Is your armor thin again? Do I want to wear it down?

[headline_maker]

Sacharissa wanted to go home.

The weekend had been a whirlwind of events. Of news. Even with the snake baby and the armies and a variety of other less than pleasing elements, the fact remained it had been busy and it had been home. Sacharissa couldn't bear to let down Jane, but the truth was, she would have stayed in Ankh-Morpork in a heartbeat

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[dishabille_mal]

Maladicta had been trying not the think of the weekend as anything more than part of Island life. It made leaving the Disc behind something that wasn't leaving the Disc behind. It made the situation more palatable. The bad part about being back- being awake- wasn't that she missed home, it was that William was miserable and she could feel the same pull in Sacharissa, the heavy feeling of being gone from home, once again.

She, Maladicta had realized halfway through their first day back, liked the island. She liked her heartbeat and she liked sitting in the sun in a thin shirt and short pants. It was a scary thing to like, it was scary to feel again how sharp the contrast between mortality and eternity could be (and that hadn't even been the real thing, just a memory of it, which meant the real difference was so much greater than she could eve really remember, now...) but she was feeling it and it didn't stop her from liking who she was, on the island.

Although the flying had been fun.

So. Maladicta was trying to go about things as if they were comparatively normal, which they were now back to being. Thinking of the weekend as a dream, not a great, changing event. But it had been.

It had been full of a lot of little revelations. Or rather, a lot of little things that led up to one big revelation. She was wearing her red military tunic, sleeves rolled to her shoulders, and the slim, soft-cotton jeans she'd been wearing for almost a year, now, and had tied her hair up in a ponytail so it only just touched the back of her neck. It was getting so long, almsot halfway down her back, that she needed to loop it twice through the ribbon before she tied it off to keep it that short. She didn't knock when she walked into the Times office, but she did close the door behind her.

"Hello."

[headline_maker]

Sacharissa looked up, breath catching in her throat when she saw Maladicta come through the door. "Hello," she said. She hated that - the way her voice sounded, so small and thin, the uncertainty that came through that single word.

She sat hunched forward, her head propped up on two balled up fists, and broke from that pose only to wipe discreetly at her eyes with a little sniff. She hadn't meant to let her emotions run away with her like that, but some things just couldn't be avoided.

"William's gone back already, I think." It wasn't so much that she thought Maladicta would only turn up to see William as it was a defense mechanism, just in case she had.

[dishabille_mal]

"I know he has," Maladicta said, eyebrows drawing together, starting across the room. She looked concerned.

"Sax, what- is it the poetry?" she asked, stopping next to the desk.

[headline_maker]

There was another sniff and Sacharissa shook her head, perhaps too violently, hands waving dismissively. "No," she said quickly, "no - oh, it's nothing, I'm fine. The poetry's lovely. Wesley gave it to me for my birthday." It had been terribly sweet of him to remember and to bother. Sometimes she thought it might have been easier if she could have been in love with him. But then another set of problems would have likely cropped up and it didn't much matter who was on the receiving end, did it? It ended up the same. You could want to go home with all your heart and still you'd know the only thing you'd miss was this.

Or, rather, her.

[dishabille_mal]

Maladicta's expression seemed to settle, slightly, though was no less concerned. She reached out to smooth Sacharissa's hair. If it wasn't the poetry, than she knew precisely what was.

"I wanted to talk with you," she murmured.

[headline_maker]

The feel of Maladicta's hand running through her hair set her heart racing again, the fierce, familiar ache making her want to ask to just be left alone. Only she couldn't, not really. She never could bear to turn Maladicta away.

"Oh?" She swallowed, lifting her head and forcing her expression into something more docile. "Is everything alright?"

[dishabille_mal]

"I'm not sure," Maladicta said, and sat on the edge of the desk. She absently drew one leg up and gracefully slid her arms around her knee, eyes seeming particularly cool as they focused away, and thoughtful.

"Or rather, no, but the more pressing question is will they be. And I'm not sure." She absently lifted one hand to twine her fingers in her necklace. She looked down at it and her expression warmed slightly.

"He's such an odd person. Surprising and... difficult, in turns. I like the surprising moments, though." She stifled a sigh and shook her head, minutely.

"I like every moment of it, even when I don't. Which makes no sense, but neither does being in love, really. Certainly there aren't any rules that I can see. Although there are guidelines, I suppose. Tokens are part of that." She dropped her fingers away, letting the little red jewel fall against her skin, where it caught the light in the room and sent a little glow across her skin.

"And that's what it is. A little sign, a token that he loves me." She looked at Sacharissa, after a moment, expression still quiet, only the subtlest of smiles, a difficult expression to read.

"But not only me."

[headline_maker]

Sacharissa didn't understand at first. All she could comprehend was that something was the matter, that Maladicta was sitting there, calm as anything, telling her that something was wrong they might not be able to fix. So she watched and she listened, eyes wide with concern and sympathy and panic by turns, until all she could do was shake her head, staring.

"That was a long time ago," she protested. She couldn't turn her eyes from the pendant and the flush it cast across that pale expanse of perfect skin. Her fingers dug into the palm of one hand, head still shaking, desperation on her face. "Maladicta, really... Why bring all that up again? It's a long time past." And she wanted so badly, so very badly, for it to stay over or to at least look like it was.

