William was doing his best not to be irritated at the island, because that wasn't going to help him through this coming conversation, any
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Maladicta was officially annoyed. Vimes hadn't been in his office, Polly hadn't been in the office- she had been trying to remember if it was some sort of anniversary for her or not, because that could conceivably explain it, not that she wanted to really think about what Ozzer would be up to that wasn't patrol, in that case-and William hadn't been in his office.
She felt like there was a conspiracy here, somewhere, and took the stoop in one step before pushing open the door.
She watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Whatever was coming wasn't good, and immediate her brain started going over the minutest detail of William's behavior since she'd walked in. After a moment, she moved to sit on the bed. There was perhaps slightly more space between them than she usually opted for.
"All right," she said, looking at him expectantly.
"I have some exceedingly bad news," William said, rubbing his forehead briefly before reaching out to take her nearest hand and say, "Maladicta, it's Polly. She's disappeared."
Maladicta's expression had been narrowing, but it cleared, abruptly. She blinked, then again, eyes shut for longer, before she focused on his face again.
"What....No," she said, shaking her slightly. "No, that's not- That can't be right."
Something about the extreme care in that touch made her want to recoil. Or maybe it was everything else.
"No," she said again, expression crumpling, or at least threatening to, then righting itself. Her fingers tightened around his hand at the same time she pulled slightly away from him.
"It can't-" she tugged her hand away as part of an overall sort of inward gesture, the instinct to shield herself made, however minutely, manifest. Her voice sounded strangely uneven to her.
"Someone's got it wrong. That's not-" possible, she thought, but it was.
A tiny sob of breath managed to wrench out of her throat.
"She can't, she wouldn't- she liked it here," Maladicta argued, because how was this fair. She could feel tears forming her eyes and clinging to her lashes, she just couldn't do a damn thing about them.
"She didn't get a say, dear," William said, still combing the one hand through her hair. "There wasn't anything she or anyone else could do to avoid it. It just ... happens. And it's horrible, but it's part of life."
Apparently. He could do without that particular aspect of life, really.
"No, it's not," she snapped, or tried to- the sharpness was dulled by the strangled breath, the tears that were starting to come faster.
"Just disappearing is not part of life! Just being gone, that's not- It shouldn't-" she broke. The words wouldn't come out. She doubled over and buried her face in her hands, head aching with the effort not to sob.
He moved even closer, shifting his hand and arm so that it was wrapped around her shoulders instead of in her hair.
"It's just as senseless as dying, and that's part of life. She's just as absent, only the difference is she's not dead. She's just not here," William said. "She might not like wherever she is as much as she did here, but at least she's somewhere. Um. Holding on to that might help."
It didn't help. She realized that nothing would help this, and it was a frightening sort of realization, almost as terrifying as the one that followed, which was that Anyone could be next. There was no quote of friends you could lose. There was no pattern to it. There was absolutely no telling how long anyone would be there, at all.
Her hands dropped, fingers curling tight in his shirt, and she cried softly against his chest, because as angry as she was- and the anger was still bewildered, still trying to overcome the initial shock and heartache- in the moment she didn't know what else to do.
She felt like there was a conspiracy here, somewhere, and took the stoop in one step before pushing open the door.
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"Oh. There you are," he said vaguely. "Afternoon."
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"The compound's empty." She hesitated. "Are you all right? You didn't get held at knife point again?"
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He watched her carefully, then said, "Sit down, would you?"
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"All right," she said, looking at him expectantly.
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"What....No," she said, shaking her slightly. "No, that's not- That can't be right."
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"I'm afraid it is," he said. "She and everything she arrived with are ... gone. No longer on the island. I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. A lot.
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"No," she said again, expression crumpling, or at least threatening to, then righting itself. Her fingers tightened around his hand at the same time she pulled slightly away from him.
"It can't-" she tugged her hand away as part of an overall sort of inward gesture, the instinct to shield herself made, however minutely, manifest. Her voice sounded strangely uneven to her.
"Someone's got it wrong. That's not-" possible, she thought, but it was.
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"They haven't got it wrong, love. I'm sorry. She's gone," he said, and wished he had something better to offer just then.
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"She can't, she wouldn't- she liked it here," Maladicta argued, because how was this fair. She could feel tears forming her eyes and clinging to her lashes, she just couldn't do a damn thing about them.
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Apparently. He could do without that particular aspect of life, really.
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"Just disappearing is not part of life! Just being gone, that's not- It shouldn't-" she broke. The words wouldn't come out. She doubled over and buried her face in her hands, head aching with the effort not to sob.
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"It's just as senseless as dying, and that's part of life. She's just as absent, only the difference is she's not dead. She's just not here," William said. "She might not like wherever she is as much as she did here, but at least she's somewhere. Um. Holding on to that might help."
Emphasis on the might, he supposed.
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Her hands dropped, fingers curling tight in his shirt, and she cried softly against his chest, because as angry as she was- and the anger was still bewildered, still trying to overcome the initial shock and heartache- in the moment she didn't know what else to do.
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The problem was there was really nothing else to say, especially if you had an inner editor just waiting to strike out It's okay.
He didn't want to say you'll feel better either, because although that one was true, it wasn't helpful. It wasn't speakable.
So he just said, "I'm sorry," very softly, once more, because there was nothing else he could do.
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