Archive of Our Own ^beta

    1. 

Hiring the side room of a busy pub for this party had been risky, but Laudna and her friends had wanted to do something special for Imogen’s thirtieth, and they had told her that it would be fine. Great, even!

Laudna knew that Imogen wouldn’t want lots of people in their house, their home, their sanctuary, and even if it was only the Hells and some peripheral friends, that had seemed like a violation. She didn’t trust Fearne to not make it a drunken mess if they went to hers, which Imogen would have hated. Ashton and the rest of the squatters in the Krook House didn’t really have the calm happy birthday, we love you vibe that she wanted, either. 

She’d gone to them in a panic with what felt like half of her hair pulled out in her hands and they’d somehow convinced her that the Spire by Fire would be nice. That Imogen came here happily all the time. That she was familiar with the setting and the people and the moderate crowd and that it wouldn’t be a problem. Laudna had covered it in banners and bunting in all of her favourite colours; she had made sure everyone dressed up but was still casual; she had made a frankly extravagant cake.

Now, as she held Imogen’s hand and looked at her lovely face in the interminable pause between arrival and realisation, she was starting to think that she’d been played for a fool. No one should ever trust Ashton or Fearne, let alone her; there was a reason she hadn’t had any friends until three years ago! 

Imogen’s hand tightened in hers, and a smile pulled at the edges of her mouth; maybe this wouldn’t be such a catastrophe after all. Laudna watched as she looked around at their friends with an embarrassed but happy smile as they cheered, until Ashton let off a party popper directly into her face; then it was mainly spluttering and cursing. 

“Happy birthday?” she offered tentatively, pulling the paper streamers from Imogen’s hair. 

“Thank you, Laudna,” Imogen said. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

“Well, it was a group effort! We wanted you to know how much we value you, and love you, and how much we want to spend time with you, and—” She was silenced by a soft kiss on her cheek. 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s very laid back! We have the room, and there’ll be food, and cake, but we have to go to the bar for drinks.” She was rambling; she just wanted Imogen to have a good time. “What do you want? What can I get you?” 

“Honestly, can you take a deep breath and sit down with me? It’s my birthday, let’s make someone else do it.” Imogen pulled her past the group to a table in the back and kicked two chairs together. She made Laudna sit down first to ensure she did, and laughed brightly when Fearne pushed her down into the other and handed her a drink. 

“Birthday girl doesn’t go empty handed,” she said, to which Imogen lifted up the hand that was holding Laudna’s with a grin. “Atta girl, treat yourself!” She winked, which made Imogen blush a very fetching pink. “Laudna?” 

“I’ll get something in a second,” she said. She’d been so nervous that Imogen would hate it all that she couldn’t remember the last time she had sat down. It was nice to sit here with Imogen, knowing that she was happy. Maybe she could sit here all evening and watch. 

“I didn’t really know what to expect, Laudna,” Imogen was saying. “You were being so weird on the way here, I was a little nervous!” Laudna could tell she was joking from the twist of her mouth and the tone of her voice. 

“Weirder than usual?” That was a very high bar to clear, given the things people usually said. 

“Nervous weird, not fun weird.” Imogen was grinning around her straw. 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she said with a frown; and on her birthday too! 

“Shush, as long as you’re alright?” 

“I’m great! I just want you to have a nice time.”

“Well, you’re here,” Imogen said with a smile, tilting her head to look at her, “how could I not?” Laudna felt that smile warm her from head to toe. 

Laudna hadn’t understood how a single person could change your life so completely. She hadn’t known it was possible to live your life as a drifting, aimless, mistreated outcast, and then have that existence turned on its head by a singular, stubborn woman who looked at you with fire in her eyes at the injustice of it all. Hadn’t known that someone could choose you so completely, could force the world to accept you through sheer force of will. But until three years ago she hadn’t known Imogen Temult. 

And this? A happy, complete life, full of love and people, full of Imogen’s smile and her laugh and her friendship? This was a miracle. She was a miracle. 

Laudna had rolled into a small town in the middle of nowhere three years ago, wandering and unwanted, and had expected Gelvaan to roll her back out, the way that close-knit communities tended to do to unsavoury sorts like her. Instead, she’d found Imogen, suffering under the oppressive weight of familial abandonment and debilitating migraines and crushing anxiety. Imogen, who had looked at her and thought she was worth knowing, who had taken her hand and driven her away. Who had made a home for them, and a life, and a future. Who had given Laudna a family, had put them on a path where they figured out how to be functional together, where they could thrive together. She didn’t know what she’d do without her; thinking about it made her want to do something drastic and irreversible. 

She was fairly happy for them to hold down the corner of this room, to watch Fearne flirt her way through the guests, Ashton swaggering in her chaotic wake; to watch Chetney complain about the craftsmanship of the chairs; to watch FCG give unsolicited advice to a bemused Orym. But Imogen was the reason they were all there, and while Laudna could see her shoulders were slightly tensed at being the centre of attention, she was laughing as she was pulled away by Dorian to be given a gift. She turned back to Laudna, gesturing for her to follow, but she shook her head; Imogen should hang out with everyone she wanted to without Laudna hovering and making it weird. She made herself scarce and went to get a drink.

Chetney caught her arm on the way to the bar. “You did good, kid,” he said, gesturing his head back to Imogen. “She looks happy.” 

“Thank you, Chetney,” she said, caught off guard by his sincerity. 

“Listen, when’s the cake coming? It's the main reason I’m here.” Yes, that sounded much more like it. 

“Later,” she brushed him off. The Spire by Fire wasn’t too crowded, thankfully, and she was given space as she waited after service. She glanced back over her shoulder into their room, checking to see if Imogen was alright; it was very important that she was having a nice time, and that Laudna hadn’t made any mistakes in bringing her here. She was talking to Dorian, her smile a teasing smirk, which meant that she was enjoying herself, thank god. She was already looking at Laudna over his shoulder, and gave a little wave when their eyes met. Laudna returned it with a grin as a glass of wine was placed on the bar in front of her. 

Imogen excused herself from her group and snagged Laudna’s hand as she walked back, pulled her gently to her side. “Did I say earlier that you look beautiful? Because you do.” Oh. Laudna didn’t really know how to reply to that. She’d obviously tried hard to look as nice as she could, because it was Imogen’s special day. She’d pulled her hair up, and had ironed the shirt she knew Imogen liked best, and had put on her fanciest skirt. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, pulling gently at the cuff of her blouse. With anyone else she would have understood it as politeness, but with Imogen she knew she meant it; Imogen always meant what she said. “You, obviously, look magnificent,” she effused as Imogen gently moved her hand away from tugging at her wrist, stopping her from pulling it out of place. The compliment earned her a fond eye roll.

“I wear this all the time.”

“Yes, and you look magnificent all the time.” Which she did, with her masses of purple hair, her gentle eyes, her pretty freckles. There was a very specific smile that Imogen had when she thought that Laudna was being hyperbolic, when she was fondly abashed at the intensity of her affection. It only added to her radiance. 

“Stop it, how will my ego get back out the door?” Imogen nudged her shoulder softly with her own. 

“You should probably be more concerned about the rest of you with the amount of food we have to eat.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bunch of great friends, but there aren’t loads of them,” she said matter of factly.

“Oh, not at all! You’re very well liked. I just may have gone overboard.”

“You, Laudna?” she drawled. “Never.” 

“We’re going to have cake every night for about a month, I think. It freezes, thank god!” She should probably get the cake, that way all the organised parts were done and she didn’t have to worry about ruining it. Imogen tilted her head slightly and looked at her in the way she did when she could see every single thought in Laudna’s head. Sometimes it felt like Imogen could read her mind. 

“Did you make it?” she asked softly, and Laudna could tell she already knew the answer to that question.

“Yes.” Maybe she should have bought one, that would have been so much better, especially for a party like this.

“Well then we’ll make it stretch to two months, just to make it last longer.” It had been three years and Laudna still hadn’t figured out how to cope with this level of earnestness. 

“A little bit of cake every night before bed?”

“Sure, and then I can remember the lovely, thoughtful party you planned for me before I go to sleep, and it’ll make the nightmares more manageable.” It would be inappropriate to cry at a birthday party, she thought. You could really only get away with it when it was your own. 

“And if you find yourself in the storm, you can have more when you wake up. Cake makes everything better, I find.” 

“Definitely. And then I’ll snuggle up with you; that always makes it loads better.” Laudna loathed the nightmares that plagued Imogen’s sleep, but she could admit to herself that she liked it when Imogen came to her for comfort, when she let Laudna wrap her cold arms around her and sing her back to sleep. It would make her a bad friend to wish for it, though, so she didn’t. She already got to sleep in the same bed as her every night, like every sleepover she never got to have as a child. It would be greedy to want more. 

Technically, their house had a second bedroom. It had been occupied by their landlady, Zhudanna, until she needed more help than two ‘girls’ with full time jobs could give her, and moved to an assisted living community in the Aerie Spire. It was so kind of her to let them stay on, so kind of her to rent her spare room to two drifters in the first place. Neither of them felt right moving into her space, so they decided to stay together. Zhudanna’s room was currently home to what was probably the most extensive rat-run in Marquet; Pâté was very happy with the arrangements. 

“Thank you, for this,” Imogen said. 

“You’ve already said that.”

“I know, I know. But I can see how much you’ve thought about it, and that you’re a little nervous about me liking it.” 

“No I’m not,” she lied. 

“Laudna.”

“Maybe a little,” she tried to hide her face behind her hair, forgetting it was tied back.  

“You don’t have to be. This is lovely, and you are wonderful, and I love you, alright?” Imogen had lowered her head so she could meet Laudna’s eye. 

“Alright,” she said, and felt a bit of the weight lift from her shoulders. Though not all of it; she still had to do the cake. “I’m just going to—“ she gestured to the corner, hoping that she understood. 

Laudna leaned forward to kiss her, to show her that she was thankful for the reassurance, that she was happy that Imogen was pleased, that she wanted her to see all of the love in this room. Imogen turned her head to proffer her cheek; Laudna just barely missed the side of her mouth. Imogen squeezed her hand, and watched her walk away with a smile. 

She managed to make it to the corner of the room before she stiffened. That was— She— What the hell was that? Laudna hadn’t tried to kiss her on the cheek, a lovely, familiar, comforting gesture between them. She’d leaned in and tried to kiss her on the lips. What the fuck. They’d never done that. She’d never even thought about doing that. 

Friends didn’t do that, not even friends as close as she and Imogen. No matter what Fearne tried to convince her, kissing on the lips was different, it was romantic and intimate and—

She hadn't even meant to do it, it wasn’t a conscious decision. She’d just leaned in as if they kissed every day, just a quick brush of their lips when they parted, a gentle peck. She’d tried to kiss her. She had almost kissed her. That was—

Their relationship wasn’t like that; it was intimate, but it wasn’t romantic. Imogen was her person, her world, her everything, but that everything didn’t include kissing. Didn’t include Laudna kissing Imogen. Why was she still thinking about kissing Imogen? 

Laudna would be the first to admit that her romantic experience could be described as limited, if you were feeling kind, or tragic, if you weren’t. Her early forays had been met with more mud in the face than kisses in the Parchwood, and after everything that had happened (and even here, in this downward spiralling panic, her mind slid off of everything that had happened) there hadn’t been much opportunity; she had packed all of those thoughts and feelings into a little tidy box and pushed it to the very back of her brain, locked the door, and thrown away the key. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t know the door was there, or what was behind it, but why would she open it when all that was waiting on the other side was rejection and disappointment? She wasn’t exactly a desirable specimen. She was pretty sure she would make a terrible partner. There weren’t people lining up to ask her to dinner, or asking to kiss her, or asking to touch her; she could count on one hand the number of people willing to touch her at all. 

