Finished RP: three scenes with River Tam and Drs. Stephen Maturin & Charles Emerson Winchester, III

[r-tam.livejournal.com]

River-Stephen RP:

After the first meeting of J.A.I.L.B.A.I.T., River slipped up to the room she shared with Stephen, carefully avoiding their housemates' line of sight--- after all the sex talk with Ginny, she really wanted some time alone with Stephen.

The room was warded strongly--- but she couldn't feel a presence inside, much less the intense and fractillinear mental patterns she knew as Stephen's. She let herself in--- and froze at the sight that greeted her: Stephen, still fully dressed, sprawled on their bed--- despite the utter absence of his mental presence.

She ran to him and threw herself on the bed against him. "Stephen--- Stephen?" There was a pulse... oh, thank you God if you exist which I'm not sure of, there's a pulse. Then she saw the laudanum bottle on the nightstand and understood--- terror transmuted to rage. "Stephen--- gorram it, you scared me!" She shook him, not sure if he'd respond, more venting her frustrations than expecting a response.

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"Hmm?" Something was shaking him. Stephen mumbled something and rolled over.

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River let out a deep sigh. "Stephen---" Anger (more than half frustrated lust) washed over her. "Damn it, what happened? Why did you..." She gestured helplessly at the laudanum bottle. "What happened?" she begged again, disturbed by the utter absence of anything she could read as a thought--- or even a feeling--- in his mind.

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"Happened?" Stephen was talking into his pillow now. "Winchester." He made a noise of disgust.

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"Wincehster? Dr. Winchester?" River blinked--- grabbed his shoulders impatiently and rolled him over so that she could hear him, since she wasn't getting anything out of his mind. "What do you mean?" A dreadful thought occurred to her. "You didn't call him out again...?" She'd been in Hogsmeade, so the duel couldn't have happened already--- unless they'd gone somewhere else...?

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"Call out? No." Stephen was falling asleep again, a happy drugged sleep.

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"Stephen--- damn it, what happened?" This was agony, absolute agony. And, yes, maybe proof that he was right that River had come to depend too much on her extra senses. But damn it, what the hell else could she do with them? It was like trying not to overhear conversations at a restaurant.... Except that there was silence from his mind now--- no, there was a flicker of something, the faintest sparks in his mind--- life but not much more, even though he was patently alive and there with her. "Damn it!"

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"What?" A distressed voice was calling to Stephen from somewhere remote.

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She tried to calm herself; this wasn't getting anywhere. "Stephen, can you please tell me what in di yu happened with you and Dr. Winchester? What did he do?" Or what did you do, she thought but didn't bother saying.

((OOC: Di yu = hell in Chinese.))

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"Oh ... that." Stephen waved a hand, limply. "Propositioned me--- us, really--- damn fool." Through the haziness, his own outrage and chagrin at the event were still present, but remote, as remote as the insistent voice asking questions. "Experience with instruments. Bloody hell. Who asked him?"

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River stared at him--- now there was definitely something coming through: anger-shame-disgust, as nearly as she could make it out. "He did what?" She didn't entirely expect an answer. "Us? Both of us?" Because there had been nothing in Dr. Winchester's mind like that last night, not at all--- Stephen definitely wasn't his type and while he didn't see her as a child his response to her had been avuncular--- the feel of his mind had reminded her of Book, actually.

Now she was just confused.

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Stephen made a muffled sound. "I have no idea why. Not his fault, or I would have made him pay for it."

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River blinked. Well, at least he hadn't called him out. Of its own accord, her hand went into his close-shorn hair, stroking gently--- she was starting to calm down a little, and if it had been most people she might have actually found his mental state, or lack thereof, calming--- it was just that it was hard enough to decide what to do with him when he was giving her signals. "Whose fault was it?" she asked gently--- rather afraid she knew the answer.

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"You are asking me? I should ask you." Irritation was eroding away into the rising tide of drowsiness.

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"Oh." That made sense, for Stephen-specific values of "sense".

She had the feeling it wasn't going to do much good to keep interrogating him--- she'd gotten the basics, anyway, and anything further was just going to be an exercise in frustration.

Speaking of which.... She got up, took off her dress and duster and hung them up--- she wasn't normally very neat about clothing, but that was her best outfit and she was fond of it--- and went back to the bed, wearing nothing but her boots.

He was still out--- barely conscious if at all. She looked down at him-- the sight of him at once exciting and--- given his state--- frustrating. "Look but don't touch," she whispered--- because he was there but he wasn't; she couldn't have him; she didn't understand why he'd taken himself away from her--- unless it was some strange sort of punishment for whatever he thought she'd done to encourage Dr. Winchester. For a moment, lust and anger mixed in a dizzying cocktail: she was on the verge of throwing herself on him and laying claim to him, viciously---

"It would serve you right if you woke up tomorrow with more contusions than unbroken skin," she muttered--- knowing all the while that she wasn't going to do it. There was a dress flung over one of the bedposts (she thought she might have worn it to one of the Sortings); she grabbed it, threw it on, and left.

