FIN! - Momentary Lull (C'ross)

[giftwrapped]

Four hours on, four hours off. Five days a sevenday. Extra day off every three sevendays. The inexorable driving pace of the dragonriders stationed at Warden's Weyr.

It was a grueling schedule, not one for the faint of heart or anyone who needed more than a few scant hours of sleep to function. But somehow, it worked for I'saac.

Maybe it was because the greenrider was a chronic insomniac who wouldn't have gotten more than the three hours of sleep the schedule allowed him anyways. Maybe it was simply because the four-on, four-off schedule wore Nicoth to the bone and left her very nearly complacent enough to stop posing a risk to herself and everyone else around her. Possibly, it was a combination of the two. But whatever it was, he had adapted quickly and remained steady since his arrival three turns previous.

And those three turns had been surprisingly accommodating to I'saac. Following C'ross to Warden's Weyr, he hadn't expected much of anything. The pair had come in search of an easier, more uniform life. In a way, they hadn't been disappointed. It wasn't easy work, the job at Warden's, but it wasn't taxing on the mind, either. And hard physical labour meant a certain sense of satisfaction when you fell into bed at the end of a long shift and knew the next day was your own. He was making a difference, in some sense, and that meant enough to I'saac to make it all worthwhile.

Nonetheless, the four-off breaks came welcome to I'saac and Nicoth both. Particularly when a certain other squad was working the same shifts as his. Though I'saac generally tried to sleep on the breaks he was given, other things needed to be attended to. Nicoth needed to be fed, for one. And then oiled when she was done gorging. And then, dragon tired and fed and filling his mind with soporific pleasure, I'saac could tend to himself.

Tired as he was now that Nicoth's belly was full and the green had spread her wings to catch the midday sun, his next order of business was to feed himself. When was the last time he had eaten? He couldn't remember. The lunchtime meal was laid out on the sideboard, and I'saac helped himself to a bit of everything, sighing quietly and heading for a table away from faces both familiar and unfamiliar. At the moment, he wanted to be alone. Or, well. Mostly alone. He did still hold the hope that his usual partner would come around to find him. Nicoth?

Sleeping.

Nicoth, can you hear Merceth? Always a dangerous question to ask, but with her belly full, there wasn't much the green would do to chase down the great bronze should she manage to catch ahold of his mind. She rumbled and shifted, casting her consciousness wide until she reached the dragon her rider sought.

Merceth! she hissed the words in his head, dripping speech like acid into him as quickly as she could, as if the very act of speaking with the bronze was distasteful. I'saac seeks yours. He is feeding. And that done, she closed off all connections, withdrawing into herself and falling quickly back asleep.

I'saac sighed quietly and shook his head. Sometimes there was no working with her. But hopefully she'd gotten through, and hopefully their breaks coincided. The days their squads flew opposing shifts were the worst.

[tuathade]

Merceth was a sharding lot of dragon to be oiled. Luckily he was well out of his weyrling days, and his hide no longer needed the constant attention that it used to. But he still needed care regularly, just like any other dragon. Still, C'ross was in a good mood. As he'd returned from his shift, he'd spotted from a distance a familiar green shape sprawled in Merceth's usual spot. He steered the bronze away to a more solitary landing spot well away from their weyr, not wanting to goad Nicoth into another bout of rage by disturbing her... But if she was on the ground, then that meant that this was one of those good days when their shifts coincided.

As much as he wanted to go straight to his weyrmate, Merceth's needs came first. Feeding, cleaning, oiling, the usual routine. The bronze hissed and rumbled at being displaced from his proper spot by the whims of the little green, but was too tired to get properly annoyed, especially with a full belly and the soothing process of oiling away all the rough patches of his hide. Gradually he let himself relax... until a mindvoice full of acid made his head jerk up and his eyes whirl ugly orange. Merceth hissed at the air, tail lashing as if he would strike an invisible opponent, and the sudden motion nearly dislodged C'ross from his perch atop his dragon's back. "Easy!" called the rider aloud, watching the container of oil roll away from him and off Merceth entirely. "Easy, big guy."

The dragon stilled, head angling so he could look at his rider over his shoulder. He made no direct response to Nicoth, instead relaying the message direction to his rider. C'ross. I'saac wants you. Merceth had no quarrel with I'saac. The greenrider made His happy, and His was not very often happy. It was only the dragon who made him snarl and curve furrows in the earth with his claws. C'ross eyed the fallen oil with a sigh; at least the container had been closed, so it hadn't spilled all over and made a mess, thank Faranth.

Merceth nudged at his rider gently, subdued and apologetic after the sudden outburst. I am oiled enough, and you are hungry. Go see I'saac at the mess hall. I will take you.

C'ross knew his dragon well enough to suspect ulterior motives; doubtless while he ate, Merceth would do the same, slipping back to the feeding pens in hopes of snatching another herdbeast on the sly, and he'd come back to a bloodied muzzle hurriedly licked clean. But he couldn't deny the truth in his dragon's words. He dropped to the ground only long enough to retrieve his things, then he returned to dragonback without riding straps, trusting the steadiness of Merceth's flight. Within a quarter-candlemark from when Nicoth had contacted them, C'ross was walking through the doors of the mess hall.

He hardly paid any attention to what he put on his plate, eyes instead scanning the crowd for a familiar face. There he was - off on his own, the familiar greenrider in profile with his short hair and silvering temples recognizable even from this distance. C'ross made his way to I'saac's side, resting a hand lightly on his weyrmate's arm even as he spoke. "Room for one more, or is this seat taken?"

[giftwrapped]

He saw the familiar face as soon as C'ross walked into the building. A smile lit his somber features as he watched the bronzerider serve himself. He glanced down as C'ross approached, though, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he started to eat. The air of casual inattention he put off didn't hold up particularly well, though, and as soon as C'ross was close enough he glanced up to smile.

And then C'ross's hand was on his shoulder and I'saac leaned into the touch, laughing quietly at the question. "I don't know," he answered in a low voice, glancing at the table for a moment before giving his weyrmate a wry half-smile. "There's not a lot of room at this table and I was saving this seat for my weyrmate. He's tall, handsome. Bronzerider. Leads a squad. You might want to clear out before he catches you here."

And then he laughed softly, reaching up and taking C'ross's arm to tug him gently down into the seat beside him. Their days did coincide. His mood lifted, he maintained his light grip on C'ross's arm. "It's good to see you," he added quietly. "I was a little worried we'd be on separate shifts again."

[tuathade]

C'ross had an excellent deadpan, well-honed from Turns of practice. He put it to best use now. "Handsome bronzerider, huh?" he asked dryly, glancing around the mess hall as if looking for this hypothetical weyrmate. "Well. If he shows up, I'll fight him for you - and in the meantime, I can keep you company."

He sank down into the seat readily at I'saac's pull, leaning his shoulder up against I'saac's briefly. Even though it was hardly a secret at Warden's that the two of them were together, habitual inclination clung to C'ross, and he rarely engaged in significant public displays of affection. He was simply reserved by nature, and at any rate it wasn't as if I'saac didn't know precisely how much C'ross cared for him. He just didn't feel the need to flaunt it in front of everyone. Small gestures - the hand lingering on his arm, the greenrider's smile that he would never grow tired of - they were enough.

He was never going to regret his decision to transfer to Warden's. Not if they made him fly double shifts for a Turn.

"Mm. Lucky for us," he agreed, stern features softening. "When are your days off this sevenday? Maybe we can -" Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the abrupt arrival of a small green flit, chirping and darting around both of their heads. "Off, Useless," he told her sharply, which only resulted in her landing next to I'saac's arm and tugging gently but insistently at his sleeve with her teeth. Hers did not usually respond well to begging, but sometimes she could get Not-Hers to give her scraps of something. Whine. Tiny flit whiiiiine.

[giftwrapped]

I'saac leaned back against C'ross as the other man leaned against him, but as soon as C'ross was done with the contact, he stopped and momentarily turned back to his food. Naturally reserved as C'ross was, I'saac respected his weyrmate's tendency to discretion, even if he thought it was perhaps a carryover from his Holder upbringing. And maybe also from the several long months they had spent trying to work out precisely what to do with their relationship. Before Warden's, it had been easiest to get into the habit of avoiding physical affection in public. By the time the pair had transferred, it had stuck.

Nonetheless, once C'ross had settled somewhat, I'saac let his hand fall from the bronzerider's arm, reaching under the table to rest it lightly on his thigh. Discretion was C'ross's game. Surreptitiousness was I'saac's. He didn't push the contact, though; he wasn't some just-graduated weyrling desperate for sex after two turns' forced celibacy. He had dignity. And the knowledge that even if he gave lunch priority over C'ross, his weyrmate would still be there next shift didn't hurt, either. This was about closeness.

His focus on C'ross wavered with the arrival of Useless. He sighed quietly as the little green chittered and flapped at them, cracking a smile when C'ross ordered her away. And then she landed beside him and went after his unoccupied arm, and I'saac sighed. "Hello, Useless," he said in a tone that didn't quite come out as tired as he wanted. His unimpressed look wavered as she whined at him, and he huffed a short sigh after only a few seconds. He'd need both hands to deal with the little thing. Sorry, C'ross.

"All right, all right," he said, picking a meatroll up from his plate and tearing small pieces off from it. He wasn't stupid enough to leave his fingers anywhere near that tiny green muzzle full of tiny white razor-teeth, but he tossed the pieces to the green as he tore them. After a minute, he let up, setting the rest of the meatroll down and making a gentle shooing motion at the little green. "All right, you. Off you get." And then he turned back to C'ross, curving an arm around his plate in an attempt to ward off any attempts at stealing his lunch. He needed his food to live.

"I'm off in two days," he said, picking up the conversation where C'ross had left off. "And then again two days after that."

[tuathade]

Useless made happy chattering noises at I'saac in between gulping down pieces of meat whole. Chalk up another victory for begging! Bright, hungry little eyes watched the greenrider's fingers eagerly, though for once she refrained from nipping impatiently. When he finished and curved his arm around his plate, she drew a little closer, climbing up onto that shielding arm and whining again beseechingly... and then in a flash she darted in, grabbed the entire meatroll, and vanished between.

Sharding impossible flit.

"Scorch it," C'ross sighed. "Better not to encourage her." Was his displeasure compounded by the fact that the firelizard's arrival had resulted in I'saac moving his hand? Absolutely. He'd liked I'saac's hand where it was. Still, he slid his plate towards his weyrmate, silently offering one of his own rolls as replacement for the stolen one.

C'ross had gradually grown fond of the game that he and I'saac played. It was subtle, private, something for just between the two of them. Neither of them were young hormone-addled weyrlings, but the tight schedule kept them apart more often than not. Even brief moments of stolen time were valuable. He frowned as I'saac recounted his schedule for the week. "Four days, then." Four days until they'd have a free day together. Better than no overlap, but at the beginning of the sevenday it felt like an interminable length to wait.

Four hours on, four hours off. C'ross did a little mental math - how long it usually took to oil Merceth, how long he'd taken to get here... There was still time left, but not as much as he wanted. They would still need time to eat, grab what little rest they could, and then be ready for the next shift when it started.

With a quiet sigh, he let one arm wind its way around I'saac's shoulders. The contact could have been platonic, purely companionable - save for an indefinable quality, a purposeful intimacy in the touch. And any illusion of discretion vanished as he leaned in and murmured in I'saac's ear. "Next break. I'll meet you at our weyr."

[giftwrapped]

He had intended to ignore Useless when he was done feeding her, but when she climbed up on his arm, I'saac glanced over just in time to see the firelizard snag the rest of his meatroll and disappear between. For a moment, his expression was one of mild surprise, but then it fell to disappointment, and he sighed, turning back to C'ross and picking up one of the proffered rolls. Tearing it in half, he kept half for himself and set the other piece back on the plate.

For a moment when C'ross talked about his schedule, he turned to his lunch, chewing thoughtfully and sighing. Four days was a long time to wait for uninterrupted time with his weyrmate, but it was worth it. And it was better than the weeks where opposing schedules and badly-coordinating days off led to not seeing each other for more than a few hours one or two days a sevenday. With the firelizard gone, he returned his free hand to C'ross, again resting it lightly on his leg. "At least we have a day," he murmured.

When C'ross's arm went around his shoulders, he relaxed, leaning into him and closing his eyes. Then C'ross's voice sounded in his ear and I'saac opened an eye, fixing him with a gaze that was momentarily intense in its focus. The intense look turned into a thoughtful one. Just as C'ross had run mental math, I'saac was doing a quick count of minutes. Nicoth had fed and washed, he had oiled her...

No, you don't have time to tumble with your bronzerider.

Nicoth's voice was cold in I'saac's head, but not vicious like it was when she spoke with other dragons. Her words, clipped as they were, were delivered in a manner that was curiously gentle for the nasty beast. I'saac sighed. I know, Nicoth, he answered, inwardly cursing the dragon's impeccable sense of time. Even without timepieces close to hand, I'saac couldn't lose track of the time. Nicoth wouldn't let him. But sometimes it's nice to think.

Of course.

I'saac felt the unamused snort in Nicoth's voice even though he wasn't close enough to hear it, and sighed again. Then, expression lightening, he pressed his lips briefly to C'ross's cheek and then returned to his food. "Long day already," he remarked. "Only going to get longer." But at least he'd have a break in four hours. A good break, that didn't consist of scrubbing off herdbeast gore and oiling a demanding green. A break he could spend giving C'ross his undivided attention.

[tuathade]

Oh, right. Food. He should probably eat something, shouldn’t he. C’ross tended to forget about less important things like that when there was an I’saac around. Especially when I’saac’s hand went back to its place. Mmmm. I’saac had the most fantastic hands, and that momentary intense look – wait, okay, focus, C’ross. Still in the mess hall. Pay attention.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, C’ross withdrew the arm around I’saac’s shoulders. He took a few half-hearted bites out of a roll without really paying much attention to it, then drained his mug of klah. “I know,” he agreed wearily to I’saac’s comment. Not even properly afternoon yet and he was bone-tired; last shift had seemed longer than usual, though he couldn’t put his finger on any particular reason. Just one of those days. At least he had breaks with I’saac to look forward to. “How’s Nicoth?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

The temperamental green had good days and bad days. C’ross knew that better than anyone save her rider. Even before coming to Warden’s, I’saac and C’ross had been wingmates, and her strange tendencies had been immediately apparent. He couldn’t count the days that he and Merceth had spent working with her and I’saac, trying to correct the more problematic behaviors and encourage the good ones. She could be good, when she wanted to be.

[giftwrapped]

"She's fed," I'saac answered vaguely, shrugging off C'ross's question in a slightly awkward way. The green was...as good as she could be, and for once, she was being quiet both with her wingmates and in general, but there was never a moment with her that I'saac could entirely let his guard down. "Quiet enough, though, which is what matters, I guess." And his smile returned as he looked to C'ross again. "And Merceth? Not causing too many problems for your squad, I hope?"

Merceth was good. He wasn't like Nicoth, an active volcano ready to burst at any moment. His temper was directly proportional to his rider's, and both man and dragon were easy to predict. I'saac liked Merceth better than his own dragon much of the time, though he tried to keep such unfortunate thoughts a secret from the possessive green. It wasn't hard at the moment; his confusion and worry toward the green was currently buried in a sea of eager impatience toward C'ross. The end of this break, and then the next shift...four hours would not pass quickly enough.

And he was having trouble concentrating on his meal. Sigh. Perhaps it would be best to get himself (...and not C'ross, no matter how badly he wanted to grab the bronzerider by the lapels and drag him off somewhere secluded...) out of the situation so he could at least breathe, maybe sleep for the half-candlemark left for doing so. "I...should get going," he said quietly, giving C'ross a smile that largely masked his feelings. But there was something in his tone of voice that suggested exactly why he was leaving, and he drained his klah quickly, clutching the mug with hands that moved just a bit too abruptly. He was keeping tight control on himself, whatever he was thinking.

As an afterthought, he wrapped his remaining meatrolls and cheese in a napkin. He'd eat it later, when his stomach growled on patrol. "Take care, C'ross," he said lightly. "See you at the end of the next shift."

And for all his strangely jagged motion, there was no denying the affection in his voice.

[tuathade]

Well. Fed and quiet was better than nothing. For a moment his hand caught I’saac’s and squeezed gently – out of sympathy or support he wasn’t sure.

C’ross didn’t claim to understand the minds of dragons. That he and Merceth should be partnered seemed like a logical thing. They were alike, in the ways that mattered. Merceth was wilder, almost feral in his darker moods, but C’ross had the force of will to hold him in check for the most part. And in return, Merceth never failed him, keeping them both going on the occasions when C’ross’ drive flagged. They simply fit one another. But I’saac… The soft-spoken, sensitive smith, paired with probably the most violent green in the Weyr. How that worked, he honestly tried not to dwell on. Point was, it had happened, he loved I’saac anyway, they worked with it.

“He’s all right,” C’ross replied. “Grouchy about the Watch, but who isn’t? And you know how he gets.” The fiercely territorial bronze definitely divided people into his and outsiders. I’saac was his. Their wing was his. All of Warden’s, to an extent, was his. The Watch was not. Not anymore. And C’ross’ own anger and disgust at the behavior of the worst of them had only bled over.

I’saac was leaving. There was something oddly stiff and jerky in his motions – and though he was trying valiantly to hide it, the cause of his abrupt departure was easy to diagnose. C’ross sighed. He should have never brought it up at all. Four hours passed quickly when you were in the air, but on the ground it seemed like an interminably long time to wait. If they’d had time, if duty to squad and Weyr didn’t come first – well, I’saac wouldn’t have had the opportunity to drag C’ross off by his lapels, because C’ross would be the one doing the dragging. But if wishes were dragons, all the prisoners in Warden’s would have one. So he kept his seat. Let his weyrmate go back to their weyr and have some time alone, if he needed it.

“See you soon, I’saac,” he said softly to the greenrider’s retreating back.