It just didn’t occur to her. She didn’t even think about it. It would be nice, she had thought abstractly, to have a partner, to have someone to love, who loved her, who wanted to be with her. But she already had that. Didn’t she? Just because she and Imogen weren’t physically intimate didn’t mean that she wasn’t loved, just not like that. Loved, but not in love. It didn’t need to be like that. It wasn’t like that. 

Was it like that? Not for Imogen, but for her? 

“Laudna?” She turned her head slowly towards the soft, questioning voice, and saw Orym suppress a flinch at the wideness of her eyes, the angle of her head. “Are you ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so detached, but most of her felt like she was on a different plane altogether. 

“Well, you’ve been staring at the wall without blinking for about three minutes.” That explained the dry eyes. 

“I’m just doing the cake,” she said, ignoring his confused look when he couldn’t see the cake, or the candles, or her lighter. 

“Alright. Do you want some help?” He was talking to her so gently, as if he expected her to skitter away if he made a noise. 

“No, thank you, Orym. I’m alright.” She wouldn’t have been convinced by that, so no wonder he looked sceptical. 

“Are you sure?” No, she wasn’t sure at all. She thought she might be having an existential crisis, actually, and was maybe sliding very slowly towards a panic attack. 

She caught a flash of purple over his shoulder and her eyes were drawn to it automatically. Laudna watched Imogen laugh with Fearne and Dorian, watched as her face lit up and a beautiful smile broke free. The warmth she felt from that laugh pulsed in her chest and she felt an accompanying smile pull wide across her own face. 

It felt the same as always, that draw towards her, that tether; she was the centre of Laudna’s world no matter where they were. Laudna had thought about her every day for the past three years, about her kindness and her support and her capability. About the way that Imogen didn’t seem to mind touching her, seemed happy to touch her, didn’t mind sharing her space and her life and her affection. The way she included Laudna in her plans, in her future, the way she cared for her, like she was precious, and special. She’d thought about the curl of her hair and the brightness of her eyes and how the callouses on her hands contrasted the softness of her skin. 

Imogen looked up at her and Laudna watched her smile brighten as it twisted into something special, just for her. 

Oh, she thought. Oh, fuck.

    2.

It was fine. It was fine. She’d had a week to think about it, had thought about nothing else, really, and she had decided it was fine. 

Nothing was different. Nothing about the way she was feeling was different to what she’d felt for the past three years, it was just that she knew about it now. Knowing about it didn’t change the reality of it. Knowing about it didn’t mean she loved Imogen any differently than she did last week. It was fine. 

She’d stopped having to suppress a flinch whenever Imogen touched her, terrified that she would see how much Laudna craved it. The initial panic had passed and she was trying to relax back into the feeling of an arm wrapped around her waist, a kiss on her cheek, a warm hand holding hers. It was still making her tense, but it was progress! She knew she had to hide it, because if Imogen thought she didn’t want to be touched, she would stop touching her and Laudna would probably just keel over and die. 

Imogen could tell that something was wrong, that something had happened. She had been delicate and gentle, kept checking in with her. Those kind questions had often been accompanied by some very lovely hand holding, or hair stroking, and had therefore been a vicious, self-defeating cycle. 

Laudna had managed to convince her that she was alright (because she was), and things had relaxed back to normal, somewhat. 

“You’re staring,” Imogen said with a smile from the other end of the sofa, not taking her eyes from her phone. Laudna had definitely been watching her over the top of her unread book for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“Sorry.” She averted her eyes. 

“I wasn’t complaining. Penny for your thoughts?” Imogen looked up. Laudna had read a lot of romantic books, and they always talked about drowning in someone’s eyes. Was that actually possible? It certainly felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

Laudna had been admiring the freckles across her cheeks, and the sharp cut of her jaw, and the miles of hair half pulled back from her face. The fullness of her lips. The little furrow of concentration on her forehead. She couldn’t say what she had actually been thinking, which was what would it be like to have my hand in your hair as you kissed me? She couldn’t say that. 

“I was thinking we should add a loop-de-loop to Pâté’s tubes.” It had come out of her mouth, so she must have been thinking about it and therefore it was not a lie. Imogen didn’t even blink. 

“It’s a nice idea, Laudna, but I’m almost certain he’d get stuck and we’d have to disassemble to get him out.” 

“It would be character building!” 

“I’m not sure his character needs more building, honey.” 

“Well, I’ll think about it,” she said trying to avoid looking at Imogen’s smile, that fond-but-slightly-exasperated look that she only gave to Laudna. “What are you looking at?” 

“Here,” she said, leaning over so that Laudna could see the screen. She rested her head on Laudna’s shoulder and wriggled into her side. It was perfectly normal and not distracting at all. “The museum at Ascension’s Rise has this new exhibit, it’s this arty sculpture thing about Marquesian history done entirely with bones. Laudna, I think you’d love it! Do you wanna go?” She showed her the screen, scrolling quickly through marketing shots for something called ‘The Ossuary’.

She absolutely wanted to go. She absolutely wanted to go with Imogen, who was so thoughtful to consider her, to think of things she would like, who didn’t think that her interests were weird even though she knew they were. “Yes, please,” she said quietly. 

“Next Da’leysen?” 

“It’s a date!” For fucks sake, why did she say that?

“Great!” she said, and Laudna didn’t know exactly what it was, what had caused it, but she felt Imogen tense against her for a fleeting second. Maybe she had imagined it. Imogen locked her phone and threw it to the far end of the sofa by their feet before wrapping her arm around Laudna’s waist, holding her tightly. Laudna wasn’t sure she was breathing. 

She placed her hand on Imogen’s wrist, sliding her fingers inside the sleeve of her jumper; Laudna had knitted it for her, had intended it to be a nice gift, a thank you for everything she did. It was alright, for the most part, but the sleeves were too loose and the pattern was slightly uneven. She desperately wanted to frog it, but Imogen had refused, had held it out of Laudna’s reach until she acquiesced. Laudna was a little embarrassed when she wore it out of the house, she knew she could have done a better job, but Imogen seemed to favour it and the warmth she felt at that eclipsed everything else. 

“I should probably make dinner soon,” she said into Imogen’s hair. 

“Just—“ she replied softly, then stopped. “Can we just stay like this for a little bit?” She almost sounded shy.

“Of course,” she whispered, and it sounded like a promise. Imogen made a little noise of happiness when Laudna started softly stroking the inside of her wrist. 

She didn’t need anything more than this. This was perfect. Laudna may have loved Imogen slightly differently than she had realised, she may have also felt the in love part of the relationship, but it didn’t matter. Whatever definition you tried to give to it, what they had was special. Laudna told herself that it was fine, and for the first time since her little epiphany, she believed it.

    3.

Laudna watched from behind the fence as Imogen led a beautiful grey horse around the paddock. She had absolutely no idea what Imogen was doing, had no idea what you did with a horse apart from ride it or brush it or feed it, no matter how much Imogen tried to teach her. The endearing look of concentration on Imogen’s face tugged at her heart. 

Imogen did a double take when she caught sight of her watching, hiding beneath an oversized floppy black hat and large sunglasses; the Marquesian sun was not forgiving to the pale and pasty and neither was a pastel palette, hence the black dress. It was a tragic cycle. 

“You look like you’ve left a trail of dead husbands in your wake,” Imogen said when she circled to meet her. 

“If they insist on being so disposable, what’s a lady to do?” she said with a sharp smile and cut glass diction. 

“You gotta find something sturdier next time around.” She was grinning as she leaned her elbows on the fence and propped a foot on the lowest slat. 

“Maybe a wife would suit me better.” Thank god the sunglasses hid her truly atrocious attempt at a wink; what was she doing?  

“You won’t find me arguing,” Imogen laughed. “I’m obviously thrilled to see you, but why am I seeing you?”

“You ran out of the house this morning like it was on fire—“

“Goddamn alarm didn’t go off.”

“—and you forgot— it did go off, Imogen, you turned it off and fell back to sleep—  your lunch,” she interjected. “So, you’re seeing me because I have your lunch.” 

“Laudna, you’re a goddess,” she said, throwing her head back in exaggerated exultation. Laudna wasn’t looking at the line of her jaw. “Are you staying? Make it an occasion?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve promised FCG I’ll be guinea pig this afternoon for some of their more outlandish sweet treats.” She had heard on the grapevine that Ashton had stolen them a baking blow torch and she had the feeling many of her options were going to be brûléed, even things that shouldn’t be. Especially things that shouldn’t be. “If there is not an attempt at unlicensed therapy also, I’ll eat this outlandish hat.” 

“Which of your perceived problems are on the cards, you reckon?”

“Take your pick. Traumatic past, overpositivity, inability to take social cues.” Unrequited love for your best friend. 

“Well, when you come home miraculously fixed, I’m making dinner, so don’t go too wild.” She was giving Laudna a very beautiful grin that she couldn’t help but return.

“Ms Temult?” Laudna hadn’t seen them approach, had been too focused on the teasing lilt of Imogen’s voice, but she turned to see someone unfamiliar standing next to her. They’d never met, but she knew from the kindness of the smile and the trim cut of the coat and Imogen’s stories that this was probably FRIDA. Imogen had taken a shine to them. Fast friends. “There’s a call for you. Ms Hexum has some questions about next week.”

“Alright, I’ll be right over.” She straightened up and hopped the fence. “Sorry, Laudna, I have to take this.”

“Go, darling. I’ll see you at home.” Imogen squeezed her forearm and walked five paces before turning and coming back for the lunch bag outstretched in Laudna’s hand. 

“Thanks,” she said sheepishly, and kissed her on the cheek. It was close enough to the corner of Laudna’s mouth that she felt a tightening in her stomach. “Love you!” she called back over her shoulder. 

“Are you leaving now, or staying for a little?” FRIDA asked her kindly. 

“I shan’t darken your door any longer. Or, paddock, I suppose.” She turned to go, started to walk. 

“Let me escort you,” they said, and held out an arm for her to take. 

“Oh,” she said, surprised at the gesture. Normally it took people a while to warm up to her, if they ever did. “That’s—” Laudna reached out and slid her arm into theirs. “Thank you.”

“I’m so glad to be finally meeting you,” FRIDA said as they walked leisurely across the field. “Ms Temult has told me so much about you that I feel I know you already.”

“I, of course, have heard the same about you,” she said truthfully; Imogen’s stories about work and her colleagues were detailed and funny, and often recreated over dinner. 

“I doubt that very much,” they said with a smile. “I have a great deal of affection for her, but I think if she had the capacity to talk about anything but you I’d know by now.” Laudna’s stomach performed a traitorous flutter, and she felt her cheeks pink. A blush! She didn’t know if she’d ever blushed before. Another new experience to add to the arsenal. “How did you enjoy The Ossuary?”

“Oh, it was wonderful!” She was glad for the shift in conversation; it distracted her from the feral drive to ask them every single thing Imogen had ever said about her. “Some of the concepts were a bit…” condescending, abstract, confused, “niche, but the bone work itself was lovely. Imogen was very kind to accompany me.” 