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River-Charles self-RP (warning: contains discussion of abortion and birth control!):

River stalked into the common room, seriously considering a night in her old bed, if Fillerbunny and the aardvark didn’t mind--- and wishing she’d stolen Stephen’s sheets again for the purpose.

Charles looked up as she came through; he hadn’t seen her when she came into the dorm--- either because of stealth on her part of inebriation on his, he couldn’t say. “Miss Tam---“ he called hastily to her; it was not, perhaps, the best of times, but it was something that needed to be resolved at once.

River frowned and wondered why he was calling to her, after what Stephen had told her--- though of course, given how completely stoned her lover was, it was possible that the whole thing was an hallucination. “Dr. Winchester.” She went and sat down next to him, at a discreet distance. “Stephen says you had a talk.”

Charles sighed in relief. “Yes, yes indeed--- that was, in fact, what I wanted to talk to you about.” He regarded her intently. “Forgive me for being blunt--- I have intuited that you have, ah, been in some distress recently---“

“Distress? Except for my lover doping himself too senseless to---“ She broke off as the meaning behind his words penetrated. “So that’s what you were asking him?”

“Er---“ Charles stared in bewilderment---

--- as River dissolved in mirth, half bent over, howling. She hadn’t laughed this hard since she’d skunked Jubal Early. “Oh--- and he thought--- but you--- but he--- you thought I--- he--- oh---“

“My dear!” Charles regarded her in some concern. “Are you... quite well?” Was this a side effect of her mental aberrations?

Normally River would have resented that thought, but right now she just found it funny. “It’s not my mental aberrations that are the problem, Doctor,” she said dryly. “You were offering to perform an abortion for me if I needed one, right?”

Charles was a little taken aback by her bluntness--- though he realized he probably shouldn’t have been; but then he’d known women far more overt than she with regard to sex who couldn’t discuss its consequences with anything like the same aplomb. “Indeed,” he said. “Or to provide assistance after a miscarriage. I can’t say I’m entirely fond of the concept--- but more so than I am inflicting the rigors of pregnancy on a young woman with, ah, enough problems as it is,” he felt compelled to add. “Especially given your evident telepathic powers and your stated difficulties with them--- it would really be most unwise.”

River gave him a kindly look. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Doctor,” she said, and leaned over and kissed his cheek impulsively. “And I’m not offended. I mean, really, I’ve killed people; it would be a little hypocritical to be squeamish about abortion.”

Charles nodded faintly. “An... interesting... attitude. And a degree of cool pragmatism not often brought to such a fraught question.” He paused and added, “Dare I ask what Dr. Maturin thought I meant?”

At the reminder, River began to giggle again. “Oh, dear... he thought that... he thought that you wanted...” she covered her face with her hands and peered at him through her fingers. “He thought you, ah, wanted... to be... involved with us. Sexually, I mean.”

For a moment Charles’ brain refused to process it. Then, as the meaning became clear, he stood, walked over to the bar, and poured and drank three cognacs in rapid succession. He looked over at her belatedly. “May... may I get you something, Miss Tam?”

“You can get a seat for yourself,” River was starting to giggle again. “And please, call me River.”

“Ri-River.” The alcohol had begun to hit; he staggered back to the chair. “I didn’t know that was your name.” He blinked. “And what in the devil may I ask made Maturin think a damnfool thing like that?” Dear God--- in the first place, if he were going to consider sleeping with a man, it would at least be someone attractive! And Miss Tam--- River--- might be sweet enough, but Charles wasn't from a period in history when men routinely bedded girls their daughters' age! He had no idea what the customs in River's time were, but society in his time had evolved considerably from Maturin's day, when a girl River's age might be taken for an old maid.

“I don’t really know.” River was as puzzled as Charles. “He kept going on about instruments--- before he passed out from the laudanum, I mean.”

They shared an understanding glance, while Charles’ brain attempted to make sense of that. “Instruments?" He blinked.

"Mmm-hmm," River nodded. "He was awfully upset." She frowned. "He thought it was my fault--- that you thought that we--- that you wanted to---"

"Your fault!" That was outrageous. "Please, my dear girl--- never at any time did I confuse your, ah, attentions to Dr. Maturin with a desire on your part to, ah---" He couldn't even say it.

He didn't need to. River giggled. "Thank you. For being... reasonable. Or at least proving that I'm not the one who isn't."

