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The season of curiosity is everlasting
and the hour for adventure never ends,
but tonight
even the men who walked upon the moon
are lying content
...
because once more the moon and the
earth are eloping -
...
and probably
everything
is possible.
from Worm Moon - Mary Oliver
‘What is the purpose of touching the plants?’
‘What?’
Raffi turns sharply, distracted from her task of watering and misting. She is fussing, she knows she is, but she needs a moment to gather herself. Hanging out here, on her porch, at her trailer, had been her idea, but faced with the reality of Seven this close, this intimate, has been just a bit more overwhelming than she expected.
‘You touch every plant.’ Seven indicates with her head. ‘I understand the water and the spray, but what purpose does the touching serve?’
She stands as she speaks, pushing herself up from the low chair with a fluidity and force that does something to Raffi. She has to clear her throat before she answers.
‘I guess I like it. They feel good.'
There's more to it, of course. There's the fussing, trying to cope with the rising panic about what she does now that she has this incredible woman in her space, how she does this, communicates, connects, takes things further without fucking it up, how she copes with the insecurities without reaching for a bottle; the little voices in her head that wonder if she even can, if she is even worth asking someone to make the effort for. There's all that, and then there's how she feels about the plants themselves, how they ground her and ask just enough commitment to keep her alive some days and functioning just enough to keep them alive - how, even now, when she's trying to move out of that space, and actually thinks she has a chance this time, she feels she owes them for the years they have done that for her. But that's a lot. Too much, right now. For both of them, definitely for Seven. So Raffi deflects.
'Do you want to try?’
‘May I?’ Seven sounds surprised. Raffi wonders how much close contact she has had with plants before. From what her intel files say, Seven has spent most of her life in space.
‘Here.’ Raffi gestures towards a nearby umbellifer, tiny white flowers clustered at the top of a tall narrow stem. ‘Try this one.’
Seven raises her hand tentatively, none of that usual swagger or confidence now. She skims her palm over the surface of the flower heads. Her eyes widen in surprise.
‘It tickles.’
‘Tickles?’ Raffi’s face lights up with delight.
-
‘May I touch this one?’ Seven moves along, picking out something much smaller, more compact.
‘Sure, honey.’ Raffi tracks her movements. This, this is unexpected, but so… moving.
This plant is different, thick waxy leaves. Seven finds herself testing the give of its surface with her thumbnail. The suggestion of resistance, the promise of surrender.
‘I like to do that.’ Raffi chuckles. ‘Dig my nail in. Why don’t you try?’
Seven frowns slightly. ‘I don’t want to damage it.’
‘The plant will heal itself. It won’t hurt it. See?’
Raffi reaches over to catch at a leaf of the succulent beside the one Seven is holding. She runs her thumbnail in a light scratch over the surface then sinks it slowly into the fleshiest part. Her grin when she meets Seven’s eyes is infectious.
‘Wanna try?’
Seven copies her movements, finding the best spot before pressing the edge of her nail into the leaf, increasing the pressure with immaculate control until the point the surface gives.
The laugh that bubbles out of her in reaction paints warmth up the sides of Raffi’s rib cage and down to her hips.
‘Good, right?’
-
Together they work their way along the row, Seven all quiet focus and Raffi bubbling with contained joy.
'Careful with that one. The edges can be sharp, cut you. You can touch it like this,’ she demonstrates. ‘But you have to be careful.'
Seven raises her left, augmented hand, then hesitates.
'May I…?'
'Do you want to?' Raffi’s voice drops almost to a whisper as something curls in her stomach deliciously.
'I will not damage it. I have an enhanced level of fine motor control. I can be… gentle.'
'Ok.' Raffi breathes, nodding. 'Do you want to?'
'Yes.'
Raffi watches intently as Seven’s tritanium-and-flesh entwined fingers slide delicately over the long narrow leaves.
A tiny gasp catches in the back of Seven’s throat and Raffi winces.
‘Oh honey, did it get you?’ Raffi’s hand flits instinctively towards Seven’s wrist, hovering just shy of making contact.
'No,' Seven says softly, the expression on her face complex and unreadable. 'It cannot harm me.'
She turns her hand so that Raffi can see the unmarked fingertips.
'The sensation.' Seven swallows and Raffi’s eyes track the movement in her throat. 'It surprised me.'
'It doesn’t hurt?' Raffi checks again, caught between her concern and other, more complicated feelings.
Seven’s fingers return to the leaf, holding it delicately between her thumb and first two fingers.
'It feels…'
She slides her digits slowly up the length of the leaf, drawing them toward the tip.
'I don’t know how to describe it.'
'Try?' The soft request escapes Raffi’s lips before she can call it back. If you want to, she adds, hurriedly, trying to suppress the yearning that rushes her: to hear more from this incredible woman beside her, to gain some insight into how she is experiencing this moment, this touch, to see her old familiar plants through Seven’s eyes, through Seven’s fingers.