“When I told her about it she seemed very sure you would like it.” She hadn’t realised that it had come from their recommendation. What had Imogen said, that this stranger had known the kind of thing she would like?

“Well, she knows me better than I know myself.” This perhaps wasn’t the compliment it used to be; she had learned recently that she didn’t know herself very well at all. 

“I find myself looking forward to talking to her quite a bit, a nice aspect of living vicariously, I suppose. I hope someday to have a spouse who speaks of me the way she does of you.” 

A spouse. A spouse. Did FRIDA think she and Imogen were married? That was— It— Laudna didn’t know what that was. Absurd? Insane? Everything she wanted and couldn’t have? 

It was one thing for Laudna to be in love. That was fine (it was fine!). Anyone who knew Imogen as she did, who spent as much time with her as she did, would fall in love with her. That was just common sense. Laudna could list out all of her positive and desirable attributes, knew they were innumerable and combined in a way that made Imogen special, truly unique. Falling in love with Imogen was so natural that she didn’t even know she’d done it. 

For people to think that Imogen wanted Laudna, would fall in love with her, would desire her? That was a different matter entirely. That was a vast misapprehension, and she was a little offended on Imogen’s behalf. 

If Imogen was going to get married it would be to someone kind and clever and beautiful, someone who could give her all the things she deserved. Laudna knew Imogen wasn’t interested in dating right now, but she’d always expected that would change once they had gotten settled enough. She had always ignored the twist in her stomach at the prospect, at the threat of tears when she thought about someone taking Imogen away. She’d always thought it was fear of abandonment, but now she wondered if not an insignificant portion was just plain jealousy. 

“Imogen and I aren’t married,” she said quietly, pushing down the hurt she felt at the words. It shouldn’t hurt to say something so obvious. 

“Oh, my apologies. Partner, then?” FRIDA said, taking completely the wrong message from her words. Damn them for making her say it twice. 

She had to say it again. Why wasn’t she saying it? Imogen and I are just friends. That just felt worse than any of the other denials. It implied a false inferiority. There was no just about their relationship; it meant everything to Laudna. Mine and Imogen’s relationship is not romantic. There, that was better. That was what she should say. She wasn’t saying it. The length of the pause was creeping into awkwardness, although FRIDA had not lost any affability.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said. Which was not what she should be saying. She could not let this very sweet and caring colleague of Imogen’s, her friend, think that they were in a romantic relationship. That was a betrayal. That was a lie. 

Imogen clearly didn’t know this was happening; if she’d known about this misunderstanding she would have corrected it. Laudna knew her well enough to know that she probably wouldn’t be as offended as she should be to be mistaken for Laudna’s wife (her wife. She couldn’t stop thinking about being Imogen’s wife. The idea of it simultaneously broke her heart and made it soar) but she probably would think it was at least a little funny. It was the kind of thing she’d tell Laudna over dinner. Hey, FRIDA thought we were married today! Isn’t that wild? 

“Well,” FRIDA said when they arrived at the gates. Laudna still had not corrected them. “I’m very pleased that everything Imogen said about you appears to be true.” Unless Imogen was out there telling people she was a liar and an opportunist and a terrible friend, she doubted that was entirely correct. 

“It was lovely to meet you, finally.”

“You too, Laudna. She was right, you are very beautiful, in a very spooky way; this ensemble is definitely a vibe. I hope we’ll see each other again soon.” FRIDA gave her a little nod and squeezed her arm before heading back to the office. 

Imogen had said she was beautiful. She’d said it to her before, of course, but that was just to make her feel nice. Imogen saying it to FRIDA, with no expectation that Laudna would ever hear, felt different.  

As she turned and started to walk, she let herself imagine it. Just for the time it took to walk home, she allowed herself the indulgence. A daydream of a quiet life in the countryside, with a cottage, and some horses. Just Laudna and Imogen, her wife. 

    4.

Laudna had realised that she needed to talk to someone about this. It was still fine, obviously, but it was consuming a significant amount of both her waking and dreaming thoughts, and talking to someone might help her figure out how to cope with it going forward. 

She considered going to Fearne, but she thought her advice would probably be to just kiss Imogen, which was a terrible idea, even if she wanted to desperately. 

Laudna also thought that if she was challenged or teased about this that she may act like a little bitch. She didn’t want to upset any of her friends, or have to apologise with her tail between her legs after the fact. 

That pretty much only left Ashton. She was pretty sure she could tell Ashton to fuck off and die and they’d just shrug. That was the kind of energy she needed if she was going to be a dick about it. 

“I’ve never been issued a formal invitation for coffee before,” they said, kicking up their feet and leaning back until their chair was wobbling precariously on the back legs. “What the fuck is up with that?”

“I can’t want to see you?” Laudna kept all four chair legs on the ground and crossed her legs at the ankle. 

“We see each other all the time. Your texts were weird.”

“My texts are always weird.” 

“Stilted, formal. Normally it’s at least half punctuation.” She didn't reply to this, which made him frown. “You ok?”

“Mhmm,” she mumbled unconvincingly. The frown deepened. 

“Laudna?”

“So what’s new with you? Tell me everything,” she said, bright and bubbly and manic. She didn’t know how to bring it up. “Stolen anything good lately? Told any authority figures to go fuck themselves? Seeing anyone?” That last one came out a little strangled, unfortunately, but at least it was something approaching a segway. 

“No, yes, and what?” He was looking at her as if she had lost her mind, but both of them knew there hadn’t much been there to begin with. “Since when do you ask about dating?”

“I’m interested in your life.” Which was true most of the time. Maybe not today. 

“Sure, but you don’t normally ask about that stuff directly. Which, you know, fair play.” 

“Well I’m asking now.” She forced herself to make eye contact. 

“Not really?” She could tell that he was humouring her, which was deeply embarrassing, but she knew this would get worse before it was over. 

“Not Fearne?” Almost everyone who ever met her was interested in Fearne. 

“I mean, you know I like her, but everything with Fearne is like a weird trip, so it just kind of is what it is?” 

“And you’re ok with that?”

“It’s one of the reasons she’s so great, so.” They shrugged, but they were blushing slightly. 

“I think you must be pretty soft under all of the bluster, Ashton.” Distraction distraction distraction. 

“I’ve cried on your sofa and called you my sister, Laudna. Shouldn’t be news to you.” They had, and it had made her cry in response. Imogen had been very confused when she’d gotten home and found them. They were giving her a surprisingly astute look, eyes narrowed. “What about you?”

“What about me?” They were trying to help her. She was right to think she would be difficult. 

“I know dating isn’t really your jam, but you’re a fucking romantic, so you never know.” She supposed she was. Some of the thoughts she had about Imogen were more romantic than anything she’d ever read in any book. “So, you know, anything you want to talk about?”

That was the whole reason she had initiated this farce, and she still couldn’t say it. She could hear her teeth grinding together in obstinacy, confession hidden behind a clenched jaw. Her napkin was in seventeen pieces on the table, and she’d had the time to count them. 

“Laudna?” Ashton’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. She wished her friends would stop talking to her like she was a horse about to bolt. She lifted her eyes quickly before dropping them again. Their gaze was on her hands, and she realised that she was anxiously twisting Imogen’s ring around her finger. It wasn’t on the finger she wanted it on. “It’s alright, Laudna,” he said, and at this she managed to look at him. He was being kind, but there was an anticipation to him, a benign smugness. “You can say it.” 

He already knew, she realised. He was looking at her as if he knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, as if they just needed her to break the seal. And if Ashton knew, then that meant they all did, because Ashton had the insight of a brick. Fuck, how long had they known? Longer than her, certainly. It was nice of them to tell her, she thought, as the bitterness rushed in. 

Did Imogen know? She was very insightful. Laudna didn’t think so; if Imogen knew what was happening in Laudna’s head, she’d want to talk about it, want to talk about the distress it was causing her. Not that she was distressed; she was fine. Imogen would certainly be touching her less, wouldn’t be wrapping an arm around her waist in bed at night, would be sleeping in a different bed entirely. No, she didn’t know. 

The rest of them did. The rose tinted glasses were off and she recontextualised a great many interactions with the benefit of hindsight. 

Well, if Ashton wanted to pity her feelings and her lack of awareness, fine; she didn’t need to make it easier for them. She set her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. 

“I met someone,” she said, and felt a vicious satisfaction when their chair fell forward onto all four legs with his shock. 

“What?” She hadn’t expected him to look panicked; she didn’t really understand the strength of the reaction. Then again, she wasn’t understanding much at all these days. 

“In the park. I met someone. He asked me on a date.” Fuck him and fuck his smugness. Let them twist. 

“You’re going on a date?” His disbelief was stark, his jaw slack. “With some asshole you met in the park?”

“Yes.” Ashton just stared at her, wide eyed. She’d expected surprise at her bullshit, but he looked like she’d given him a death sentence. “What?” she said challengingly. It was barely a question, more of a square up. 

“Have you—“ their voice was gravelly. “Have you talked to Imogen about this?” 

“No. I thought I’d introduce them after I’d taken him home to our bed and let him absolutely rail me.” She’d meant it to come out snarky, but it sounded more like a rage infused hiss. Slapping her palm hard onto the table hadn’t helped. Maybe she should talk to FCG about anger management. 

Ashton let out a long exhale of what she could only imagine was relief. “You asked me to come here. You remember that?”

“You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” she snapped. 

“Oh, I’m the one being a dick? What the fuck was that, then?” 

“‘Oh, Laudna, just say it, we all already know, jokes on you!’” she mocked. Although her affectation of his rough, fuck you voice was pretty decent, actually. 

“That’s not what I said. No one is fucking laughing at you, alright?” 

“Well it fucking feels like it right now!” She watched as Ashton clenched their jaw and stared her down. He was trying not to be angry, she realised. It knocked the wind from her sails. “Why didn’t you tell me?” At her plaintive tone they unwound. 

“Laudna, you know I can’t talk about this unless you say what you mean. It’s a goddamn minefield and if I step on a bomb we’ll both be fucked.” 

“I’m talking about Imogen,” she said, looking down at her ring. “I’m talking about the fact that I’m completely, life-ruiningly in love with Imogen, and I don’t know how to deal with knowing that. And it seems like you all knew it too.” 

“Suspected,” they corrected, their body unclenching at the admission. “We knew fuck all about it.” 

“Fine. You still thought it was a fair bet, and have been gossiping about it.” She didn’t mean to sound so put out, so whining, but it stung. 

“Sure. It’s interesting.” There was not an ounce of shame in him and she felt her anger start to rise again. 

“None of you thought to discuss it with me? Maybe give me a hint?” They’d let her blunder around like a fool crossing line after line after line. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were happy.” This was said with an easy shrug. “If you were happy, and she was happy, and neither of you were bringing anything up, then it wasn’t our fucking place.” 

“Ashton, what does she know that she could bring up?” It was her turn to panic now; her hands were pulling at her hair. 

“That’s not what I—“ he stopped with a sigh. “She doesn’t know how you feel, if that’s what you mean.” The relief that swept over her was palpable, and she felt it pull her anxiety levels down, managed to place her hands on the table. Maybe she could talk about this rationally, reason it out. “Are you still happy now?” they asked. 

“Yes,” she said honestly. She may have been running on adrenaline for the past month, but she was still happy. 

“But?”

“But—“ she tried to think of how to explain it. “But it’s like there are two realities inside of me at all times, two versions of me; the one who knows and the one who doesn’t. Whenever Imogen does something, or I do something, or I think something, it’s like I’m having two reactions at the same time, and I don’t know which of them is real.”