"In this instance, my dear, I think that is unequivocally the case." Charles leaned back. "How in the world he could have gotten that idea--- I simply inquired whether the two of you needed assistance--- after I saw your sheets yesterday---" An image of the bloodstained bedding came into his mind, and he realized now that he had no explanation for it--- well, beyond the obvious cycles of a woman’s body---

“Oh, no--- I’ve got an implant,” River said, picking that out of his mind. “And--- oh!” she put her hands to her mouth again. “The sheets!” She looked at him. “That’s why--- you were talking about the sheets.”

“Eh... what about them?” Charles blinked at her.

“That’s why he thought you wanted to join us. You offered to, um, help.” She blushed a little. “We can be... rough on each other. And the other night I... um... I put my name on his collarbone--- on the skin over it. With a scalpel.” She looked up at him earnestly and added hastily, “I asked first. And he enjoyed it. Really. I could feel it. And we made love afterward. He couldn’t have done that if... I’d hurt him. I mean, more than he wanted to be.”

Charles was very, very, very glad of the cognac. “I... see,” he said slowly. “You did follow... sterilization guidelines?” The double meaning occurred to him vaguely, but in his present state he couldn’t see how to undo it, and was relieved when she nodded. “Good. You may tell Dr. Maturin for me that I have never in my life had any interest in becoming, ah, involved with another man.” Especially not that one, he thought but did not say--- she’d probably draw it from his mind anyway. “And especially not... in being involved with... such a relationship as you describe. As far as I’m concerned, bloodletting is only for the surgery, not the bedroom.” He regarded her, a little disturbed, and added hastily, “Not that I... I intend any censure. But your Dr. Maturin’s, ah, virtue, is entirely safe with me.” The thought revolted him.

River blinked, a little shocked--- but then, she supposed that someone had to mind them, eventually. “He’ll be glad to hear it,” she ventured nervously.

Charles couldn’t help but notice her unease. “My dear, don’t take it personally,” he said avuncularly--- she still reminded him too much of Honoria, in her brilliant wildness if nothing else, for him to be too appalled. “Just because I find your bedroom practices revolting doesn’t mean I think... any the less of you.” Under normal circumstances it probably would, but he was too busy being revolted by Maturin’s supposition. Though, now that he thought about it: “I’ve actually seen the results of more, ah, exotic fancies when I was a surgeon at Tokyo General.”

River relaxed at that. “Thank you,” she said. “For the offer, I mean. Even though I won’t need it.”

“You can’t be sure--- ah, you spoke of an implant?” Professional curiosity, even in this state, got the better of him.

River nodded, relieved to be on less dangerous ground. “It’s a semi-permanent device--- a combination levonogestrel implant in the uterus and a pair of removable barrier inserts in the Fallopian tubes. Prevents pregnancy and menstruation,” she said easily. “There’s a hundred-year supply of hormones, so it’s permanent if you want it to be, but if you don’t, it’s an office procedure to take it out--- no side effects.” She smiled wistfully. “My mother took me to get it when I was going to the Academy. We thought... we thought I was going to be able to be with... other kids like me there. To... have a life. So she wanted me to be prepared. To be able to have fun if I wanted.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

Charles was not nearly as perturbed by her tears as Maturin had claimed to be, but that didn’t mean he was unmoved. He reached out gently and brushed the tear away. “Ah, but you did end up with a life, didn’t you?” he pointed out with his best bedside manner. “You came here, found friends--- found Maturin--- God help you---“ the last slipped out, not entirely of his free will. On which note, he decided to throw caution to the wind, and asked the question he'd never have done sober. "Pardon my curiosity, but frankly, I fail to see what a young woman of your, ah, evident qualities could possibly see in, ah---" A drug-addicted middle-aged physician from a time when women were still considered property, and one possessed of violent tendencies, to say nothing of an insupportable ego, besides. Well, the mutuality of their violent streaks made some sense of the liaison, but God knew there was hardly a shortage of lethal males around this place!

River blinked; it shocked her to find that someone saw Stephen in this light--- but then, having only recently experienced the double vision of seeing Harry through Ginny's eyes and her own, metaphorically speaking, she was more prepared for the dissonance. "It's... complicated." She looked away, letting herself form a mental picture of Stephen, with all her senses. "But most of it is... we're a lot more alike sometimes than even we realize. Even when we don't understand each other, it's because we're too much alike." Which made her think about Stephen and his opiates, and wonder if his insistence on relying on the drug wasn't in fact the mirror image of her own insistence on avoiding them--- just as his horror at her dancing reflected his own love of dueling. She was going to have to think about that. “It’s like you said: we’re made for each other. She smiled at him. “Thank you, Doctor---“

Charles debated the wisdom of telling her to call him by his given name; under the circumstances, he decided it wouldn’t be wise. At least until Maturin knew he had no interest in violating the sanctity of their bedroom. (God, the ego of that man! reiterated a small part of Charles’ mind.) And he dismissed out of hand the idea of trying to dissuade her from her fixed opinion about Maturin--- if there was one thing he'd learned from his sister's escapades, it was that a woman in love knew no logic but her own. And that the only thing those who cared for her could do was stand by and wait until she came to her senses.

