Every Scar Has A Story

"Do you trust me?" Homura had asked.

Madoka had thought nothing of Homura excusing herself while they were studying all the intel on the Ori they could get their hands on. She'd come back in just a few moments, as promised, but she'd been... different somehow. Madoka touched her, and her telepathy found a blank wall.

And the girl who was first in her heart had asked, "Do you trust me?"

Madoka didn't know what was going on, or why Homura was suddenly acting strange, but the answer to her question was simple and true. "Yes."

That had been four days ago, and Madoka hadn't had time to dwell on it since.

Everyone slept in shifts, and spent their waking periods training and keeping ready. It was the same on the dozens of other ships that lurked behind the supergate, waiting to spring the ambush. The tense anticipation was thick in the air, and for someone with Madoka's talents, that wasn't just a figure of speech.

Still, she was worried about Homura. The other girl was oddly distant, yet on the occasions where they had a moment to themselves, Homura... well the word that came to mind was 'worship' even if Madoka wasn't nearly as sure of herself as she would have been if she'd been able to pick up on Homura's emotions and the occasional prominent thought.

Madoka was quite proud of Homura for perfecting her Slider Drive spell, even if Homura, for some strange reason, refused to say when and how she'd solved it. Fate took her dethroning from Fastest-Mage-Alive with good nature.

On the fifth day since Homura started acting weird, Madoka stirred as Homura shook her awake. Madoka blinked the sleep from her eyes and met Homura's intent gaze.

"Madoka," Homura murmured. "I'm sorry."

Madoka wriggled, feeling Homura's naked body against her own under the covers, and smiled as she brushed a bit of Homura's dark silky hair aside. "For what?"

"That I didn't think of this sooner," Homura said, "and that I always have to wait until now."

"Huh? Whmph."

Homura kissed her, interrupting her. Confused about her cryptic comment, Madoka still sighed in pleasure and returned the kiss eagerly, only to gasp in surprise. The blank wall she'd come to expect when she touched Homura was gone, and Homura's mind was open to her.

And between her and Homura's mind, there was something else, something she recognized with shock. Madoka had only ever read about this, but here, impossibly, a bundle of her own memories clung to Homura's mind. How? When had she cut her own memories out and hidden them in Homura? She hadn't. There weren't any gaps in her own mind, so where did the memories in Homura come from?

Homura pushed the memories at her, and Madoka took them, because they were her memories, somehow. The bundle unraveled, a billion tendrils weaving into place in her brain, and Madoka remembered.

Homura, despairing, crying on her chest. Homura, claiming Madoka was just a figment of her Precognition spell, but that Homura couldn't do this alone anymore. Talking it over, Homura trying, failing, watching them die, watching Madoka die, dying herself, reliving the same week for months. Madoka coming up with a way for Homura to carry Madoka with her.

Cycle after cycle. Repeat after repeat. Months more, reuniting week after week. Never giving up. Learning from each failure. Finally, finally winning. Doing it again and again, until the ambush was like a choreographed dance the two of them knew by heart. Madoka's telepathy. Homura's ability to be anywhere in an instant.

Together, at last, deciding they were ready. Madoka's figment ripping out all of her memories and hiding them inside Homura for the last time, as Homura prepared to finally end the spell and do it for real.

Madoka gasped, her eyes blinking open and filling with tears. "Homura. Oh, Homura."

"It'll be worth it," Homura said, her own eyes shining. "We have fifteen hours until the Ori come."

Wordlessly, Madoka pulled her down into a searing kiss. Hands roamed over skin as they moved together. This wasn't the tender fondling of two young girls exploring the promised land. It was a harmony of touch and counter-touch. An act not merely of love, but of familiarity and long practice. A perfection of mutual skill, without a moment of guesswork.

Such was their lovemaking, tonight, and tomorrow, such would be their battle.

(Another short chapter, I know. I just don't think I could do justice to this without essentially writing Time Braid: The Homura Akemi Version, and if I tried to do that, I doubt this story would ever get finished, so here you go.)