“Maybe they both are?”

“Which one to trust, then.” As if she trusted herself at the best of times. 

“Can’t you trust them both? You’re able to have more than one feeling at a time.” She hadn’t thought that Ashton had the awareness of emotional complexity to understand that. A wave of shame crested in her chest; she felt cruel for lashing out, even internally. 

“It doesn’t feel compatible.” When Imogen touched her, kissed her cheek, held her hand, she had two opposing reactions: the unaware joy of home-comfort-safe-love and the aware frisson of love-tension-nerves-arousal. Logically, she knew that those things could coexist, that it could be the manifestation of all of the ways she loved Imogen, that someone could feel like home and passion at the same time, but it didn’t feel like a rounded, enmeshed emotional landscape; it felt like she was two different people having separate reactions of years long contentment and first blush love. 

“What do you want here, Laudna?”

“I want you to help me figure out how to live with this,” she said, desperately. She just wanted things to go back to normal, where she could love Imogen fiercely without feeling guilty about it. 

“How to live with loving Imogen?” they said incredulously. “Do you want a fucking lobotomy? I can get an ice pick.”

“Obviously not; there is no existence for me where I don’t love Imogen,” she said. “Loving Imogen is the best part of my life.” 

“Then what?”

“I need to be able to love her without disrespecting her, without hurting her.” Laudna would rather die than hurt her. 

“Are you hurting her now?” 

She paused at this. “I’m not sure. Maybe. No?”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“This tramples on every boundary we have—“

“You and Imogen have boundaries?” he interrupted, smug again.

“Of course we do,” she said, perplexed. “It’s not fair to her, Ashton, to be there living our life, without knowing the way that I’m thinking about her. She should be able to give her best friend a hug without me thinking about putting my tongue inside her.” 

“Truly fucking upsetting imagery there, so thanks for that.” He’d relaxed enough to push his chair back again, and looked as if he needed to scrub his brain. “So, let me get this straight. Your problem is not being in love with her—“

“Why would that be a problem? Being in love with her is wonderful.”

“—it’s that you feel guilty for being in love with her and being attracted to her? You think you’re being unfair to her? That you being in love with her and wanting her is you mistreating her” That about summed it up. 

“Yes,” she said, nodding, happy that someone finally understood. 

“Alright. I can tell you what you should do, or I can tell you what you want to hear.” Ashton was hand-holding her through this entire conversation and it was mortifying. 

“Are they different?” Laudna didn’t know what either option would be. Ashton took a long drink of their coffee, then slammed the mug onto the table. 

“Vastly.” 

“Both?” At least then maybe she’d have some options, could choose the best of a bad bunch.

“What you should do is tell Imogen all of this. Tell her you’re in love with her.” Ashton said this as if it was common sense, as if she should have done it already. Laudna thought it was the worst thing she’d ever heard. Given the life she had led, that was a high bar. 

“Truly terrible advice, Ashton. ‘Blow up your life.’ Great. Thanks.” This had been a terrible idea. 

“Ever think it might go well?” God, they were so fucking condescending. “That she’d say she was in love with you too?” 

“Don’t taunt me,” she hissed. It was always there, slithering under the surface, that anger. 

“It’s not a fucking taunt, put your claws away,” he scoffed; she had definitely been right about him not being scared of her. “I think it’s more likely than not.”

“There’s a reason the gambling houses of the Oderan Wilds have seen more of your money than you have.” 

“Touché, but I’m right, I know I’m right. I’m sure she’d fucking love to hear that disgusting thing about your tongue.” 

“I’m equally sure she never would.” If Imogen knew the things that Laudna had imagined she’d be horrified. 

“Well, that brings me to what you want to hear.” Laudna gestured him on, sure it would be just as awful as his first suggestion. “You want me to tell you that it’s ok to carry on doing what you’re doing, loving her the way you do, thinking about fucking her the way you do, without doing a goddamn thing about it. That it doesn’t make you a bad person.” Laudna knew she wasn’t a good person. She didn’t know when Ashton had gotten so astute. It was awful. Maybe he just understood her in a way few others did.

“Does it?” she said quietly. She hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. 

“No. You’re not doing anything that makes her uncomfortable, and you love her so much it can seen from the fucking moon. If you cross a line, then maybe you need to reconsider.” Laudna hadn’t realised she’d been looking for someone to tell her that the things she was doing weren’t monstrous until they had. Whether or not Ashton was right, it felt like a lightening of the weight on her shoulders. “You should still tell her.”

“You’re entitled to your entirely incorrect opinion, of course.” Ashton kicked the leg of her chair so hard that her tea sloshed over the side of her cup. She sighed as she mopped it up with her napkin and said, “I understand that being my friend can be hard, so thank you for this.” They snorted and kicked the chair harder. 

“Shut the fuck up, it’s really fucking easy to be your friend. The only time it’s hard is when you expect us to watch as you treat yourself like shit.” Oh. She was glad there was already a napkin in her hand; her eyes were wet. “I get that I can’t talk you into self worth, because it’s never fucking worked when anyone has tried to do it to me, rarity that it’s been. But I fucking love you ok. We all love you and think you’re great. Especially Imogen. Imogen looks at you like you were heaven sent just for her. Which doesn’t make any sense because I don’t think angels leak sad ichor,” he said, throwing her a fresh napkin. 

“Fuck you, it’s this mascara, the waterproofing is shit,” she said, wiping her eyes. 

“The volume is great though, makes you look like a creepy doll, I fucking love it,” he said, then took a deep breath. “She loves you, Laudna. Whether it’s the way you love her, I don’t— that’s not for me to say. It’s not wrong for you to love her. You’re not doing anything wrong.” 

She covered her face and was surprised when she felt a heavy hand on her back. Maybe she didn’t have to do this alone after all. 

    5.

There was a warm hand running through her hair and a rasping voice in her ear, whispering her name. She opened her eyes to the darkness, to a face held close to hers, to eyes bright and burning. Lips covered hers, soft but insistent, a kiss of promise, of desperation. Laudna kissed back harder and heard a gasp, felt fingertips trace softly down her jaw to her throat, her chest. 

She wound her hand into soft, thick hair as a strong leg slid between her thighs. She closed her fist, tugging lightly, and swallowed the moan that was pressed into her mouth. There was a hand sliding under her shirt, heavy against her hip. Please, a plea, broken words chased with a kiss. Please, baby, a hand lingering, waiting for permission, teasing at the top of her underwear. She kissed assent to her lips, her jaw, her pulse and—

“Laudna?” She woke to Imogen’s gentle rousing. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her, dressed and ready for the day. “Hey.” The sun was shining through the open curtains, bathing their bedroom in soft light. Imogen’s side of the bed had been straightened, tucked away; Laudna’s was rumpled. 

Imogen was running her fingertips gently over Laudna’s inner arm, letting her wake up slowly. Her other hand was cradling Laudna’s wrist. She wanted that hand to tighten, to grasp her firmly, to hold her down. She pushed the thought away. Laudna tried to look up at Imogen, to return the loving smile, but she couldn’t take her eyes from Imogen touching her, Imogen’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. Every point of contact burned. 

“Hi?” She shifted slightly and realised how wet she was, how turned on. Imogen’s fingers were dragging slowly down her arm. She needed to stop or Laudna was going to do something unforgivable. 

“I’m going to run out and get us some breakfast, alright? My treat.” They had the whole day, the whole weekend, and their only plans were to spend it together. 

“Alright,” she said, voice breathy. Anything more than a single word seemed insurmountable. Imogen cocked her head, furrowed her brow. Laudna was mesmerised by the sunlight glinting in her hair, by the way it warmed her skin, highlighted her freckles. She’d been admiring Imogen like this since the day they’d met; how had she not known.

“Are you feeling ok? Your skin feels practically warm.” Imogen stopped stroking her arm (thank god) and placed her hand on Laudna’s forehead (manageable) before gently cradling her cheek (fuck). 

Laudna clenched her teeth and forced a smile, rather frantically said, “I’m fine! Too many blankets I think!” She thought about kicking them away to prove a point, then remembered how wet she was and clutched them to her chest instead. Imogen's eyes narrowed slightly and Laudna could tell she was deciding whether she was telling the truth, whether she should push. “That’s very kind of you, Imogen, thank you,” she said in a rush before she was questioned. “I’ll just shower, I think, while you’re out? And— You know— You should think about what you want to do today! If anything!” Imogen lifted both of her hands from Laudna’s skin (great! terrible!) and folded them in her lap, her smile dimming slightly. “I’m happy to just be with you.” The last part came out honest and earnest, more declarative than she’d intended, and Imogen softened again. 

“Maybe we just start with breakfast?” She was still looking at Laudna as if she was trying to peer inside her head. It would have been beneficial, she thought, to have Imogen in there to help her untangle the mess. Laudna nodded. 

Imogen made an abortive movement towards her, then started to stand. Laudna was so worried that she’d done something wrong and hadn’t noticed that she caught Imogen’s hand and squeezed, tried to make her smile reassuring. After a momentary pause, Imogen returned the grip and the smile before turning to leave. “I’ll be back in 15, alright?” she called over her shoulder. 

Laudna waited until she heard the front door close. It would be wrong. It would be wrong. But Ashton had said she wasn’t monstrous unless she was hurting somebody, and no one would ever know. She told her conscience to shut the fuck up and slid a hand between her legs, thought about soft lips and calloused hands and that beautiful voice saying please. 

Later, after she’d scrubbed herself raw in the shower to remove the guilt, she descended the stairs quietly, and heard Imogen in the living room. Laudna tilted her head around the doorframe and watched her, unseen. Imogen was sitting on the floor, propped against the front of the sofa, legs drawn to her chest. Pâté was perched on one knee, scarred front paws balanced on her outstretched finger. Laudna melted at the sight of them. Imogen was feeding him flakes of pastry from her plate with the other hand, breakfast uneaten, waiting for Laudna. 

“Do you think she’s ok?” Imogen asked him softly, stroking his ragged, patchy body. “She’s not talking to me.” She sounded hurt, and confused, and Laudna’s stomach sank. Maybe there were consequences after all. “I think I might have screwed up, buddy.” No. Oh, no. Imogen thought— How could she possibly—  

Laudna retreated to the bottom of the stairs and made her presence known, clattering pointedly along the hall. “This looks wonderful!” she said, entering the room, her voice bright, smile exuberant. Imogen turned her head and moved to kneel, scooping Pâté into one hand. It wasn’t a lie, there were croissants and pain au chocolat, strawberries and honey. There was a vanilla accented coffee made with more milk than was reasonable in her favourite mug. “Thank you, Imogen.”

She returned the smile shyly but didn’t quite meet Laudna’s eye, her shoulders tight. How could she possibly think that she had done something wrong? Was that why she kept rescinding her touch, kept looking at Laudna as if she’d had the rug pulled from under her? Laudna needed her to know, to understand that she hadn’t done anything to upset her, that she was wonderful and wasn’t responsible for the disarray in Laudna’s head. She felt something twist in her, desperate and urgent, the need to comfort and reassure overcoming any reservation. 

She reached down and gently slipped her fingers below Imogen’s chin, tilting her head up until she was forced to look at her. Imogen’s eyes grew wide when Laudna moved her hand and slid it into her hair. She needed her to feel secure, to know that nothing was wrong, that she had nothing to worry about. Laudna needed to make her understand. 

