually, just at their two-hour mark, he moved her to lay across the table. One more pass, he murmured.
Finally laying his tools aside, he'd clean her neck gently, with a cool cloth. Wanna see? He inquired, already looking for the small mirror that she sometimes used when trimming his hair.
Megara let out a soft chuckle, though the weight of his words lingered in the air between them. After you're gone? she murmured, shaking her head slightly. You act like you’re planning for that day tomorrow. Guess what, Nairn? You're stuck with me for as long as that heart keeps beating. Maybe longer. There was a quiet determination in her voice, though it softened as she settled further onto the stool. Megara was sure that even after her flesh was dust, their essence would seek the other out, somewhere beyond the stars.
She remained still as he worked, her hands resting lightly in her lap. The hum of his voice as he spoke brought a faint smile to her lips, though she didn’t turn to look at him. You give me peace in more ways than you think, she said softly, her tone steady. Even on the worst days, you're my constant. And now, she paused, the faintest tug of a smile breaking through, I'll have this to carry with me. Always.
As the time passed, she let herself focus on the rhythm of his movements, the faint sting of the needle grounding her in the moment. When he finally moved her to the table, she complied without complaint, shifting her weight carefully to accommodate him. Her eyes closed briefly as he finished, a slow breath escaping her lips.
When the cool cloth brushed her skin, she opened her eyes again and lifted her head slightly to glance at him. ”Wanna see?” he asked, and she couldn’t help the small, tired smile that spread across her face.
Of course I do, she replied, sitting up slowly. Though I think I already know it’s perfect. She took the mirror from his hands, angling it to catch the light. Her breath caught as she saw the delicate dots and lines shimmering against her skin, the code etched with care and precision. Fingertips brushing the edges of the fresh tattoo, she whispered, It's beautiful, Nairn.
Turning to meet his gaze, her eyes were warm, though her voice carried a teasing edge. I’ll just have to wear my hair up every day now. Gonna need to learn some new updo’s.
Nairn snorted softly, I'm not planning to die tomorrow, no. But it is a possibility, and a certainty, that this thing will eventually stop beating or it'll poison me. He thumped the metal casing over his chest, to prove his point. I'm on borrowed time, Megara, and you're kind enough to love me in spite of that. He murmured, quietly.
As she promised him that he brought her more peace than not, he shook his head gently. She was in denial; his being back was still too fresh for the reality to be reality. That's what this was.
By the time he'd finished, she was eager to see his work, and he grinned at her praise. And then her teasing made him blush, and he leaned for a kiss. I like that idea, ma vhenan. Those words on display, almost no-one outside of the C knowing what they meant, and everyone in the C knowing clear...
Megara watched him carefully, her fingers still ghosting over the fresh ink. His words carried the weight of certainty, the kind she had no power to argue against—but she could still choose to ignore it, for now. Borrowed time or not, she said, her voice steady, I’ll take every second of it. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the metal casing he’d thumped moments before. And you don’t get to decide that kindness has anything to do with it. I love you because you’re you, Nairn. No matter how much time we have.
She let that truth settle between them, knowing he’d take it as he always did—quietly, with that particular brand of stubbornness he wore so well.
His blush brought the faintest smirk to her lips, and as he leaned in for a kiss, she met him halfway, letting it linger just a little longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her fingers trailed down his arm before she finally stretched, rolling her shoulders. Mmm, well, if you like the idea, I suppose I have no choice now, she teased lightly, though there was no reluctance in her tone.
Turning back toward the mirror, she took one last look at the shimmering script. It was theirs alone—words meant for her, etched into her skin by his hand. A silent promise, in a world where spoken ones often broke too easily.
With a slow, contented sigh, she finally pushed herself up from the table. Come on you, she murmured, reaching for her abandoned wine glass. You’ve had me sitting still for ages, and I’m fairly certain I’ve earned another drink. She glanced at him over her shoulder, warmth in her eyes. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll spill some and you can lick it off me.
