A/N:This is dedicated to the lovely Sydney [francesconroys on tumblr] who was awfully sick and needed a cheer-up. I do hope you'll all like it, though!

As I'm sure you all know, reviews make me a very happy girl!

Enjoy!

Wil~

You and I, We're Burning Slow

They had never meant for it to happen; and yet it had, more often than either of them would ever admit.

I.

Myrtle had never liked partying, or even going out. Not only was it inconsiderately risky for people like them to meddle in with inebriated, uninhibited strangers; she also had never quite grasped the appeal of it all. If it were up to her, she would have left the dimly lit bar hours ago, but it seemed that most her peers had either vanished into thin air, or were already far too intoxicated to be trusted with caring for Fiona.

Fucking Fiona.

She still had no clue why the latter had insisted for Myrtle to come along to celebrate her newfound status in the first place- they weren't exactly friends, were they? Sworn enemies was more like it, really. And of course, Fiona had drunk, and flirted and drunk some more, and despite how much she could loathe the witch sometimes, Myrtle couldn't possibly take the risk of leaving her alone in that state. They were, after all, part of the same coven.

Lost in her thoughts, she took a second to notice the way the couch suddenly slumped, only coming back to her senses when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. She turned her head, only to discover the arm belonged to Fiona. So, there she was, the queen of the night; Myrtle briefly wondered how she even managed to walk in those heels of hers with that much alcohol flowing in her veins.

'So, Myrt', what's with the long face?'

'Oh, shut up Fiona,' she replied warily. 'Why don't you just get out of my hair? You're the new Supreme, for fuck's sake; just go find yourself a nice shag or whatever.'

Myrtle's words sadly seemed to have the exact opposite of the desired effect, for Fiona only shuffled closer, looking right through Myrtle's thick glasses, effectively locking their eyes together. Without quite knowing why, the witch felt herself grow flustered.

'I know what's wrong with you,' Fiona declared after a moment of silence.

'Oh, is that so?' Myrtle replied with a roll of her eyes.

'You're jealous, Myrt', simple as that.' When Myrtle didn't reply, Fiona continued. 'You're jealous, because I can have any man in this room, when they won't as much as look at you.'

Before the other witch could even think about answering, Fiona had jumped up on her admittedly shaky legs, and propped herself up on the table behind her to face Myrtle.

'Don't worry though,' she continued, while Myrtle grew increasingly alarmed by the proximity of Fiona's body, which seemed to be radiating with heat. 'Tonight is my night, and I promise you: I won't let you get home without a proper kiss.'

Myrtle opened her mouth to protest, but just as she was about to, the hungry press of Fiona's lips against hers abruptly stopped her. Before she even realised what was happening, Fiona's body was utterly crushing hers, one of her hands clutching her hip, while the other had found a way to her hair, and was now deeply tangled in Myrtle's fiery tresses.

But that wasn't quite the worst of it. No, the worst was the unexplainable eagerness with which Myrtle was reciprocating the kiss, mirroring Fiona's lust with her own, their tongues ardently clashing together, draining away years of pent up anger, jealousy and desire.

Fiona tasted of alcohol, of power and danger, and Myrtle could only crave for more.

In a half-moan, Fiona suddenly ripped her lips off Myrtle's and chuckled, her eyes growing unfocused.

'I always knew you secretly wanted me, Myrt',' she gloated, before rolling off the other woman. Myrtle remained silent, utterly frozen by the shock she had just received. A short moment after, she felt Fiona's head drop against her shoulder, before slowly beginning to slip down her chest. She had just passed out, Myrtle realised.

That fucking woman would be the death of her, someday.

II.

It was four in the morning, when Myrtle was suddenly startled out of sleep. Rain was pouring outside, and she briefly wondered whether it was thunder which had made her jump moments ago. But then she heard it again; a series of frenzied knocks against her entrance door.

Reluctantly, Myrtle rose from her bed, tightly wrapping a white bathrobe with crimson seams around her body. Whoever it was, it better be a matter of life and death, she angrily repeated herself as she rapidly crossed her house.

She pulled the door halfway open just as a streak of lightning hit a tree in the distance, briefly illuminating the face of no other than her long time arch-nemesis, Fiona Goode.

She had half a mind to slam the door right into her face- that would teach her, for sure- when suddenly, Fiona pressed her palm against the door, pushing it entirely open, as if she had read right into Myrtle's she had.

As she did so, Myrtle caught a better sight of the Supreme; she was drenched from head to toes, probably frozen half to death if the way her whole figure was shaking was any indication, and her eyes were glazed, glistening with fresh tears. She also held a bundle of covers to her chest, wrapped protectively in her arms.

'Will you let me in?' she muttered under her breath, without even looking at Myrtle.

'What in God's name are you doing here?'

'Just let me in, and I'll explain-'

'What- Fiona, is that your daughter? Are you bloody insane?' Myrtle gasped when she eventually realised why the other witch seemed to be clutching a pile of covers with such desperation.

'Just fucking let me in, Myrt'!'

'Not in a million years!' Myrtle yelled back, and Fiona's head suddenly dropped in abandon. Unexpectedly, she began nervously giggling. 'I should have known better; you're still the same utter bitch.'

Myrtle didn't answer, and Fiona raised her head to look at her, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

'You're going to make me do this under the rain, on your threshold, is that it? Fine.'

She took a deep breath before speaking.

'It's about 'Delia.'

'I'm listening,' Myrtle replied when Fiona failed to continue.

'Shut up, this is already hard enough as it is. I- I need you to take care of her.'

Myrtle felt her jaw drop despite herself, and words lacked her for a moment, as she wrapped her robe tighter around herself.

'You've got to be joking, Fiona. You're abandoning her? Your own daughter? Do you really have no shame-'

'Shut your fucking mouth!' Fiona suddenly shrieked, and only then did Myrtle realise the latter was sobbing helplessly. 'I have no choice!'

Not sure how to answer, Myrtle simple waited.

'I'm a fucking excuse for a mother, Myrt'. I don't deserve her, this- it can't go on.'

Fiona pressed a shaky hand against her lips to stifle her whimpers, without much success.

'D'you know what happened tonight?'

She paused for a moment, and Myrtle waited again.

''Delia accidently set fire to her crib. And I wasn't there. D'you know why I wasn't there? I was out. Drinking. Shagging strangers. She could have died, if my neighbour hadn't called the cops in time. She could have burnt to death, and I wouldn't even have known. Because I wasn't there for my own fucking daughter, Myrt'.'

Myrtle suddenly felt a single tear run down her own cheek. For the first time, Fiona's words rung true, and cut deep.

'What do you want me to do about her?' Myrtle whispered, seeking Fiona's gaze.

'Raise her. Take care of her. Make her happy.' She paused. 'And allow me to see her from time to time.'

'Are you sure?' Myrtle asked softly after a moment; Fiona only nodded.

'Okay. Just one last thing,' Myrtle added. 'Why me?'

Fiona let out a sad little laugh.

'Because I love her, and I want the best for her.' She took a deep breath and continued. 'I know you've always wanted to be a mother, and I also know you can't. So, here's your chance.'

Utterly speechless, Myrtle watched as Fiona pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, her whole figure shaking with the strength of her tears, before settling her carefully into Myrtle's arms with final, whispered words of love.

Clearing her throat and carelessly wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Fiona spoke, in a tone she wanted assured.

'Now, I may not like you very much, Myrtle Snow, but I know you're her best bet, and I trust you. You'll be ten times the mother I am; it's in your blood.'

Myrtle was openly crying when her eyes met Fiona's.

'I'll take good care of her,' she muttered.

'You better,' Fiona answered, her voice breaking at every word. 'I'll have someone send you all her things tomorrow,' she added, as she turned to leave.

'Wait!' Myrtle suddenly blurted out, as her free hand reached for Fiona's wet cheek on its own accord. She forced the latter to look at her, before whispering. 'Are you okay?'

Fiona had a dry laugh. 'Do I fucking look okay?'

Without further ado, Myrtle closed her eyes and leaned in, brushing her chapped lips against Fiona's soft ones for the briefest moment. Her thumb gently stroked across Fiona's cheek, wiping a tear away, before she stepped back without a word.

'Thank you,' Myrtle muttered, gently cradling the cooing little girl.

'Ditto,' Fiona replied with a half-hearted smile, before turning away and rapidly disappearing in the night.

III.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, Myrtle looked at her reflection in the mirror. Misty and her healing ointments had worked wonders, she realised. Except for some faint scars and marks, no one would have suspected she had been burnt to the stake a few weeks earlier. Her hair had even grown back to its full length, she noticed. It was slightly softer, like a new-born's, and she was glad for it. Not that she cared much herself, but she enjoyed more than anything seeing Fiona's eyes boiling with anger every time they crossed path.

The bitch may have wanted her dead, and she may even have successfully deceived everyone in making them believe she had been responsible for Cordelia's deformity, but it would take her much more than that to eventually get rid of Myrtle Snow, once and for all.

As she walked to her room, her cup of tea in hand, she suddenly caught the sight of legs, half hidden by the armchair near the fireplace. Of course, she would be there, Myrtle realised with an inward sigh. Why she was even forced to share a house with a woman whom had actively tried to murder her, she would never quite understand.