It was more vivid than she had dreamed, had imagined, her hand buried in Imogen’s hair. Laudna wondered if it would be the same, if she could tighten her grip and draw out that moan, if it would sound the way she’d fantasised. She looked down at Imogen, on her knees in supplication, breath shallow, eyes scared—

She pulled her hand back as if burned. She came back to herself, realised what she’d done. Almost done. 

Imogen staggered to her feet. “Jam,” she choked, then cleared her throat. What? “I forgot the jam.” She unceremoniously dumped Pâté against Laudna’s chest and fled to the kitchen, catching her shoulder on the doorframe as she passed. 

Laudna sank into the sofa and cradled Pâté to her chest, tried to catch her breath. “Imogen?” she called, voice hollow.

There was a long pause, then, “Yeah?”

“The jam’s on the coffee table.” Laudna’s heart was still racing. 

Another pause. “Right.” 

Laudna had found the line. She’d found the line and not only jumped over it, but ripped it to shreds and desecrated it. 

    6.

There were low voices in the living room when Laudna returned from work. Stilted. Strained. She approached tentatively, unaware of scheduled visitors, some preternatural instinct flaring, telling her to raise her guard. 

She ducked through the door and the voices stopped, a terse silence falling over the space, at odds with the cosy interior. 

Imogen was sitting in Laudna’s chair by the window, body coiled like a spring. There was a man on the sofa, just as rigid. They’d never met, but even if she hadn’t seen him from a distance she would have known him from the unspoken tension in the room. She could see traces of Imogen in his frown, his posture, the tilt of his head. 

She looked to Imogen, conversation passing unspoken between them. Laudna could tell that Imogen hadn’t known he was coming, hadn’t known he was in the area at all. She was caught unaware and had her back up, but she craved any contact from her father, any morsel of interest. It was such a relief to be able to read her; recently she’d seemed like an enigma. 

Laudna observed Imogen’s father, out of place in their home. He was dressed smarter than he had been back in Gelvaan, shirt pressed and boots clean. He was leaning forward on the sofa, uncomfortable with the softness, the comfort. He clashed with the outdated patterns that were to Zhudanna’s taste that they hadn’t the wherewithal to replace yet. “Hello,” she said, friendly but reserved, holding back the little wave her hand tried to add. 

“Daddy, this is Laudna,” Imogen said, somewhat tentative, though the reverence Laudna could hear when Imogen spoke her name made her breath catch. 

“Pleasure,” he grunted with a nod, polite. Laudna doubted that anything could be a pleasure in this taut an atmosphere. 

“We weren’t expecting guests,” she said, and heard Imogen huff mirthlessly. “Can I get you anything?” she added, ever the hostess, ignoring the half drunk mugs of coffee on the table. 

“That’s alright,” Imogen answered for them both without asking, “we’ll let you get settled; you’re just in the door.” Laudna could see her fighting a desire to squirm, to fidget; Imogen didn’t know if she wanted her to stay or go. 

“What brings you to Jrusar?” she asked and instantly berated herself; there was only one reasonable answer, but she knew he wasn’t going to give it. Anything but I wanted to see my daughter because I love her would upset Imogen further; from the tightening of her jaw Imogen knew that she wasn’t going to be hearing it. 

“Master Faramore, that’s the—“

“Owner of the estate, the ranch, yes,” she interrupted without thinking, tone clipped; something unknown inside of her wanted to prove to him that she knew it all, all about Imogen and Gelvaan and their life, something possessive. She saw Imogen smother a smirk. 

“Yeah. He’s buying something off of one of the importers up here, one of the Mahaan houses? Sent me to collect it.” She nodded shallowly and looked between them. Laudna turned to Imogen and smiled, tried to project support and strength, tried to let her know that Laudna would do whatever she wanted, whatever she needed. 

“Well,” she said, and then stopped, unsure. She was no stranger to awkward silences, but this seemed particularly painful. “I’ll just—“ she twirled her fingers, indicated be getting on, thought get the fuck out of here, and retreated to the kitchen. 

After she’d unpacked her bag and turned the mugs back the right way and re-stacked the dishwasher and run out of procrastinating tasks, she crept back out, intending to eavesdrop, maybe even sneak a look. Relvin was coming towards her, heading for the front door. Imogen wasn’t there. She tucked herself into the wall with a civil smile, trying to let him pass, but he stopped before her, holding his hat in his hands. “You’re the girl she ran away with?” he asked awkwardly.

Laudna didn’t know why he was asking, whether it was in interest or threat or disbelief. Where the hell was Imogen? “I don’t think it’s called running away when you’re 26. I think it’s just called moving house.”

“Right.” He still wasn’t moving. Laudna didn’t know what to do. “She’s— she’s ok, though?” He tapped his hat against his knuckles, clearly as uncomfortable as she was. 

“You really should be asking her these things,” she said, pained. He didn’t reply. Laudna cocked her head, asked, “Did you ask to come here?” He opened his mouth and she clarified, “Not Imogen. When Faramore said he needed someone to do a run to Jrusar.” She took in his clenched jaw and nervous hands, how he wouldn’t meet her eye, abashed. He had, she realised. He had asked but didn’t know how to implement. “That’s something, I guess. Next time just call her.” He baulked at the suggestion.

“She doesn’t—“

“She does.” Laudna heard a quiet inhale, spotted Imogen sitting at the top of the stairs, hidden out of sight. She thought maybe she’d overstepped, had been wrong, but there was no censure in her gaze, unreadable as it was. 

“You look after her, though?” It wasn’t threatening, but there was a well buried current of desperation in his voice. He didn’t know how to talk to Imogen, she realised, and was asking after her wellbeing. 

“She doesn’t need me to look after her, she can look after herself,” she corrected firmly. “She’s very capable.” A ducked head at the top of the stairs, a shy smile. “All I do is love her.” With everything she had. 

His sharp nod was brisk. “Will you give her this? I know it’s late, I didn’t know if she’d…” He handed Laudna a shoddily wrapped present, and she inclined her head in acquiescence. “She seems more—“ he didn’t finish. Paused. “Seems happy.” 

Laudna looked at Relvin, kept her eyes from Imogen as she said, “I hope so.” He looked her over, expression unreadable, and gave a jerk of his head. He donned his hat, walked past Laudna and let himself out. 

Laudna waited as Imogen descended the stairs, unsure if she would be reprimanded, convinced she had transgressed. Imogen’s arms folded around her shoulders, her body pressing steadfastly to Laudna’s in the embrace. She wrapped her arms around Imogen’s waist and held on just as tight. 

After a while, she untucked her head from Imogen’s neck and said, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Imogen murmured in her ear. “Yeah, I’m ok. I just kind of opened the door and he was standing there?”

“Well, you’ve comported yourself admirably.” Imogen laughed gently into her hair. 

“I feel like I was probably a bit harsh with him,” she said, pulling back, brow furrowed.

“Well you haven’t seen him in three years, haven’t exchanged more than birthday cards and some texts. You didn’t exactly part on the best terms.” Laudna hadn’t heard everything that transpired, huddled outside of the house waiting for Imogen, but she’d heard raised voices and harsh words. She had dried Imogen’s tears afterwards. Imogen had told her all about it later, about her father’s inability to cope and his resentment, his heartbreak. 

“But he came, right?” Her voice was small, hopeful, her eyes bright; she seemed so young. 

Laudna smiled in understanding. “He did.”

“And when you asked if he’d—“ she stopped, couldn’t finish.

“Well intentioned, I think, even if the execution left something to be desired.” This pulled a smile from Imogen. Laudna handed her the present. She held it in a cupped hand, staring down at it. It was small, fit into her palm with room to spare. “You don’t have to.” 

Imogen pulled back the tape and opened the paper. Inside was a box. She lifted the lid and tipped the contents into her other hand. Laudna gently lifted the wrapping out of the way. It was a necklace, a locket, small and delicate. Laudna could tell it wasn’t new, and Imogen frowned down at it, confused. She opened it and peered inside, at the minuscule fingerprint and the words inscribed in the metal: the better halves become a better whole. 

“This was hers,” she said, voice barely there. Laudna tangled their fingers together and held her tightly. Imogen closed her hand around the locket and exhaled deeply. Laudna could see the fight inside of her, the anger and frustration at her parents warring with the desperate need to know them, to know she was loved. Imogen didn’t speak for a long time, then under her breath, “What a fucking day.”

“I can make us dinner?” Laudna offered. “Or we could just get absolutely plastered.” Imogen barked a laugh, caught out by the wry twist of her words. 

“Dinner sounds great.” Her voice was soft, affectionate. “Can we do it together, though? I kind of just want—“ she hesitated, and her hand tensed in Laudna’s. 

“Anything.” It shouldn’t have felt like getting on her knees and pledging fealty, but it did. 

“To be with you right now,” she finished. Everything inside of Laudna warmed, and glowed, and tried to claw its way out and engulf Imogen. She swallowed that part down. “And Laudna,” Imogen continued, and Laudna was taken aback by the tenderness wrapped around her name. “You do. Take care of me.” 

Laudna tried not to melt into an insensate puddle of ichor. “As I said—“

“I know, and you’re right. I can take care of myself.” Her shoulders were squared and her chin raised; Laudna was so proud of her surety, enamoured by her confidence. “I don’t need someone else to look after me, but you do it anyway, Laudna. You support me, and defend me, and love me.” Laudna loved her more than anything, couldn’t conceive of an existence where Imogen wasn’t her entire world. “I wouldn’t want to do this by myself, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to do it with anyone but you. You’re so special, Laudna.” Imogen’s thumb was slowly stroking the back of her hand; she felt like she might just burst into flames. Laudna tried not to read into her words, tried not to take them as permission for possessiveness. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

This was what she was risking, she realised. It might not be monstrous to love Imogen as she did, to desire her and want her. It was selfish, though. It was selfish to fantasise about her. It was selfish to touch her with dual intent, to see Imogen on her knees and hold her in place, even with a tender caress. It was selfish to hold her down when she could soar. 

Laudna needed to push through this stasis, break herself from this purgatory. Because Imogen thought Laudna was her safe haven, her sanctuary, and she would rather die than jeopardise that. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she repeated, and her voice must have been dreadful, as Imogen’s eyes clouded with something like unease. 

Laudna would do anything for Imogen, even if it meant locking this part of herself back in its cage, no matter how much it hurt. 

    7.

“Alright, listen up you beautiful reprobates,” Deanna snapped to their group, huddled in the corner of the hall. “A lot of time and effort has gone into the planning of this event, and it means an awful lot to me, and to all of the people here.” 

Laudna had never been to a tea dance before, but the little tables organised around the room and the wide open dance floor and the four piece band finishing tuning filled her with excitement. In the past it would have been a bitter envy at the inevitable exclusion, but Imogen’s arm was pressed against hers and the rest of the Hells were tucked in close and she knew that at least one person would be willing to dance with her. Imogen would dance with her. The thought of it made her ache. 

“I know the whole church thing isn’t your vibe, for the most part,” she continued, and Ashton snorted, “but I appreciate you coming and I appreciate you showing these old folks a good time in advance.” They were significantly reducing the average age of the room, even if you included Chetney. “However,” Deanna hissed, and Laudna remembered that she was a little bit frightened of her, “any untoward behaviour from any of you motherfuckers and I will break the thing you love most, understand?” 

