OOMM: Data and River in London

[ol_yellow_eyes]

[OOC: Continued from here.]

It had been going so well.

What started as a casual evening stroll through Highgate Cemetery in 19th-century London somehow turned into a flight for their lives. Data did not know why they were running, only what they were running from-- three rather large human males, who seemed quite angry about something. He had also caught glimpses of weapons in their possession, namely a pistol and what seemed to be a horsewhip. (He might have wanted to observe them more closely if he had not been so concerned for River's safety.)

She knew the city better than he did, and she was the one who suggested they take advantage of the city's sewage system.

And that is how they ended up here.

Data turns to River finally. "Now that we are no longer in immediate danger, may I ask why those men might have been pursuing us?"

Comments

[hell_in_highheels]

River coughs and splutters, more than a few mouthfuls of foetid Thames water coming back up. She's bedraggled as a cat gone through the laundry, and about as pleased. She holds tightly to his arm as she tries to clear her airway, each choking cough less rough than the one before. When she can breathe again, she sighs, leaning heavily against him.

"Not as elegant an escape as -- I could hope for -- but -- effective..."

He'll notice she tucks the sonic screwdriver back in its holster at her waist.

"Now we really need a bath and a change of clothes."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

"That would be a wise course of action," Data agrees, with a nod. "It is imperative that we find a dry set of clothes for you to wear, because of the low temperature of the water..." Data, she may notice, is actually rather warm.

There is a slight smile playing on his lips as his voice trails off; he is relieved that she seems to be okay, that she is talking again. But he wonders-- a little anxiously-- if there is anything else he can do for her.

"Are you certain you are all right?" he asks. He needs her reassurance before he will let her get up.

[hell_in_highheels]

She still leans heavily on his arm, one hand coming up to explore the back of her head, fingertips probing in her thick hair, gingerly.

"My head is killing me," she confesses, looking a bit sheepish.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

"You have suffered a concussion," he says, his voice softer. He tips her chin up gently, checking her eyes for pupil dilation.

"Perhaps you should rest a bit before attempting to stand," he says, almost like a question.

[hell_in_highheels]

She returns his gaze, eyes going a little wide, but nothing outside of normal parameters.

"We need to get moving. They'll figure it out soon enough. Do you have some sort of mapping technology? I can give you -- oh -- coordinates. In case I, heaven forbid, lose consciousness again."

She really would like for that not to happen, please. Bad enough he's seen her with her hair all bedraggled, looking like something the cat dragged in.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

Data nods. "I have something very comparable to that. Do you have some location in mind where we should go?"

[hell_in_highheels]

She reels off a set of numbers, latitude and longitude, her long term memory obviously not impaired.

"You're not injured, are you?" Her voice is tinged with worry, and no small amount of chagrin, embarrassed for having waited so long to inquire.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

"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.

[hell_in_highheels]

"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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

"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."

[hell_in_highheels]

"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."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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?"

[hell_in_highheels]

"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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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."

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

"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.)

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

"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.

[ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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.