ol_yellow_eyes | OOMM: Data and River in London

"I am not damaged," Data tells her. "My systems absorbed a bit of water, but that is normal whenever I attempt to swim. It does not interfere with any of my internal processes."

He adjusts to bring himself up to a kneeling position, still holding onto her. "Would you like help standing up?"

He is only asking to be polite-- he will help her whether she wants it or not.

"Such a gentleman," she says, still obviously leaning heavily on him. "Your daughter is going to have my head on a platter, isn't she?"

She laughs under her breath, and then winces, her eyes squinting shut. "I've stashed a medkit at the hotel. I think perhaps -- we shouldn't dawdle."

Understatement. If she really is concussed, she'll need medical attention right quick.

"We will not mention this to her," he says, cracking a half-smile.

He starts to help her walk, but he does mention, "I could simply carry you, if you prefer."

"No. No, don't want to draw attention."

She wraps a hand around his waist, looking up at him with a strange look in her eye.

"Just pretend that I've had too much to drink. We're not too far."

Data cannot quite read her expression, but it is noted.

He nods once in response to her suggestion, and brings one arm around her back to support her. He will lead her like this all the way to the hotel, if River is able to walk that far.

The hotel in question is less a proper, upstanding establishment and more of a sordid conglomeration of rooms for let. She leans heavily on him and giggles and laughs through the foyer and up the stairs, ignoring the matron's glares as she watches them ascend.

"She'll be wanting her cut, later, I suppose." River keeps him close as she fishes out the key to the room she keeps.

The room is small, a simple bed in one corner, with a wash basin and a wardrobe. There's a table with two rickety old chairs as well. She settles into one of these chairs with a wince and a sigh.

"Under the bed." He'll find a beat to hell leather bag that reveals a very advanced medkit inside.

Data finds the medkit and returns to River's side quickly, as if uncomfortable being away from her side for too long. Before administering any sort of remedy, he takes a moment to assess the damage with his tricorder. It seems that her concussion was relatively mild and would heal with rest, but he will use anything in the medkit he finds that would assist in the process.

As he works, he asks, "Do you store any clothing in this room that you might be able to change into?"

Also, noting that the chair does not look very comfortable, he adds, "Are you certain you would not prefer to lie down?"

"Why, Captain," River drawls, smiling even through the pain. "If you want to get me out of my clothes and into bed, you're going to have to put a little more effort into it than that."

She tries to laugh, and winces again, idly waving a hand at the wardrobe.

Data's eyebrows shoot up at that. For a few split seconds-- an eternity for an android-- he is actually not sure what to say.

But he notices her indicating the wardrobe, and remembers what he needs to do. So he gets up to open it and look inside for something dry and warm.

"I did not mean to imply that," he mentions, a little awkwardly, knowing full well that she is aware of that and was simply making a joke. He is feeling oddly embarrassed, suddenly...

...And now that the thought is there, he seems strangely preoccupied with it, like he is experiencing a feedback loop in his neural network.

She sees the pause. Curiouser and curiouser. He is unlike any artificial life form she's ever met. Far more thoughtful, and compassionate. (And now the thought is niggling in the back of her brain, how far such compassion might extend.)

In the wardrobe he finds a woman's plain cotton shift, and the black over dress of a washer woman. She takes them from him, and catches his eye.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You do not have to apologize," Data tells her. "You were simply attempting to use humor to diffuse the tension of the situation, were you not? It is quite natural to do that; for some people, it is their way of dealing with difficult or awkward circumstances. And the joke itself was well-phrased, well-timed, and appropriate to the situation..."

(Ever since Data has had the capability to feel nervous, he has noticed an odd pattern:

He tends to babble.)

River reaches up a hand and catches him by the notch in his uniform tunic, pulling him down until he's eye to eye with her. It isn't that much of a stretch to lean up and catch his mouth in a soft kiss, not precisely chaste, but not overly intrusive either. It lingers long enough to defy classification as a peck, but not much longer than that.

When she speaks, her voice is pitched low, a husky tone that betrays a certain amount of arousal.

"It wasn't awkward, and it certainly wasn't difficult, Captain.

Data blinks a couple of times in surprise at her kiss, but then closes his eyes and settles into it, just as it is ending. He does not pull back very far, and his gaze flickers around her face for a few quiet moments, memorizing it, taking it in.

"You should change," he mentions. But he does not immediately move to give her room to do so.

Her pulse rate skyrocketed in the moments under his gaze, and a million capillaries dilated, making her cheeks flush with colour. Her pupils widened, and her irises grew dark, flush with blood. She licked her lips and tilted her head to the side.

"You're not the first person to say that, but I assure, my nature is quite ingrained." The quip is punctuated with a cheeky wink.

"But you're right." She finally lets him go, and without any sort of attempt at shame, she starts unbuttoning her blouse.

Data straightens, but his gaze lingers on River a few seconds longer than his etiquette program indicates is polite. He finally distracts himself by kneeling to replace the first aid supplies he removed back into the medkit.