There were murmurs of assent and firm nods, but Laudna felt a scowl pull at her face and a tightness in her core and— 

“Laudna, honey,” Deanna caught her eye, “turn that frown upside down, alright, I’m not going to break Imogen. I meant like, your favourite crochet hook.” Laudna felt herself relax, felt the back of Imogen’s hand brush against hers, though she couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. “Though I won’t have to, because you’re going to be a little gothic angel.” Laudna nodded her agreement. “It’s not a bad idea, though,” she looked to each of them in turn. “Imogen, any shit from you and it’s Laudna’s kneecaps—“

“What?” Imogen spluttered. “What the fuck have I done?”

“FCG, no advice, no therapy, definitely no flat-Exandria bullshit. Ashton, you break it, you buy it, and that includes hips. Dorian, join the band and I’ll smash that pretentious little guitar. Chetney, keep it in your pants unless it increases donations. Orym, you’re doing amazing, sweetie.” He beamed. Laudna hadn’t realised that this was a situation in which you could be a teacher's pet, and cursed her lack of forethought. “Fearne,” she smiled, wide and tough. 

“Yes, Deanna?” she replied, flirtatious to her core. 

“If you steal anything from these lovely biddies, I’ll never do that thing with my tongue again.” 

She had never seen Fearne sheepish before. “Understood.” 

“So you want us to be the opposite of ourselves?” Imogen asked with a smirk, crossing her arms. 

“Exactly,” Deanna nodded. “Dance with old ladies, look hot, don’t be yourself. Alright?” She raised an eyebrow. “Fantastic. Amazing. Go team.” She clapped her hands together and turned on her heel.

The band started to play their first piece, a slow waltz. Laudna clasped her hands together softly and held them to her chest, watching the people at the tables rise and drift towards the dancefloor in pairs. She was here, had been invited amongst them, and it was beautiful.  

“What does she do with her tongue?” Imogen asked Fearne, sotto voce. 

“I can show you if you’d like.” Fearne wound a curl of lavender hair around her finger. Imogen pinked and laughed softly. There was a pain in Laudna’s jaw from how tightly she clenched her teeth. Her nails were threatening to break the skin of her hand. It was an ugly thing, a slithering poison under her skin, the unfathomable jealousy. Fearne raised an eyebrow when she noticed her hands, grown even paler from constriction. One side of her mouth pulled up in a knowing smile which fell when she met Laudna’s eye, saw the venom she was trying to choke down. Laudna looked back towards the band and hid her hands in her skirt. 

It made her feel ill, how uncomfortably the jealousy sat in her chest, the possessiveness. Imogen wasn’t her girlfriend. Imogen wasn’t her wife. Even if she was, Laudna wouldn’t have the right to feel this way. If Imogen wanted to flirt with Fearne, she should. If Imogen wanted to sleep with Fearne, she should. If she wanted to do any of those things with anyone, wanted to date and flirt and fall in love, Laudna would smile and grit her teeth and cheer her on.  

A beautiful, calloused hand was extended palm up in front of her, accompanied by an earnest, “May I have this—“

Laudna’s hand was grasped by one rougher, hairier, and Chetney squeaked, “You’ll know how to cut a rug better than any of these other youngsters.” Laudna was dragged to the dance floor, her arm threatening to dislocate. She looked back helplessly toward Imogen, chivalrous and denied, and saw the disappointment on her face. Laudna widened her eyes in mock panic and watched the amusement wash it away. It shouldn’t have made her as proud as it did. 

The music was transitioning to something faster, jauntier. “Let's show them how it’s done! Try and look willowy rather than like a snappy twig.”

“Chetney,” she said frantically as he pulled her into position, “I’m not sure I know how to foxtrot!”

“What the hell do they teach you in Tal’Dorei?” He placed his hand on her waist and nudged hers towards his shoulder. 

“I’m sure plenty of people in Tal’Dorei know how to foxtrot. My own education was focused more on how to milk a goat and basic reading comprehension. It’s not even a traditional tea dance!” 

“It’s fine, just let me lead and do as I tell you. I’ve seen you dance, spasmodic and flailing, but you’ve got good rhythm and endless enthusiasm.” She nodded along, unconvinced. “Deanna doesn’t care much for tradition. Here we go!”

Chetney led them through the dance at double the pace of everyone around them, guiding her with gentle taps and prods. He was shockingly kind, and patient, and Laudna got the hang of it pretty quickly. It was exhilarating, flying around the room to the music, feet gliding over the wooden floor. Chetney let out a wheezing laugh as she twirled him unexpectedly.

At the conclusion of the dance, Laudna tried to catch her breath and loosened her hold. “Thank you for—“

“Charleston!” he barked, and they were off again. 

She begged reprieve after the third dance, guided a shy, older man into her place after seeing Chetney give him a once over. She collapsed into a chair near the refreshments. A glass of water hovered in her peripheral vision, offered by a bejewelled hand, and she took it gladly. Fearne slid into the seat next to her. “The stamina of that old man,” Laudna panted.

“Mhmm,” Fearne agreed, wetting her lips. 

“Gross.” This earned her a throaty laugh. “Found anything good?”

“No borrowing today,” she said, sincere. It was such a rare honesty that Laudna did a double take. 

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” 

“Out of the horniness of my libido,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s such a deft threat,” she continued, impressed, “that tongue thing is out of this world.” Laudna felt herself blush, imagining what it would be like to make someone feel that way. To make Imogen feel that way.

Laudna watched her from across the room as she engaged in a clumsy two-step with an old lady who barely reached her shoulder. She was chatting with a wide smile, interested and charming, stunning in her sheer dress, long hair loose and free. Laudna could watch her forever, would always be chasing the fluttering in her stomach, the clenching of adoration in her chest. 

Fearne’s hand slid into hers and held on tightly. Laudna looked back and tilted her head questioningly, but Fearne didn’t answer, just smiled sadly. “Are you alright?” Laudna asked. 

“I’m good,” she replied, her eyes searching Laudna’s face. This was concern, Laudna realised. Fearne was worried about her. 

“I’m fine,” she said, unsure if that was the question being asked. Fearne nodded slowly, brow furrowing. “I am.” She hadn’t meant to sound so indignant. Laudna saw the moment where Fearne made the decision not to press her, when she chose to de-escalate. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved. 

“You could put your head on my boobs, if you wanted to,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I’m told it does wonders.” Laudna let out a breath at the diffusion of potential tension and forced a smile she wasn’t sure reached her eyes. 

“Most famous rack in the Core Spire.”

“Just the Core Spire?” Fearne was still squeezing her hand. Laudna let her go. 

Ashton sauntered past them, shoving a whole slice of cake in their mouth. “All this dainty food is fucking delicious,” they said after swallowing. “Look, I don’t want it to be weird or whatever, and don’t read into it, but do you want to dance or something?” They couldn’t meet Fearne’s eye, were scowling at a point over her shoulder. 

She stood and fluttered her skirts, a cloud of lace and silk and embroidery. She pried Ashton’s hand from its clenched sentinel at his side and teasingly linked it with her own. “I love you, Fearne,” Laudna whispered as she passed, a swarm of guilt and gratitude forcing the words. 

“Save me a dance, beautiful,” she said with a sly smile, though the twist of it was troubled. Laudna knew Fearne took it for the apology it was. 

Laudna danced with two widowers, a self described spinster, and FRIDA, before Fearne returned to punch her dance card. She barely took her eyes from Imogen the whole time. Fearne turned her and twirled her and pressed up against her so overtly that Laudna couldn’t hold back her delighted laughter, storm clouds banished. “Eyes on the prize,” she murmured in Laudna’s ear and spun her into Imogen’s waiting arms. 

“Hi,” she said, hand settling on Laudna’s lower back. “I think I’d like that dance now, if that’s alright?”

“More than alright,” Laudna smiled, breathless, and placed her hand over Imogen’s shoulder, fingers sliding around the back of her neck. She hadn’t meant it to be so intimate, but Imogen smiled and took her other hand and she didn’t have the strength to move it back. “Apologies for the interruption earlier,” she said softly as Imogen started to move them in what should have been a slow waltz, but was little more than a coordinated sway. 

“I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t disappointed to not have your first dance, but watching you with Chet, you—“ Imogen hesitated, but continued when Laudna gently pressed her hand. “You’re so beautiful, Laudna.” Was it possible for your heart to break from devotion alone? Laudna didn’t know, but Imogen was so earnest, so fond, that she felt like she might shatter at the slightest provocation. “You just have this aura, you know? You looked so happy and— God, I could’ve just watched you all night.” Laudna didn’t trust herself to speak, but she lay her temple next to Imogen’s and pulled her in closer.

It had been overwhelming, from that very first day, to be in Imogen’s presence. She was such a mixture of surety and confidence, doubt and self-deprecating introspection. She was so intuitive, so insightful, yet sometimes seemed like she lived entirely in her own head. So angry, yet so kind. Laudna had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and when Imogen had held out a hand and asked to come with her, Laudna had gleefully burnt herself to a crisp. 

Now, knowing what she did, loving her the way she did, she felt that same sense of danger, the willingness to throw herself on the pyre. Laudna had told herself she would try and step back, would try and move past these feelings. Imogen held her tenderly in her arms and Laudna felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

“I wish you would tell me what’s going on with you,” Imogen said quietly, soft and apprehensive. What little breath Laudna had caught in her throat. “You keep saying you’re fine, but I know you’re not, Laudna.” She couldn’t gather enough coherence to reply. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Laudna could tell that Imogen was trying to keep her tone level, her voice rational; she heard the hurt underneath and fought the urge to flee. Imogen had clearly rehearsed her words. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. If it’s something you’re worried about, I promise I won’t judge you. If—“ she lost control on the facade of steadiness. “If it’s something to do with me, or something I’ve done, or I’m not doing, I—“

“I’m not ready,” Laudna rasped, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t ready to lose this. Imogen would be so kind about it, so understanding; this she knew. She probably wouldn’t even be disgusted. But Laudna would lose the steadiness, the surety. Imogen would be respectful about her touch, her affection. She’d pull away, out of respect for Laudna’s heart, would try not to lead her on. She wouldn’t talk to Laudna about her feelings for fear they would upset her, and when she finally met someone worthy of her, she’d keep it far, far away. Laudna would lose her best friend, piece by agonising piece, because Imogen loved her too much to hurt her. There was no scenario where she didn’t lose something; she’d much rather lose herself than lose Imogen. 

Imogen’s touch slackened with the relief of acknowledgment, then tensed with the fear of the truth; Laudna realised it was the first time she had admitted to her that there was something wrong. Imogen’s heart was racing and Laudna didn’t know if she was supposed to say anything else, if she was meant to elaborate or apologise or—

“Alright,” Imogen said quietly, mainly to herself. “Ok. Well, when you are ready, I’ll be here for you. Whatever you need, alright? There isn’t anything you could say that I wouldn’t be here for.” Laudna was afraid of that, too. 

She tightened her grasp on the back of Imogen’s neck and they clung to each other as the music played on. 

    8.

Of all the jail cells that Laudna had graced with her presence over the years, this was definitely the nicest. She’d never really broken the law, nothing more than some trespass and defensory assault. Some thievery when it was that or starve. But some towns had a local crime she thought of as existing-whilst-creepy, and she’d made the acquaintance of many a sheriff, or captain of the guard, or chief warden, who saw fit to detain her before moving her on. The Smolder Spire jail was practically a spa in comparison. The bench she was sitting on had padding under the wipeable plastic. The toilet was private. 

