betterthanaplan | The Cape Rouge, Tuesday afternoon

Duke was having one of those days. The ones where he was still in bed well after his partners had gotten up to start their days. The ones where he would quite possibly still be there when they came back to bed in the evening.

Some days he'd push himself, even when he was in this mood, and manage to crawl out of bed at least long enough to rub his brush over his teeth in the bathroom and shove a spoonful of peanut butter into him, without either Lucifer or Octavia having to push him through it.

He wasn't sure yet if this would be that sort of this sort of day, yet.

The singing, though. That part was new.

"What's the blues, when you've got the greys?
I think I've given up, my body's given in,
In a building, i lie still, and then i turn back over again
In a building that has heating
And sweat sweat sweat sweat dried-on stains."

He managed to sit up, though his body felt like it weighed approximately three tons. (Like it might capsize his boat if he moved around too much. And wouldn't that maybe be nice?)

"I'm sick of feeling sick and not throwing up
And you sit in my stomach and you seem to be stuck
And it won't work its way through my guts and just go away
I woke up this afternoon thought maybe today
That the world might be a more colorful place
But there's no luck, it's still just grey."

He slumped at the end of the bed, staring at the door to the rest of the boat.

"Come back here."

[for anyone with a reason to show up, sure!]

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Duke leaned a little more heavily into her and sipped his juice.

"Well. Maybe I need to say it. Thank you."

"De nada," Octavia murmured.

And finally offered him tye rest of the sandwich, holding on to the corner she'd torn off for herself.

Sharing.

Duke let out a little huff as he accepted the sandwich, but didn't say anything else. She had her food rituals, and he knew they were important.

He also knew he wasn't going to be able to eat the rest of the sandwich much faster than a nibble at a time, but well. It wasn't nothing, right?

It wasn't a race. Octavia wasn't going to judge him, she just wanted him to eat.

She nuzzled the side of his face, before very carefully popping her own assigned bit of food in her mouth. Like a good example?

It'd be a better example if he were, like, looking. But the thought counted.

Duke bit off a tiny bit of sandwich by the corner she'd ripped off, sighed softly again, and chewed. Just normal, everyday things: Leaning on your partner while forcing yourself to eat. Younger Duke would be ashamed.

(Younger Duke could go fuck himself.)

This was the only Duke they had.

Once Octavia's little bite of sandwich was gone, she reciprocated a little more of his lean. He was warm, and it was enough.

Duke let the silence hang for longer than he might on another day. He was focused instead on the motion of lifting the sandwich to his mouth, taking a bite, chewing, swallowing. . . .

Eventually, though, his instinct to fill the quiet kicked back in.

"Any plans for the day?"

"Well, Dr. Baker had to cancel therapy," Octavia murmured, "so no. And even that's probably for the better."

She really didn't need to sing at her therapist.

Duke winced sympathetically. And paused to see if there would be any music starting up.

"We should maybe warn Luce that something is up."

"You think he hasn't noticed?"

A beat.

"Okay, that was a dumb question."

"I think if he has he might be paranoid his dad has something to do with it," Duke noted wryly. He -- very reluctantly -- sat up from his lean against her to grope for his phone. "We can at least save him some potential stress."

"Honestly, I was thinking he's probably either immune or completely oblivious," Octavia admitted.

"That . . . would be the best case scenario," Duke acknowledged. He'd found his phone and was texting. "You're probably right."

Octavia leaned over and pressed a kiss against his shoulder.

"I think he's gonna be okay," she murmured, trying something wry on for size.

“If not. . . . That’s what we’re here for.”

Oh crap, that was a guitar chord out of nowhere.

“ Nothing fucks with my babies,” Duke crooned.

Then jammed half the rest of his sandwich in his mouth to stop anything else from coming out.

Octavia really wished he'd sing more -- when it wasn't the island making him. In fact, she was going to say so, right now, just to maybe distract him a little, in case that would help.

But, the island had other ideas, pulling out an answering, "Nothing can get a look in on my babies," out of her mouth, instead.

Duke looked up at her, swallowing way too much sandwich in one shot, but luckily not choking.

"Nothing fucks with my babies," he sang again. "Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. . . ."

"Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing..." Octavia harmonized with him, because guess that was a thing now.

Island did what it wanted to.

It sure did.

At least this was some nice quiet singing? They weren't being compelled to dance? Or revealing anything they didn't already know. . . .

"Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?
Ain't it the life you, you're lighting of the blaze?
Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?
Ain't you my baby? ain't you my babe?"

Okay, that was maybe a little rude, there.

Yeah.

Octavia inhaled through her nose, and looked away.

"Nothing fucks with my babies."

Raspier, darker in its mildness.

Duke set the glass of juice aside so he could wrap his arm around her.

"Nothing can get a look in on my babies," he sang into her hair.

He loved her. Even the parts that turned the songs dark.

It spoke to how much work Octavia had put into her mental state the last couple of years that she wasn't storming out right now, at the slightest thing tugging at some of her worst memories.

She curled into him a little. Her arm found its way awkwardly around him.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing..."

Duke kissed her hair as the song faded.

"Ain't you my baby," he said softly. "Every bit of you."

Octavia sighed, quietly.

"Don't always know whether that should be the case," she muttered. "But I want it to be."

“It is. ‘Should be’ or not. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.”

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okteiviakom - 2024-01-26 11:01 (UTC) - Expand