Somewhere in the Preserve, Sunday Late Morning

[thismaskiwear]

There wasn't anything new or unusual about waking up with Francine, at least not to Katchoo's groggy way of thinking when she opened her eyes, except that all the times it had happened before had been a couple of years ago. And all those times she'd opened her eyes to the sight of Francine's bedroom, and the realization shortly thereafter of the

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[thatsamilkshake]

Francine, too, was familiar with this, waking with her arms around Katchoo and the smell of slightly cigarette-scented hair in her face. Familiar enough that when the sounds of morning in the woods filtered in, it took her a moment -- and then her eyes flew open wide, because yes. That thing there about the bruises and the cuts, and she was touching the cheek pressed against her shoulder so gently she might just have been breathing on it. "Chewie?"

[thismaskiwear]

Katchoo did shift, just barely, at the sensation of Francine's hand on her cheek.

"Is it morning ag -- Francie?"

[thatsamilkshake]

"Just me. You o--" She never quite got to the --kay, just froze there where she was. Frozen, not still. You could tell, if she was touching you.

Tree. Grass. Familiar like yesterday, different hair, no cigarettes. Bonfire. Dancing. A castle by the mall.

[thismaskiwear]

Yeah, this was familiar to Katchoo, too. More comfortable than yesterday, that was for damn sure. Damn Merlin and his bony -- oh, god. Oh mother@#*(@#in' god.

Except this was different, dammit, this was Francine and this was the way it should be, but she was the only one who realized it.

"Just fine," she mumbled, the sullenness in her voice due to the fact that she knew Francine damn well enough to be able to tell how she'd just frozen up.