The rate of his pulse-- if one can call it a "pulse"-- has increased quite significantly. His external temperature is higher than normal, though there is no discoloration that would indicate a flush. But his mental processes are running at an unusually fast rate, as he ponders all of the possible signs of arousal he has noticed in River. This is the part he still has difficulty with... He can read the signs, but he would still prefer it if he had some sort of instinct he could rely on...

He pauses after closing the medkit. He is still politely averting his eyes despite their relatively close proximity.

"Thank you," she says, slipping the wet garment off and letting it fall to the floor. "My head is feeling much better now." Her fingers take their time working the button of her trousers. That undone, she bends to start unlacing her boots.

She has curves. Curves upon curves. She is a woman in her prime and it shows.

"Didn't know your programming included a modesty algorithm." He's learning to recognise that saucy lilt in her voice as an affectionate tease.

Data is not feeling ambitious enough to appreciate her curves, just yet. He lets his gaze wander inconspicuously upwards only as far as her calves, and stops. He puts the medkit back into the leather bag exactly as it was, and gets up to replace it underneath the bed.

"It does," he replies, his back turned. "I did not have it originally, I was told, but apparently it became necessary." He stops there, noticing a small surge of the emotion he has come to know as embarrassment. And suddenly he wonders why he told her that.

Now that the medkit is back in its proper place, Data stands up again, not quite sure what to do with himself.

Out of her boots, River stands, still a bit wobbly, but not much, and begins to work her trousers down over her hips.

"Body modesty is such a quaint custom, I find. Too many years working in subtropical regions, I suppose. It's all right. You can look if you like."

She knows she's making him uncomfortable, but she gets the sense that sometimes he needs to be shoved bodily out of his comfort zones.

Data only hesitates for a few seconds after that, turning halfway at first, then stepping to face her completely.

And he looks.

She is beautiful. All organic life is beautiful, he thinks, in a way that is natural and flowing and imperfect, but he cannot miss the fact that River is a fine specimen of her species. A woman in her prime, indeed-- her curves indicate every traditional ideal of fertility and sensuality. Grace and confidence seem to radiate from her in a way that his senses can almost detect physically, and it is clear to him that she is just as comfortable with his gaze as she had implied.

It is probably impossible to tell that this is what he is thinking, however. He has not moved; he is simply looking, with an expression that is perhaps unreadable.

Edited 2010-11-18 09:35 (UTC)

River is excellent at reading faces, and it is utterly impossible to tell what he's thinking.

She knows that she's still awash in river filth, and painfully aware of the bit of dried blood in her hair. Nevertheless, he's a big boy and if he has a problem with her nudity, she trusts he'll say something. She bends and fishes her sonic screwdriver out of the pocket of her trousers, and uses it to heat the water in the pitcher on the side board. She pours the now steaming water into the basin, and wets a face cloth, wringing it out.

Her eyes close as she wipes her face and throat, and he can hear her sigh, long and drawn out.

"Remind me never to play cards with you."

Data blinks at that, and he looks more alert. "I beg your pardon?" He has not made the necessary connection.

It is possible that he might have, if he was not so distracted.

(His eyes had been following a drop of water that started to slide beneath her collarbone.)

She turns her back and addresses his image in the mirror. One hand draws her hair up off her nape so she can wash her neck and shoulders.

"You play your cards very close to the chest. Humans tend to communicate all the time, a never ending stream of information, 90% of it non-verbal, even when they don't know they're doing it. You?"

She smirks at him and gives a little headshake, hands rising and wringing out the cloth.

"I am more conscious of the forms of non-verbal communication I am displaying at any given time," Data admits. "Not completely, however, if I am not choosing to monitor them. And there are some functions I cannot consciously control."

His pulse rate, for example. Or the fact that the average duration of time between the blinks of his eyes has become noticeably shorter. Or that even his breathing is slightly faster, as his systems try to regulate an increase in temperature.

"In regards to what humans communicate, it does not give me as much of an advantage as one might assume. I do not always interpret the signs correctly." There is something almost vulnerable in his expression as he makes this observation, like it is more of a question.

(But River may notice that his gaze is not quite directed at her face in the glass. It is slowly tracing the curves of her neck and shoulders, like a paintbrush trying to capture them on a canvas.)

Edited 2010-11-19 17:55 (UTC)

She is noticing. It's the first hint she's had that he's paying attention. She continues her ablutions, her movements slow, almost dreamlike. Careful certainly because of the thrashing she's taken, and yes, she has the bruises to show for it, but there's something else there.

"Yes, we're very complex machines in our own right, aren't we? But I think you understand us far more than you give yourself credit for. And besides," she turns to look at him over her shoulder, "part of the allure of such interactions is the uncertainty."

"I have heard that," Data says, rather slowly.

"But I assure you, I am somewhat inept when it comes to deciphering human body language. I do not have the instinct that most humans seem to possess.

"I would guess... that you are probably better at reading people than I am..."

His eyes have slipped somewhere down by her waist at this point.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject