Whoo two chapters in one go! You guys must be so pleased! Heh, actually, I finished CH 9 a few days ago and forgot to post it. Oops. But anyway, onwards!

There is a vague suicide mention.

Thom is about to find out about a lot of things – and not just his old master being back in town...

Thom wasn't at all pleased when he'd discovered that I had known George had contacted Master Si-Cham and not told him. While I'd had no part in him actually showing up, Thom's former teacher wasn't well received at all by my lover – and yet, underneath his boundless rage, I heard the way his voice cracked in fear when he confronted me later in my chambers. We'd argued over his health before, but this was no doubt the worst such confrontation we'd had so far. Despite my attempts to plead for him to see reason about his deteriorating health, his fury knew no bounds.

"No, don't meddle in my affairs! This has you written all over it!"

"It's a moot point anyway! He is here now!"

"I do not need his help!"

"Yes you do! For the love of the Goddess, Thom! You are sick!"

"I am fine!" Thom bellowed. At his last syllable, the fire flared. It made the pair of us start – Thom never lost control, and to see it this way…plus…"Thom," I began, my voice quiet, "what colour was that? Isn't your Gift purple?"

"Leave me alone," he growled.

"You stop this nonsense, right now Thom. I did not come this far with you to walk away when you order me!"

He turned away. Thom turned away. The person I'd fallen for, given everything to, trusted with the rest of my sanity – he turned away, and all I could see was the back of his head as he stared at the mantelpiece and the fire that had so briefly roared in it with his bellows.

Maybe he expected me to scream at him. Maybe he expected me to give up. But, as I stared at his back, I found I couldn't be as angry without the sight of his stubborn expression.

"…I despise lying, yet I have been doing so this entire time." My voice was quiet as I let my hands drop to my sides. "I thought that it would be okay, as long as we're together. I thought I could carve out my own happiness. I thought that if I pretended long enough, the bad things would go away – your health would get better."

"I'm a healer – and I know that to be preposterous. Illnesses don't just 'go away'. They're treated. They're-" my voice cracked, and I slumped, struggling to breathe for a brief moment "-they're healed, and I'm one of those that can do that. Except I can't."

Was his posture changing? I couldn't tell. I rambled on, lost in my own words now. The dam had well and truly broken. "I can't help you Thom. The Sweating Sickness was different – that was a magical sickness. Yours is a sickness of your magic, and I don't have the training. I was never trained for such sorcery. You know advanced sorcery, enough to know that you won't- you're going to-" I shuddered, taking a deep, gulping breath, feeling the wetness far too late on my cheeks.

"I've lost much in life – too much - and I cannot lose you too. I- I just can't- I won't- Thom. Please. I- I am very much my father's daughter, Thom. Please accept our help. Please."

Silence answered my words, but by then I had finished anyway. It stretched and stretched, and then Thom turned.

"What do you mean you are your father's daughter?"

But I was gone, and the question rose on empty air.

~oOo~

He'd been angry – so, very angry – but now he was lost, wandering without a destination. No, that was a lie. He did indeed have a destination, but whether he'd get there…

He had to get there. He had to.

He was pretty sure she'd been crying.

It was that thought that had him finally stumble towards his destination, his fist rising to strike the door once. It was answered almost immediately, and Thom found himself looking into a very blue-eyed gaze – but they held a far different expression than what he saw in Willow's.

"Thom?" Jon's gaze was surprised. "You're not looking for Willow?"

"I- No. I wanted to see you."

Jon invited the mage in and waited until the pair were inside before looking at his sister's partner. "Why are you here?"

"Willow, she said-" Thom wavered, but it was Jon's calm gaze that helped him onwards. "-we argued, about…my health. She said she was her father's daughter. Jon, she doesn't mean-"

When it was clear that Thom couldn't continue, Jon sighed deeply. "Willow has the penchant to love too deeply, and too well. It cripples her. I've told her time and again she would forgive Roger if she ever loved him in the first place." He paused. "She's very attached to you, you know. Losing you would leave her…broken. Frankly, I wouldn't expect her to recover – ever. Additionally, she's a healer – and she can't heal you. She learned to heal because I almost died. Now you could die and she'd be powerless to save you. You do not even need to raise a finger to kill her."

"I…made her cry." It was Thom's turn to feel tears rise – he hurriedly swallowed, coughing at the feeling in his chest. "She- she never cries. Not for me. I- I'm scared. Si-Cham- maybe he can help – but what if he can't? What if everything is useless? What if we've hoped for nothing? What if- " his voice cracked again, and he looked down, realising in that moment just how small he was. What if I die anyway, and she does too? "Jon, what do I do?"

"Maybe you should apologise." Jon nodded – and it was only then that Thom realised they were not alone in his room. A familiar figure was curled on a chair, arms wrapped around her knees. Even from here Thom could tell she'd been crying.

Thom wasn't even aware of moving before he was gently tugging the figure into his arms.

Hands landed on mine. I jumped, my gaze shooting upwards out of my numb world. Before I could react, I felt a nose bury itself in my hair as someone's breathing faltered – and then Thom's arms tightened around me as he began to tremble. It was only when wetness dampened my hair that I realised he was crying. Without answering him I buried my face in his shoulder, limply clinging to him.

He was talking, and it took me a moment to realise he was whispering "Okay," under his breath, again and again – and though it was only a word, I knew exactly what he was agreeing to.

"Forgive me. For everything." His voice was shaky, the words choked. Jon had slid into an armchair by then, keeping watch for us while we wept. He went unnoticed as I answered the man who I'd never seen cry (and who had rarely seen me cry). "Yes."

Oh Thom. I already had.

Excuse me while I dump angst on all my lovely readers. I love you guys for bearing with this ridiculous angst. I say I despise angst but I seem to use it a lot, right?

Oh, and for those who are asking how loyal I am remaining to the books...well, you'll just have to wait and see. I have a lot of ideas for their future. :D

~ MagicalLeaves