“I’m glad we talked,” River went on, without batting an eyelash at his thoughts. She really couldn’t understand what Dr. Winchester found so unappealing about Stephen--- but then, he wasn’t interested in bloodletting, either.

“Ah, so am I, my dear,” Charles answered vaguely, not sure he was up to calling her by name at this juncture. “Now, if you don’t mind, I do believe I’m going to, ah, fall into bed....” He got unsteadily to his feet and wobbled across the room.

River watched him go with amusement, then decided that she was actually in the mood to go sleep with Stephen.

Who was still a boob. But at least she wasn’t ready to kill him--- it was impossible, for her, anyway, to make herself want to kill someone who had made her laugh quite that much.

 Solo scene: River returns to the room she and Stephen share:

Stephen was out cold when she returned, still fully dressed. She warded the room with the ease of habit, as well as locking the door, then undressed, climbed into bed and lay down next to him--- over him. “You are such a boob,” she said fondly, stroking his face, letting her hand run up into the close-cropped hair, then back down the side of his face, his neck, to his collarbone and the mark there. Her mark on him.

He didn’t stir as she touched him, lying there asleep and vulnerable, as she’d watched him that first night. The sight of him so made her feel at once tender... and now, almost violently amorous. She wanted to lie by his side and guard his sleep, and she wanted to take him--- teeth, hands biting into his flesh, rubbing all along his body---

But she hadn’t asked. Hadn’t set parameters--- if he would mind if she did that, when he was like this. Which meant that she wouldn’t.

She smiled at that thought: Stephen, would you mind waking up from one of your opiate-induced stupors with more contusions than skin? Knowing him he probably wouldn’t, actually.

But she couldn’t know. That was almost more aggravating that anything else--- not that he was effectively refusing her; “Not tonight, sweetheart,” always had to be an acceptable response, for him as much as her (not that she could imagine ever not wanting him) but that there was no response from him; that he wasn’t, in essence, there at all--- so drugged there was almost nothing for her to read.

It made her realize consciously for the first time just how much she depended on her sense of him to determine his consent--- because for better or for worse she had learned in the early days of their involvement not to trust the words he said. Because he would say one thing--- push her away--- even as his mind begged helplessly for her to stay. She had gotten used to listening for, and to, that--- the hot molten core of his mind that pulled her with a magnetic attraction, sometimes demanding, sometimes supplicating, always hers--- always consent and more than consent, even when he glared or grumbled or scowled at her “lack of discretion”--- always, that evidence that no matter what his mouth said, no matter what he for some obscure reason believed he had to say, he wanted her and wanted what she was doing.

It had taken Dr. Winchester’s comment--- and his obvious sympathy for Stephen--- to shake her out of that mindset, make her look twice at what she was doing... doing to him. That she needed to listen to all of it, not just the comfortable parts.

And there wasn’t even that to listen to now. Wasn’t... anything. If she couldn’t trust herself to know what he wanted when he was awake and functional, she certainly couldn’t now, when he was neither.

She thought about leaving, not least so that she could do something about her present state of tension by herself--- it seemed somehow wrong to masturbate while he was lying there next to her, almost as bad as assaulting him in his drugged stupor. But in the first place, given his state of mental disorder and what he’d thought about Dr. Winchester, he’d probably be intensely upset if he woke up alone.

And in the second, frustrated or not, she didn’t want to sleep alone.

She made herself settle more comfortably against him, smelling the familiar, mouth-watering scent of his skin, and nestled in against him--- intensely frustrated. Without thinking, her leg slipped over his, shifting, settling with his thigh between hers---

The contact, innocent as it was and with him still fully clothed, was, in her present state of tension, just enough--- she spasmed, shuddered against him and could not suppress a cry of relief.

When the shudders subsided, she raised herself up on one elbow to look down at him. Damn it, that really wasn’t fair, was it? Almost like taking advantage of him---

Unintentional, though. Men had nocturnal emissions; it wouldn’t disturb her if Stephen did while they were sleeping together (though at present she suspected she was probably putting enough of a demand on his system that he didn’t have anything left for erotic dreams). She hadn’t meant to--- but she still felt she should apologize. When, that is, he was cogent enough to respond.

She nestled in against him, cuddling up, the tension in her body at least relieved despite herself. And, finally, somehow, she managed to fall asleep.