Work Text:
Carapacians do not become emaciated with starvation.
The concept of being too thin is almost entirely an alien one to Roxy. Of course, it's not as if the carapacians with whom she lives do not suffer during lean times, but their shapes do not change. They may become weakened, their joints shriveled and stiff; their tough, shiny, resilient carapaces might go brittle or else rubbery for lack of some nutrient, but an individual's size and shape remains constant. And so, although the books she finds around the house on the subject - Growing Up for Girls, one is called, and An Encyclopedia of Human Anatomy and Physiology the other - tell her that proper nutrition is needed for a growing human to form the right kind of muscle mass and healthy amounts of body fat, and although she understands this on an academic level, she can't help but form the impression that the shape she grows into is the one she is meant to have, tall and ropy and with every angle and line and plane of her bones sharp against her skin.
(Her mother, in the photos and the footage, is smaller and more solid, but Roxy kind of suspects that she and Dirk have gotten wires crossed at some point, or that Dirk simply chose the ancestor he wanted, because if you watch him Dave has the same loose-limbed grace that she does, along with hair that tousles as hers would if she cut it a bit shorter and a complexion like a universe of freckles, where Dirk and Rose are colored like cream and bone and both command the viewer's attention with a thoughtless kind of insistence. Not that Roxy would dream of asking to trade, even if she knew how! But she is not entirely sure that she and her mother are quite of a kind.)
Growing up, she'd certainly become aware that Jane was a different sort of shape than she was, but somehow she'd always imagined a similar consistency to her own, if she thought of it at all. Dirk certainly is, some corner of her mind registers in that first glorious moment of touching another human being - hard and taut, like violin strings.
So when they first scoop Jane up and carry her along on the rocket board, Roxy is a little surprised by the softness, the way the arms around her waist dimple slightly at the elbows.
And a bit later, when things are calmed down a bit and they have collected their thoughts and Jake has found a new and interesting way to flail over nothing of importance, Roxy catches Dirk catching her studying the other two. She raises an eyebrow. He shrugs. They both see the same thing, Roxy knows: the way that Jake and Jane seem so real, so vital, and it's as much in the physical space they take up as it is the rich saturation of their skin and hair, or the energy they carry with them.
Next to the Prospit Dreamers, Roxy feels like a mannikin, a poppet, a creature out of some old internet repository of creepypasta.
She feels creepy. It's not a nice revelation.
She can't stop touching Jane.
It starts almost as a defense; Jane begins by approaching Roxy as one might a feral animal, and Roxy meets her with hugging and holding her hand and with draping herself obnoxiously over the other girl in some kind of manic attempt to show herself comfortable with human contact. (Dirk is more casual and more reserved, and Roxy knows for a fact that he years ago built a robot for the express purpose of hugging. She'd had to swear not to tell Cal, lest the puppet become jealous.) Jane is surprised at first, but makes no objection. It's not long before she's clinging back.
Roxy's fingers are much longer than Jane's, but Jane can easily wrap a hand around Roxy's wrist with plenty of finger to spare. Roxy frowns when she does that, and Jane shifts so that they are palm to palm with fingers interlaced, instead.
At first, Jane watches studiously as Roxy eats, but then something changes ever so and she's making sure Roxy has food rather than that she eats food. When she understands, Roxy laughs, setting her emptied plate on the floor next to Jane's couch and flopping over to rest her head in the other girl's lap. Starving, she's familiar enough with; starving herself is a bizarre and ridiculous notion.
Jane doesn't understand, really, Roxy realizes a moment later. She comes from a time and a place where it is a legitimate worry that someone is refusing available food. And so she also doesn't understand quite why Roxy sobers - in a manner of speaking - and turns over, hiding her face in Jane's midriff as she wraps her arms around her.
To Roxy, the idea that she may at some point again run short of food is unremarkable; the idea that Jane might in some hypothetical future become acquainted with famine is unbearable.
Jane swears, with some satisfaction, that Roxy has begun to put on weight.
Roxy is not entirely certain she believes it. She has, she thinks, the same general figure as the hat rack in Jane's father's study. One could hang a fedora on her shoulder blade, a coat on her hip bone. She is too tall to be childlike; too thin to be womanly, she thinks.
She'd never dare suggest she does not appreciate Jane's efforts and attentions but she begins to suspect she may be a lost cause. Strider-Lalondes are naturally inclined to leanness, she understands; they've met the beta players by now, Dave lanky and Rose elfin. And the one time that she convinced Rose to show her the picture of the elegant lady in the scarf and lab coat, Roxy had felt almost no recognition looking at the image. There had been the same jacknife of a jawline, the same flip of hair, the same pink eyes, but Roxy had been unable to see much of herself.
That woman is a lost possibility, resident to a timeline that can never be. She is sure that Jane has never seen the picture, will never, wouldn't think to ask or have enough of Rose's trust to have the request granted if she did, but some traitorous corner of her mind can't help but wonder.
If Jane realized quite how damaged of goods Roxy is, not just the psychological effects of a post-apocalyptic upbringing but the sheer degree of the physical as well, would she still hang around, caring about and caring for, fussing and touching?
But that's a silly question, she knows at other times. Such a silly question, when what starts as a cookie-dough flavored kiss ends up with both of them picking chocolate chips out of their hair. When Roxy's head is pillowed on Jane's shoulder as they watch whatever Jake has suggested now, and she has to giggle and wiggle away from the clever soft hand tracing distracted patterns over her ribs.
When Roxy wakes first and finds Jane curled so close and warm and solid against her, round face almost comically serious in sleep, and Jane throws an arm over Roxy's waist and pulls her closer when she tries to move, Roxy can't shake the wonderful feeling that all is right with the multiverse and it's all going to be ok.
And anyway, there's going to be pancakes in a couple of hours. Roxy wants to see if she can make them in cute shapes.