Work Text:
“I’m back!”
The door to the hut swung open unsteadily, and Jenny came shuffling in, balancing a full basket of mangoes on her hip.
She was still learning how to adapt to her new home, not to mention how to do without the various creature comforts she was accustomed to, but she liked to believe that she had made at least some progress.
If nothing else, Bheem had taught her when certain fruits were ripe enough to be picked, and what herbs were beneficial and which were poisonous, and she was learning to cook without nearly burning the house down.
Being the
former
governor’s niece certainly had its drawbacks when you were forced to leave that life behind and adjust to one where people regularly used tools bigger than a paintbrush, but Jenny couldn’t say she regretted it all that much.
Most of the Gond people were still understandably wary of her, except for Bheem and Malli, but she thought they were becoming used to her presence. It probably helped that she was becoming better at understanding Telugu, even though she suspected her pronunciation was terrible. Most of the time she and Bheem had started talking to each other in what was a sort of bizarre hybrid of their respective tongues, with some words in English, some in Telugu; often one of them would point to an object, and they would each share their word for it, and practice until they had it more or less right.
It was a little strange, but she had to admit that it worked surprisingly well.
Just like their relationship.
Bheem was in the kitchen area, preparing some biryani, from the smell of it; it was a welcome scent after her long morning.
He looked up, greeting her with a welcoming smile-which was out of the blue replaced by a look of alarm.
“Jenny?! Ēṁ jarigindi ?!”
It took her a moment to parse out the words; when she did, she tilted her head.
“What…happened? What do you-”
Then she followed his line of vision, and saw that he was staring at her arm.
Jenny looked down at it in bewilderment-and realized.
“Oh.”
Her usually fair skin had turned a bright angry red all along her forearm. And a quick inspection revealed that it was also the case on her other arm…and on her shoulders…and part of her neck…and, based on the stinging she was finally starting to feel, on her face.
“Oh dear.” Carefully she set down the basket, wincing as the rough fibers brushed against her arm and promptly started it throbbing. “It looks like I got a little too much sun out there.” She smiled sheepishly at Bheem-who was already disappearing out the door into the trees.
A few minutes later he’d returned with a pile of herbs, one of which Jenny recognized as a plant called aloe.
When he saw Jenny had started cutting up one of the mangoes for lunch, he marched forward with a fondly exasperated sound; gently but firmly he caught her wrists and guided her away to a chair, then took over the kitchen for himself to begin pounding and mixing the herbs into a thick green paste.
“Really, Bheem, it’s no trouble, I just need some cold water-” Jenny began to protest.
Bheem turned, holding the bowl of paste, and lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers.
“Jenny,” he rumbled, eyebrows knitting together, “you are hurt. Let me help.”
…That was cheating.
He knew that if he said it in English while he looked at her like that, she’d know how serious he was and be unable to say no.
But of course, she sighed and nodded, and allowed him to begin carefully rubbing the salve into her skin.
Before long Jenny’s arms and shoulders were a strange, murky green color, and Bheem had started applying it to her face. It stung at first, but she had to admit that after a minute it did make her skin feel better.
Jenny laughed a little as she flexed her fingers, watching the way the paste cracked and allowed the faint pale lines of her knuckles to show through.
“ Nēnu cūstunnānu …a monster,” she said aloud, unsure of the Telugu word.
Bheem tilted his head. “...Mon…ster?”
“Yes, a monster. You know.” It felt a little silly, but she curled her fingers into claws and pretended to lunge at him. “Rawr!”
Bheem startled, and then laughed. “A rākṣasuḍu !”
“Rack-sauce-u-doo?”
“ Rākṣasuḍu ,” Bheem corrected patiently, before smearing paste under one of her eyes.
Jenny repeated it a few times until Bheem nodded his approval, and then he taught her to say, “ Nēnu rākṣasuḍilā kanipistunnānu .”
By the time she got it right, he’d finished his work, and Jenny was sure she looked like something out of Mary Shelley’s novel.
But she still smiled at her love and murmured, “ Dhan"yavādālu, Bhīm ,” before leaning forward and kissing him gently on the cheek.
It was Bheem’s turn to turn red, though for somewhat more pleasant reasons.