Seven lifts her eyes to Raffi’s and the openness and warm curiosity she finds there make her want to find words to give her.
'I can feel the edge… like a blade, she begins slowly. But without the pain. It is pure sensation, condensed into the finest of lines.'
Her fingers trace the length of the leaf again, eyelashes fluttering as the feeling shoots from her fingers right through her body, following the pathways of her Borg technology. She has no words for this, especially not to someone so new as Raffi, someone she desperately wants to trust but isn’t quite ready for yet. The most she can manage is to hold her gaze, put as much weight and meaning behind the few words she can find as she says,
'It is compelling.'
Raffi seems to understand, a little at least. She nods, eyes bright.
'You have enhanced sense perception? Hyper sensitivity? Here.' Her fingers ghost over the shape of Seven’s left hand, careful not to make physical contact, but Seven feels the fluttering air in the space between them.
'Yes,' she acknowledges.
'Is that good?'
Raffi’s question surprises her. When was the last time anybody asked her if something felt good? When was the last time anyone expressed interest in her feelings at all?
'I mean, I’m sorry.' Raffi starts to pull back, fidgeting in the face of that raised eyebrow. 'You don’t have to tell me, I shouldn’t pry. I just...'
'Sometimes.' Seven cuts her waffling short. A slight smile lifts her lips. 'This, now, feels good.'
Raffi forgets to breathe for a moment, forgets to blink.
'Ok,' she says at last, as her autonomic systems kick back in again. 'Do you… do you want to try with something else?'
She takes a step along the porch, then another, eyes and hands scanning her plant collection for something that might be appealing to Seven’s sense of touch.
'This one?' She stops at the end of the row, reaching up to trail her fingers through the fronds of a particularly feathery fern.
When she turns her head, Raffi thrills to find that Seven has followed her, is standing close behind. Her chin lifts as she looks up at the fern.
'May I?' Her hand is already lifting when she pauses and looks to Raffi for permission. Her right hand, Raffi notes, even as she nods.
'Uh huh.' Then, taking a risk, she adds, 'With both hands, if you like.'
There’s a tiny noise, somewhere in the back of Seven’s throat. So tiny that Raffi almost misses it, so tiny that she isn’t even sure if Seven is aware she makes it. It’s a hungry, yearning little noise and it cracks something deep inside Raffi’s chest wide open. Gods, she wants to hear Seven make that noise again.
Butterflies flicker in her stomach as she watches Seven reach for the fern, right hand first. Her head tips back a little so she can look up at it, watching her own movements, cataloguing the gossamer sensations of the foliage against her skin, between her fingers, over her palm. Slowly, she brings her left hand up to join it. Her eyes slip closed as she processes the waft of sensations. Impossible softness, barely perceptible lightness of fronds, infinitesimal texture and pattern shifting and brushing. Dimly, she is aware that Raffi makes some kind of sound, close by, but Seven is lost in the sensations skittering through her system from her hand to the furthest reaches of her limbs. Distant patches of skin tingle and strange feelings stir in deep spaces between organs and implants. She floats, just this side of overwhelm, for a length of time she cannot compute.
-
Raffi watches, awed. She tries to swallow the moan that rises unbidden at the picture Seven makes, silver and gold in the glint of the fairy lights, present, sensual, open in a way Raffi hasn’t seen before. Almost abandoned.
After a long moment, though, some instinct warns her that Seven needs something more. A fraction of tension seeping into her face, perhaps, or the faintest tremor.
'Seven,' Raffi whispers.
No response.
'Seven honey.' She raises her voice.
A flicker.
'Come back to me.' Like before, she ghosts her hand up near Seven’s. Not wanting to force a touch while Seven is not capable of choosing to accept it, or risk disturbing her too harshly, Raffi sketches an arc around Seven’s hands, then traces the line her arm makes through the air to hover close above her shoulder.
The warmth of her skin is what breaks through to Seven first, the heat emanating from Raffi’s palm is registered by one of her implants, disrupting her body’s singular focus.
Then a breath of voice on her ear and other sensations take over.
She opens her eyes. Reorientates.
'Sorry. I...'
‘There you are.’
Raffi's face is so soft as she holds out her hands, palms up, open. Both hands.
'May I?' she asks, echoing Seven's repeated requests for permission with the plants.
Seven looks down, absorbing what is being asked, what is being offered.
Steady now, she steps forward, slipping her hands into Raffi's. Warmth, softness, texture, sensation trickling up along her arms and further.
Raffi's elevated heart rate, Raffi's measured breaths, the faint arc of her body towards the point of contact.
'Ok?' Raffi checks, barely a whisper, her eyes fixed on the way their fingers twine.
A slow smile breaks over Seven's face.
'This. Now.' She squeezes Raffi's hands and Raffi's tighten reflexively around her own. 'This is good.'