'Fiona,' Myrtle said coldly as she walked past her, without as much as a glance in her direction.

The latter, a glass of scotch in her hand, raised her chin to look at Myrtle, before speaking calmly.

'Why don't you sit down with me for a while, Myrt'?'

'Not in your wildest dreams,' Myrtle replied harshly. However, as she attempted to walk away from the other woman, she found out her legs were no longer capable of moving. She abruptly turned her head towards Fiona, her eyes shooting daggers in her direction.

'Let go of me, you utter bitch.'

'Just- sit down for fuck's sake, Myrtle, I need to speak with you.' Fiona repeated. 'What are you afraid of, exactly? I already killed you once, remember?'

'And yet, here I am,' Myrtle gloated.

'Here you are, indeed. Now sit down, you're making me dizzy.'

Reluctantly, Myrtle complied, keeping her chin high, stubbornly waiting for Fiona to speak.

'I'm dying,' Fiona suddenly said matter-of-factly, as she played with the ice cubes in her drink.

'Well, better late than never, as they say' Myrtle scoffed.

'Oh, Myrtle, ever the witty one, I see,' Fiona answered warily, taking a sip from her glass. 'I'm serious, though.'

As she failed to continue, Myrtle interrupted her. 'And you needed me here tonight because… Let me have a wild guess: you want me to lead the way?'

'Believe it or not, killing you is no longer on my agenda.'

'Oh, that is most wonderful news,' Myrtle snapped.

'Do you ever shut up?'

'Not with you.'

Fiona sighed, slowly rising from her armchair. She began absentminded circles across the room, as Myrtle kept on sipping her tea, making sure to make her utter disinterest as obvious as possible.

'I'm dying, and it got me thinking.'

Myrtle raised a scornful eyebrow, remaining silent.

'I thought about my life, you see, and I realised- I screwed up. I screwed up absolutely everything.'

'It sure took you long enough to figure that one out,' Myrtle couldn't help but whisper under her breath.

'My life, my body, my role as the Supreme, this coven- even my relationship with my own daughter. I fucked it all up.'

Fiona sprawled back down on the armchair, running her wrinkled hands over her face.

''Delia hates me,' she muttered so low that Myrtle almost missed it.

'Cordelia doesn't hate you, she-'

'Cordelia hates me, and you know it, you old cow.'

'Well, I see you're still charming as ever.'

Fiona snorted, drinking the rest of her glass in one go.

'And even with you, Myrtle Snow- I even screwed up with you.'

'Why would you even care? We hate one another.'

'Of course we do. But you raised my daughter when I asked you to, even if you utterly loathed me. And you raised her damn well, Myrt'.

Fiona vigorously slammed her empty glass against the tray, before crossing her arms under her chest.

'And all I ever did in return was have you burn at the stake.'

'Well, you've always been of the grateful kind-'

Fiona smiled, letting out a dry, hollow laugh. Suddenly looking away, she spoke again.

'I suppose it's too late for apologies?'

Myrtle's heart all but missed a beat at those words. This woman, this bloody, incomprehensible woman! Even on her deathbed, she found ways to drive her completely mad. Readjusting her glasses with her free hand, Myrtle slowly replied.

'I believe it's never too late for apologies, Fiona.'

Fiona remained silent for a long moment. Then, eventually, she whispered three simple words.

'I'm sorry.'

Those words had a devastating effect on Myrtle. All of a sudden, it felt as if her whole body was buckling; Fiona's words were ringing in her mind, forcing her to close her eyes. This couldn't possibly be…

'There's one last thing I want to do,' Fiona softly said, out of the blue. 'May I?'

Shaking herself out of her trance, Myrtle simply nodded, her heart beginning to pound against her ribs for no apparent reason.

'Close your eyes', Fiona whispered.

The last thing Myrtle saw was Fiona rising from her seat again. She waited, completely still, forgetting to even breathe.

Then, all of a sudden, she felt it. Fiona's breathe on her lips, Fiona's hand on her cheek, mirroring that night so many years ago, Fiona's fingers gently slipping through her hair.

When their lips finally touched, it was slow, tender, softer than ever before. It was incomprehensible, and very, very sad.

Eventually, Fiona broke the kiss, stepping away from Myrtle. The latter opened her eyes after a moment, only to catch Fiona's small smile before she turned away to leave.

'Did you really hope you could suck a few more weeks out of me just like that, Fiona?'

Stopping at the door-step, Fiona turned around and laughed.

'Of course not,' she replied. 'I just always liked how soft your hair is.'

Well, I hope you all enjoyed this little fic!
Thanks for reading, you are positively lovely.

Wil~