Fearne stood opposite her, gliding; Laudna would have called it pacing if it was anyone else, but no pacing could ever be so whimsical. Her smile was at full beam when the guard entered. “Third time this month, Miss Calloway.” He didn’t sound happy about it. 

“Keledon,” she said, voice sweet with familiarity, “Captain. Surely you know the steps to this dance by now?”

“Stealing is against the law.”

“We were doing a good deed!” Fearne insisted, indignant. She had draped herself over the bars so fluidly that it put every previous use of the word to shame. 

“You stole a handbag from an old lady!” Laudna realised that he did know the steps to this dance, pulled in by Fearne’s magnetism. How many times had they had this conversation? It felt more like a play than real life. 

“Allegedly, and we actually allegedly stole it back for her, from an actual thief. So really, she should be thanking us.” Fearne threw her hand out in affront. Even Laudna believed her, and she had been there. 

“You thanked yourself with the antique silver cigarette case from within, is what I heard.” 

“Why would I do that, Kel?” He flinched at the nickname, crossed his arms over his uniformed chest. “I don’t even smoke,” she lied. 

“We really were trying to help,” Laudna chimed in, then regretted it. 

“You’re a fresh face,” he glared at her. “At least it wasn’t Greymoore again. Try and stay away from the more negative influences of your friends, Ms—“

“Laudna.” Fearne interrupted, voice a steel bar. 

“That’s not what it says on her identification.”

“It doesn’t matter what it says on her identification, because she’s not under arrest.” Laudna didn’t know how she’d managed to surround herself with so many angry, revelatory women. Fearne was a flickering, raging inferno from which people were unable to look away, glimpsed through flirtatious smiles and coy touches. Imogen burned in a different way, so hot it felt cold, like lightning building and building and building, hidden beneath Highland charm and a slanting smile. Laudna’s anger lived under her skin, poisonous, coiled like a snake ready to strike at any moment; instantaneous, sharp, regretful. She gave the guard a smile, the bad one, the one that made everyone uncomfortable and made Imogen laugh. 

Captain Keledon tried to smother his recoil unsuccessfully and didn’t push them further. “You have to be released to someone responsible.”

“That’s your rule.” It was clear that Fearne thought this was a stupid rule and was not going to follow it. 

“That’s the department’s rule, specifically for you.” She knew that Fearne, a prolific pickpocket and shoplifter and all round pest, had never been charged with a crime, but she’d certainly spent a lot of time here. Laudna didn’t know if the disconnect in the pipeline was due to her charisma alone, or whether it was due to her nana. Fearne said she was a lovable, eccentric old lady, helping people with their woes. Laudna was pretty sure she was in the mafia. 

“When is Orym coming?”

“Orym isn’t coming, nor is Mr Storm; they have expended their goodwill.” It must have been bad if they were past the point of trusting Orym. “Imogen Temult has agreed to collect you both. Hopefully she will be more reasonable.”

Fearne laughed, low and throaty, and turned to Laudna. “He’s locked you in a cage and he thinks Imogen is going to be nice about it?”

Keledon pulled a guard from the next room, rigid and stern, and positioned him near the door. “Keep an eye on them. Don’t let them talk to you.” The new guy looked like he’d never disobeyed an order in his life. 

It was a well founded concern. By the time the Captain returned, the guard was slouched next to Fearne, moping over the fact that his girlfriend was reluctant to move in with him. She was petting his hair consolingly. Keledon only sighed a long-suffering sigh. 

Imogen followed him, smile crooked and affable, but it was her lying smile; Laudna could see the stiffness of her posture. Laudna expected it to ease when she saw them, when she realised that they were alright, but Imogen's eyes swept over her, sitting rigidly on the bench behind the bars, and she clenched her jaw. “Hello, darling,” Laudna said, crossing to the gate. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Sure,” she said, and Laudna knew she was pissed. She couldn’t tell if it was directed at her. “You alright?” Imogen was looking her over subtly for signs of harm. Not directed at her, then. 

“I’m fine, just a little misadventure.” Laudna couldn’t help but shine under her attention. 

“I led her astray,” Fearne boasted, tucking her chin over Laudna’s shoulder. 

“If you think that’s true, then you aren’t paying attention,” Laudna smirked, knocking their heads together. 

“Well, all I know is that it’s with you she got caught, Fearne,” Imogen drawled as Captain Keledon unlocked the cell. “Maybe she should avoid the little team up in future.” Imogen’s voice was light and teasing, though her eyes were still concerned. 

“You should listen to your wife,” the Captain said to Laudna. 

“She’s not my wife,” they said in discordant unison. Imogen’s voice had been laughing, as if this misunderstanding happened to her every day, just a funny part of life. Laudna had surprised herself, her words sharp and vicious, a hissing, growling refutation. Was it not enough that she was struggling? It wasn’t fair to have to have it thrown in her face at every turn. 

Imogen looked like Laudna had slapped her across the face. Laudna saw the hurt in her eyes, and the shock at her anger, heard her inhale sharply before she schooled her face into a neutral mask. She was hiding. In three years, Imogen had never once hidden herself from Laudna. Oh god, what had she done? Why had she let this happen? Laudna thought she might be sick. “Imogen—“

“Are they free to go?” Imogen curtly asked the Captain, keeping her gaze far away from Laudna. 

“Yes.” He sounded professional, but slightly confused. He opened the cell door fully, gave a sarcastic gesture to lead them out. 

“Great. I’ve got to get back to work.” She turned and started to walk towards the exit. Laudna knew she had finished work an hour ago. 

“Imogen—“

“I’ll see you at home, Laudna,” she smiled over her shoulder, so false that Laudna felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. It was the last thing she saw before the door swung closed and she vanished from Laudna’s sight. 

Fearne was looking at her like she was a stranger, and Laudna thought that was probably fair; she didn’t really feel like she was in control of herself right now. Maybe someone else had moved in. Maybe someone else was making her lash out, was plucking her strings, was ruining the most important thing in her life. Maybe Laudna had been living on borrowed time. Three years was far more than she deserved. 

Laudna didn’t know what Fearne saw in her face, maybe regret, maybe dread, maybe some unknown part of her clawing for something to hold her steady, but her expression softened and she folded her warm hand into Laudna’s and said, “Let’s get out of here.” 

She was pulled gently from the cell, from the jail, out into the early evening sunlight. She followed meekly, letting Fearne guide her into the cable car. Neither of them spoke for the whole journey back to the Core Spire. Fearne led them to a park not far from the Windowed Wall, from home. Imogen was probably there. Imogen was probably at home, by herself, upset. Laudna needed to go home, to apologise, to hold her. If Imogen would let her, which was probably unlikely. The thought of her like that, because of Laudna, was horrific. The thought of seeing it with her own eyes was awful. 

“Sit,” Fearne said gently, in her soft, lilting voice. It never sounded like a demand when she spoke, but Laudna knew it was. She obeyed. “Stay there, ok? I’ll be back in a second.” 

Laudna drew her knees up to her chest and pulled her hair in front of her face. She dropped her head into her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes. She wasn’t allowed to cry. She was the one who had caused the problem, and it would be selfish to cry, even though the lump in her throat was hard to breathe around, even though her heart was hammering in fear. 

“Here you go,” Fearne said above her, and Laudna lifted her head. There was an ice cream cone being proffered to her. 

“What?” Her voice was a dreadful rasp. 

“Well, you and I are going to have a little chat, I think? And it’s probably going to be hard. So, ice cream?” The cone wiggled in front of her. “It always makes me feel better.” 

Laudna reached out tentatively and grasped it. Fearne dropped to sit on the ground beside her in a riot of material, her skirts falling over Laudna’s feet. She took a long lick of her own ice cream and said, “So, that seemed a very cruel way to say something normal, and you’re not cruel. What’s going on?” The damn sob that was clawing at her throat was trying to escape again, and she pushed it back with a disbelieving noise. “Ok, maybe you can be cruel, but never to Imogen.” She still managed to hold the sob back, but a few tears broke free to roll down her cheeks. 

She took a tentative taste of the ice cream. It was rich and sharp. Delicious. It helped to loosen the stranglehold of her tongue. “It’s not fair.” Fearne waited patiently, eyes wide and curious. “It’s not fair to either of us.” 

“What isn’t?”

Laudna hesitated, tried to compose herself. “This— This assumption that everyone has. That we’re together, that we’re married.” Her voice was hissing again, but even she could hear the current of heartbreak underneath. “That we’re in love.”

Fearne turned her head to look at her, and Laudna could see the conversation unravelling in front of her, saw Fearne’s insight and intuition pull her apart. “That you’re in love, or that she’s in love with you?” 

She roughly brushed the tears away with her free hand. Focused on the ice cream. Fearne let her gather herself. “It’s not fair to her to have her future severed, her options closed, because of me. It’s not fair for people to make those assumptions about her. She deserves the world and— She should have the world, and when she’s around me, I hold her back.” 

“And because you’re creepy and weird, right? Because it would be absurd for someone to want you? Why would Imogen, hotter than the fires of hell, want you?” It shouldn’t hurt to hear Fearne speak the truth so bluntly, but it did. A part of her had wanted to be contradicted, to be argued around. Pathetic. “I mean, none of that is true. But you think it is.” 

The sob finally pushed through, a mangled, broken sound. Fearne reached out to touch her, hold her, but Laudna had coiled herself so tightly she couldn’t find purchase. She settled for resting the back of her hand against the outside of Laudna’s knee. “It is true, though,” she whispered, strained. 

“The creepy and weird part, sure,” Fearne shrugged, jostling the mass of curls resting on her shoulders. “You seem to think that’s a negative, and I get that, I do. Lots of stupid people have given you a lot of shit about it. Personally, I think it’s interesting and hot.” Laudna made an involuntary noise of disbelief that managed to sound a little like a laugh. “What actually matters though, in the context of this conversation, is what Imogen thinks about it, right?” 

Laudna nodded slightly, the admission painful. “I know it doesn’t bother her, generally, but this— Like this? How could it not?” Fearne was running the back of her hand in gentle, soothing circles against Laudna’s leg. 

“Imogen, who has tied her life to yours, irreversibly. Imogen, who chooses to share your bed every night when she could very easily have her own. Imogen, who makes every excuse to touch you, who smiles at you like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That Imogen?” 

“Don’t— You’re making it sound like— You’re misinterpreting—“ What Fearne was insinuating, what she was suggesting, was unfathomable.  

“Hey, Laudna,” Fearne said calmly over her spluttering, “you’re weird but you know who’s weirder? Imogen.” 

“No she’s not!” Laudna said, straightening her spine, indignant. 

“She is, and again, very into it. You’re torturing yourself.” Fearne sounded like Laudna’s pain was her own. “Why?” 

“I— I don’t want anything to change,” she said honestly. “I don't want me knowing how I feel, knowing that I’m in love with her, to change the life we have together. It’s— It’s sacrosanct.” 

“I think it might be too late for that,” Fearne said kindly. Laudna felt the nails of her hand drag down the side of her face. She felt very far away from her body. “Do you honestly think there is anyone in Exandria who could love her more than you do? Better than you do?” 

Her immediate thought was no. She loved Imogen with everything she had, with every terrible part of herself. It would be impossible for anyone to love her more. Was she the best option for Imogen, though? That was a question that she didn’t want to ask. Whether she would be good for Imogen was irrelevant. 

“Do you know how many women I’ve seen hit on Imogen?” Fearne said abruptly. “A lot.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she said, bewildered, her stomach clenching with familiar jealousy. 

