Oh god. Humor. From Tamos. How weird was that?
It was cool, but… strange. He was him but he wasn’t him.
“Yah can say that agian,” she said. “Nah yah just, uh, sit there fer a second. I’ll be right back.”
MJ ran to her closet. First, she changed back into her normal clothes. Then, she went looking for something for Tamos to wear. He was defined (deliciously so, you’d have to be blind and play for the other team not to notice) btu he was also built like a runner, lean in his musculature.
Still, none of her clothes fit- he was several inches taller than her. She did find a bathrobe. It would do for now.
“Here yah go- try this on, Tamos. Ain’t much, but yah can’t be walkin’ ‘round nekkid.” MJ handed him the robe. “Need help standin’?”
He nodded as he tried and failed no less than three times at donning the robe. On the fourth try, by some stroke of luck, he managed it, then sat staring at the belt for a few moments before tying it occurred to him. “Yes, unfortunately, I believe I will.” His words were no less slurred, but they were clear enough for their translators to pick up, so when synthesized in her language one would never guess these were, essentially, some of his first words.
At the thought of needing help to simply stand, though, his face flushed and his eyes watered. He only recognized feeling overwhelmed; the rest of the emotions were frighteningly foreign. He sniffled and his head pounded, which threw off his balance more than it already was, but with her help—more help than he’d like to admit—he got to his feet. Crossing his arms, he stood there shaking and swaying and sniffling pathetically.
“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “You must be tired. I don’t want to keep you from sleeping.”
MJ smiled softly. Oh, Tamos…
Despite herself, despite the situation -which was supremely akward- despite everything, she chuckled and pulled out a hankerchief from her back pocket, handing it to her not-so-gethy friend.Then she wrapped him in a warm, brief, fierce hug before releasing him. (She did not think about the body under the bathrobe. Honest.)
“I ain’t even tired, son,” she lied through her teeth- she had been through days at a time when it was just too dangerous to sleep. When letting her guard down on PostReaper Earth meant death from pursuing husks. Staying up for this, for Tamos, was nothing. She wasn’t that tired. “Was just goin’ t’ bed outta habit. Yah ain’t never been any trouble, an’ yah ain’t startin’ now. This shit is nuts. If’n I went all synthetic and all, I don’t think I’d be takin’ it near as well as you are.”
Ok, so…. Tamos is human. He needs help. What do I do?
Clothes. Food. Uh, emotions- no, deal with that as it comes. Clothes an’ food first.
Food then. Good food makes everythin’ better.
“Come on,” she said, helping him stand gently. He was heavier than he looked. “Yer human- may as well have some fun while yer at it. I got somethin’ fer yah.”
He tried to not lean on her too heavily, fearing his weight—and strength; he had no idea how strong this body was, just assumed it was weaker than a geth platform—but she was surprisingly sturdy. He shouldn’t be surprised, actually; he had always known she was tougher than she looked. Fortunately. He stumbled over every step, each time throwing his full weight on her while he regained his balance.
Blushing furiously, he mumbled apologies each time. But he was learning. His shins were too straight, toes too many, and vestigial toes completely missing, but slowly he was figuring it out.
“You do?” he asked curiously between steps, blinking at her. “What is it?”