Of course love didn't make sense. It wasn't rational. There was nothing that made sense about putting your heart on the line, nothing sensible about risking the pain and suffering love could provoke. There was certainly nothing that made sense about loving not simply one person you couldn't have but two, two who loved each other so deeply it made your heart hurt to see and to know that any happiness you felt for them would never be perfect, never be whole, always slightly fractured.

[dishabille_mal]

"More than a year ago, now," Maladicta agreed. "And the two of you still have feelings for each other. More than that, really. 'Feelings' seems like I'm trying to make it inconsequential. I'm not. It isn't. What's between the two of you and what... what you won't let be between you. Because of me." She watched Sacharissa fixedly. She wasn't setting Sacharissa up for anything, she wasn't trying to play with words. Things had gone on one way long enough, and things needed to be said, though. So she was saying them.

"I wanted very badly to dislike you, when you first arrived. I would convince myself that I'd find small slights to commit that you wouldn't be able to know for certain were malicious or not, just petty things. But I could never manage them. I liked you too much. Of course, you were fairly ridiculous. You can still exclaim the most bizarre things with utter seriousness, I have no idea how, but it's endearing. It's part of what makes you-" She broke off, glancing at the wall again, considering where she was going with this. It wasn't easy.

"Even from the first I could see you were a lot more than what you present. I like to think I maybe see more than other people, more pieces of you, I mean," she said, more quietly. "And certainly after this weekend, I think... I think I've seen more, still. Things that have illuminated the nature of our relationship. Or at least one side of it."

[headline_maker]

The office was getting blurry again, and Sacharissa had to blink to clear her eyes, still uncertain and unsteady. There was a curious sort of lightheadedness that came with distress, almost an ache that left her feel dull. It didn't help that she didn't understand. She didn't know what to do.

Because the thing was this: there were the things you wanted to be true and then there was just true. And this, this wasn't true until tomorrow. This was true a lot longer than anyone liked. So Sacharissa couldn't protest, because saying that it was over, that she didn't still love William - that would have been lying. And she could omit details and tell little white lies, but she couldn't lie about something like that and she couldn't do it sitting in the Times office.

She didn't want to be endearing. She wanted to be okay and waking up now, opening her eyes in her hut, not having this nightmare. "I... I think you do," she agreed, surprising herself when she found her voice was steady, if hushed. "See more than others and... and I appreciate that. But I don't understand, Mala. I -" She swallowed hard again, ignoring the painful thudding of her heart. "I can't change how I feel about him, but I learned a long time ago how to live around it. If that's a problem for your relationship, I'm not the one you should be speaking to."

[dishabille_mal]

"No," Maladicta said, turning more to face her, really rather impressed with how clearly and concretely this was all coming out, "you're precisely the one I should be speaking to. It's not a problem between William and I. It could be, but it isn't. Sacharissa, this isn't about him and me, it's about us. You and me. I realize this isn't fair, but it's part of what I am, and this past weekend I heard your heart, every time he was near." She kept her eyes trained very, very carefully on Sacharissa's expression.

"And every time I was."

[headline_maker]

If Maladicta had been watching in the hope that something in Sacharissa's countenance would betray her, she was not to be disappointed. Dawning realization made Sacharissa's eyes widen, and, for a moment, she stiffened, unmoving, not breathing.

The movement came almost from nowhere; she was on her feet, taking a step backwards almost to the wall, head shaking again and her eyes anywhere but on Maladicta. "It doesn't do anything when he's near," she protested, and she was almost certain it was true, "except beat as it always does, and I don't see what this is about."

That part was not true, but she couldn't help herself. She'd grown used to being around William, to being in love with him, until it came as naturally as breathing and equally as unobstrusively; she hardly noticed anymore because it was simply part of what life was. The same could not be said of her feelings for Maladicta, too confusing and painful and inconvenient to ignore.

[dishabille_mal]

"Sacharissa-" Maladicta started, rising from the edge of the desk with her, one hand lifting. Then she realized hesitating would be a mistake. She caught her friend's wrist, lightly, ducking her head in the way of Sacharissa's gaze, trying to meet it.

"Sacharissa, look at me."

[headline_maker]

Her immediate reaction was to do just the opposite, her head whipping instantly the other way. She'd been backed into a corner without having realized anyone was coming toward her, and the hand at her wrist was as effectively binding as rope.

Then, slowly, she turned her head to look Maladicta dead in the eye, defiant.

[dishabille_mal]

That was some look. Maladicta didn't blink, but she spent a moment giving that expression some regard. It deserved it. It was a very beautiful expression. It was, however, indicative of a certain combativeness that Maladicta didn't really think was going to be useful at this juncture. She wasn't making her point.

So she lifted her other hand to cup the back of Sacharissa's cheek, and tilted her face up to press their lips together, perfectly fitted and almost chaste.

[headline_maker]

It wouldn't have been an exaggeration to say that Sacharissa had dreamt of this, or that the kiss surprised her as much as or more than anything ever had in the whole of her life, or that she had started to tremble, just a little. She would have been less startled by a blow or hard words than this, so perfectly soft, so good it made her afraid.

It was like a trick question had been asked, her heart thudding heavily in her chest like a bomb, the only moving part of her. What was the right answer supposed to be?

What it always was, of course: the truth.

Slowly Sacharissa raised a tentative hand, eyes closing so she didn't know where it was going until it reached the back of that elegant neck as she returned the kiss. Chaste was not the precise word she would have used to describe it, but she wasn't currently able to come up with any adjective other than right.