“There have been a lot of women trying to tempt her into bed, myself included,” she added with an roguish smirk, “and never once have I seen her accept an offer, or make one.” 

“So you’re saying she’s not interested? Alright? I don’t—“ Laudna didn’t understand her point at all. “Are you saying I’m oblivious for not noticing? I’m well aware at this point that my observational skills need some improvement, Fearne.” 

“Of course you’ve never noticed, because it doesn’t happen when you’re there. When you’re there, she can’t take her eyes off you.” Fearne stood and took Laudna’s chin in her hand, tilted her face up. She pressed a chaste, sticky kiss to Laudna’s lips. Before she walked away, she said, “Talk to Imogen, Laudna.”

    9.

When Laudna got home she found Imogen on the sofa, knees tucked to her chest, hair damp from the shower. Her eyes were red from crying. All the heartbreak she knew she was about to inflict upon herself muted to insignificance at the sight of Imogen, tearstained because of Laudna. She sat down next to her, returned Imogen’s wan smile. “Hi,” she said, and Imogen’s mouth twisted with the smallest hint of wryness. 

“I think we may need to have that talk now,” Imogen said, and her voice was rough with old tears. The hurt, scratching sound of it made Laudna’s heart clench. “Even if you’re not really ready.” 

“I’m not,” she said honestly, “but you’re right. We do.” Laudna couldn't make her posture relax, was sitting ramrod straight next to Imogen’s slouched body. This was all her fault. She had to be the one to start. “I’m sorry for my outburst. It wasn’t directed at you, or— I didn’t even know it was going to come out like that. I certainly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s alright,” Imogen said, ducking her head. 

“It’s not.” 

“I mean, obviously I’m a little upset,” Imogen waved a hand over her red eyes, her tearstained face, “but you’ve been upset for two months now, Laudna.” Her breath caught in her throat. She’d known that Imogen could tell something was wrong, of course; she had never believed herself to be a subtle person. Imogen had asked and Laudna had reassured, and obfuscated. She’d thought she’d sorted it, that she had parsed this big thing into lots of little things. She should have known Imogen would know her better than that. 

“I— I wouldn’t say upset, really.” Splitting hairs. 

“Worried, then. Bothered.” Then quietly, almost under her breath, “Uncomfortable.” Imogen was wringing her hands. Her voice remained quiet. “I know that you were maybe caught off guard? That you— realised some things?” Laudna couldn’t help but look at her, was startled into silence. Imogen swept her gaze over the wideness of her eyes, heard the stutter in her breathing, and smiled so sadly that Laudna knew all of her fears were going to come true. “Yeah,” Imogen said, mouth twisting. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with haste, words tumbling out. 

“Please don’t be,” Imogen said, pained. “Please, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t— That I don’t—“ That she couldn’t control herself? That she didn’t know how to push it back down? That she didn’t know how to stop being in love with her, didn’t want to stop being in love with her? All of it, probably. 

“Please,” Imogen said, swallowing a sob. “Please don’t. It’s alright, Laudna, I know that you don’t—“

“I’ve just been trying to figure it out, you know?” she interrupted. Imogen nodded slightly. “Wrap my head around it. About what it means, for us, and for— For everything.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot to process, I guess.” Imogen looked down, avoided her eye. Laudna couldn’t bear to see her so tentative, so cowed. She walked her hand into the space between them and left it palm up on the cushion. She didn’t know if she was allowed to touch her any more. Certainly not without permission. She silently begged Imogen to take her hand, to touch her, to let her know that it wasn’t all going to come crashing down around her. When Imogen saw her hand out of the corner of her eye, she blinked back a tear. She slid her hand into Laudna’s so gently, so nervously, and Laudna had to stop herself from holding on for dear life. 

“Earlier, that guard, he just kept— People just kept saying it, and making assumptions.” Imogen was nodding again. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been as good at correcting them as I should have been.” Imogen was apologising. Apologising for being kind, for being accommodating. Laudna thought she should probably get on her knees and beg for forgiveness, but she didn’t want to give the wrong impression. 

“No, no! That’s not what I— You’ve been so good about it, and—“ Oh no, Imogen was going to start crying again. “Please, please, I’m sorry!” 

“Laudna—“

“Imogen, it’s ok,” she said, trying to convince herself just as frantically. “It’s going to be ok, I promise! I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll—“

“No!” On this Imogen was firm. “No, Laudna, please don’t try and do anything because I want it.” She sounded appalled. Laudna was starting to lose her grasp of the conversation. “It has to be because you want it too, alright? We have to be on the same page, here.” She was sure and she was strong and Laudna could tell she was doing it to protect them both. Laudna had done nothing to deserve to sit here next to her. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Imogen, you’ve done nothing to be sorry for. For coming to bail me out? For looking after me? No.”

“But it’s my fault,” she said, voice cracking. “They can see it on my face, in the way I look at you. Everyone can see it. I’ve tried to hide it, and I couldn’t, and I didn’t really want to, I guess, because it’s— I don’t want to make things worse here, but it’s beautiful, Laudna, the way I feel about you. I know it’s not what you— but it’s wonderful.” Laudna cocked her head in confusion. Imogen wasn’t making sense. They weren’t seeing it in Imogen, all those people, they were seeing it in Laudna. The way I feel about you. That sounded like— no. That was ridiculous. She must be confused. Imogen must be confused. Fearne had insinuated, but that was just Fearne. 

“What?” she said, inanely. 

“What?” Imogen said back, her voice shaky. 

“What do you mean?” Imogen didn’t reply, just tilted her head, as if Laudna wasn’t following the script. “I don’t understand.” 

“Laudna,” Imogen said slowly, her eyes darting over Laudna’s face. She had spent three years looking at nothing but Imogen; Laudna could tell that she was starting to panic, but didn’t know why. “Laudna, what do you think we’re talking about?” Her brow furrowed as she tried to read the answer from Laudna’s face. There was no way for her to be successful, because Laudna didn’t know. 

“We’re talking about— Imogen, what are you talking about?” It couldn’t be what it sounded like. It couldn’t be that Imogen— That she— She couldn’t. She saw the moment when Imogen realised that Laudna truly didn’t understand what she was saying, when Imogen’s eyes went wide and she inhaled sharply, when the hand holding hers withdrew to cover her mouth. “Imogen?” 

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. “Fuck. You know what, Laudna? Let’s just forget about it. You said you were sorry for upsetting me, that’s great, apology accepted. I’ll—“

“Imogen,” Laudna said, reaching out to take back her hand. Imogen let her, but not without a frantic whimper. Laudna dipped her head to meet her gaze; she was so apprehensive, so scared. Laudna didn’t ever want Imogen to be scared of her.  

Imogen had said that everyone could see the way she felt. Imogen had cried when Laudna had been angry that someone had thought they were in love. Imogen had tied her life to Laudna’s. Imogen had held her every night for three years, had asked to stay together when they had another room, had asked to run away with her in the first place. 

She had so many valid reasons for why the way she felt couldn’t be reciprocated, but Fearne was right; it didn’t matter how Laudna felt about those deficiencies. All that mattered was what Imogen thought, and Imogen loved her. Maybe Imogen felt the in love part, too. 

Laudna hadn’t wanted to say anything when it was just for her. The fear in Imogen’s eyes helped her be brave. For Imogen she could be brave. 

Laudna tilted her head to look at Imogen and reached out with her free hand to brush the hair from her face. “Do you want to know what I thought we were talking about?” Laudna said softly, her voice low and steady. Imogen’s hands were shaking. “I thought we were talking about the fact that I am desperately in love with you.” 

Imogen stopped breathing. “Laudna?” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. 

“That’s what I realised. Imogen, I’m so in love with you.” She didn’t know whether she expected to be pushed away or drawn in, but Imogen only stared at her, staggered and incredulous. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, that I didn’t tell you. I thought you might be upset.” 

“Upset?” she said, disbelieving, voice strangled. The surprise seemed to break Imogen from her stupor. “How could I possibly be upset? Laudna, you love me?” 

“I thought you might be upset that I was loving you wrong, that I loved you in the wrong way.” Loving Imogen was the best part of her. She hadn’t wanted to be told that the way she felt was wrong, that the purest, strongest part of herself was wrong. 

“Laudna,” Imogen’s voice was gentle and fond, so full of love and so inescapably familiar that Laudna couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from lifting into a shy smile. “Every way that you love me is beautiful. You could never love me wrong.” Imogen lifted her hand and rested it along Laudna’s jaw, stroked her thumb along the sharp plane of her cheekbone. Laudna turned her head slightly and kissed the heel of her hand. Imogen’s quiet gasp was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. 

“Is this ok?” she asked tentatively, pressing her cheek fully into Imogen’s hand. She nodded fiercely and her grasp on Laudna’s hand tightened. 

“I love you, too,” Imogen said, and Laudna’s heart fell over itself in elation. “Of course I do. That's what I thought we were talking about. That you’d realised I was in love with you and didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“I think if that were true I’d probably just be shouting it from the top of the spire.” Imogen’s wet laugh choked into silence when Laudna kissed the inside of her wrist. 

“Laudna, can I kiss you? I don’t know whether that’s part of what you want from me or—“ Laudna leaned forward and kissed her. It was soft and gentle and felt like coming home. It made her frantic heartbeat steady, her stuttered breath calm. It was warm and safe and beautiful. When she pulled back, Imogen’s eyes were closed and her cheeks were wet. 

“Oh god, was it bad?” Laudna had thought it was perfect but she didn’t really have much experience. She should have practised. How did you practise kissing by yourself? She hadn’t thought she’d be in the position to ever do it. 

Imogen opened her eyes and smiled. “It was wonderful, honey.” Laudna glowed. “Happy tears, alright?” Laudna wiped them away with her thumb. “I’d kinda been preparing to get my heart broken, you know? This is everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s a little overwhelming.” All of Laudna’s worries were lifted by the self-deprecating twist of her mouth. 

“I can give you some time?” Laudna said, pulling back. 

Imogen hand clamped around her wrist. “Don’t you dare.” She raised an eyebrow at the stifled gasp that traitorously escaped from Laudna’s mouth. Imogen tightened her grip experimentally and Laudna let out a quiet, appreciative moan. “Laudna?” she said teasingly, but there was an excited unsteadiness in her voice. 

“Can I kiss you again?” she said, words spilling from her. 

“Laudna, you can kiss me forever.” With Imogen’s grounding hand tight around her wrist, their second kiss was deeper, more passionate. Unending. Laudna slid her hand into Imogen’s hair as she kissed her. It was even better than she’d imagined. Imogen clutched at her hips and pulled Laudna into her lap to straddle her. 

There were desperate hands on her waist, her thighs, the clasp of her skirt. Laudna ran her nails down the soft skin of Imogen’s forearm and delighted in the groan it provoked. “Tell me to stop,” Imogen murmured against her lips. “Laudna, you have to tell me to stop or I’m not liable to.”

Laudna ducked her head and sucked biting kisses along the edge of her jaw, her pulse point, behind her ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. 

Imogen kissed her harder, eagerly, hand sliding under her shirt to press against the cold skin of her ribs. Until she slowed, and gentled, and it became difficult to kiss her through the smile. Laudna pulled back to look at her. Imogen was grinning, joyous and exultant. “I love you,” she said. 

Laudna laid her hand over Imogen’s heart. “I love you.” Laudna kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.