Note: there's something for everyone :D More unresolved issues, a Very Clever Reference to Witches Abroad, and someone ends up naked.

Still all Pratchett's, though. Also, thanks for the lovely feedback so far, it made me happy.

-

Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 5. In which a cat is mentioned.

-

"Shall I kill that for you?" the man - probably a man - said. You never knew, with vampires.

"That's not funny," said Mal.

"I wasn't joking."

Polly shuddered. There was an edge about this... man, probably... that she couldn't find in Mal, however similar they looked, and she couldn't quite put a finger on that. Well, apart from the death threat he had just uttered, on which she couldn't quite put a finger, either, at least not literally... gah!

"You're missing the context," said Mal. Good old Mal. Polly didn't quite think she deserved all this. If I were human, she thought, I'd be glowing red to my fucking ears. I very nearly killed -

"... Ah," said the man. He sat down on the bar and got out a cigarette with a holder, lighting up in the same movement. Polly watched Mal eye it with something like detached yearning. "So?" he added.

"So what?" said Mal.

"The context."

"It's difficult," said Mal, cunning deduction personified. "What did you kill that Elissa girl for?"

"Vampire?" suggested the man. The cigarette end glowed red as he sucked in smoke, as elegant as... an actor who played a very elegant person, or something. "The window was open."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "It's the middle of winter."

"Yes," said the man, expression mimicking hers. "I was a bit puzzled myself."

"So, who are you, then?" asked Polly, braver then she felt, but the conversation didn't seem to go anywhere. It felt like a good idea at the time.

The man grinned. "Is it allowed to talk up like that?"

He was aggravating, that was what he was, thought Polly. Possibly, Mal felt the same way.

"Benedict lots of middle names van der Zülln," she said. "My brother."

'The one who can't fly in a straight line?' was the question Polly very nearly blurted out. She was glad she didn't, as she was clearly not very popular with that man.

What she did blurt out, though, was, "Pink blankets or blue?" In a world gone completely mad, she had to hold on to the constants in her life.

Now that refined eyebrow lift was directed at her. "Black, actually," said Benedict, "but don't you think you're being awfully forward?"

"Whoops," said Polly. "Force of habit. Um."

She saw Mal hiding a small smile. "What kind of idiotic name would 'Benedicta' be?" asked Mal.

"To be entirely faithful to the truth," said Polly, whose frontal cortex seemed to have curled up and died, "I always thought 'Maladicta' sounded a wee bit silly. Um. I'll just go stand in that corner over there, yes?"

Mal laid a hand on her arm before she could move. "Benedict, meet Oliver Perks. My sergeant."

Another taxing look. "Oliver?"

He really looked a lot like Mal, Polly thought, all short and thin and dark-eyed. It was also the same black hair, only somewhat longer, and the same deranged bar chanteuse voice, only... not nice. Not that Mal was what the casual observer would call nice, unless you defined nice as 'probably not quite dangerous to public safety', with a big fat 'um' tagged on the end.

Polly sighed. "Polly, actually. Is this a vampire thing?"

There was a "No."

There was a "Yes!"

"It's a Mal thing, really," said Benedict, who may or may not have been gambling to have the last word.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean," said Mal edgily.

Polly didn't, either. Absolutely. She was pampering her naivety like a strange and fragile plant that'd got all yellow 'round the leaves.

Um.

"What are you doing here?" asked Mal, after a moment. "It's winter, shouldn't you be in Borogravia?"

"Visiting our mother," said Benedict. "You know that she permanently moved into Kone Castle?"

"Bit hard to keep track," said Mal, "what with no-one actually talking to me." She was leaning against the bar now, looking very, very tired all of a sudden. "Polly, can I trust you to make some coffee without burning down the inn?" She thought about that for a while. "Or by all means, burn down the inn if you absolutely must."

"'Course, back in a minute," said Polly, a bit indignant about being sent away but also very, very glad to be able to retreat. She left the kitchen door slightly open, because no-one had actually said she wasn't supposed to listen, yes -?

There was still some wood stacked next to the fireplace, and she soon found matches and a kettle, trying not to make too much noise.

"So, can you trust her to make coffee?" she heard Benedict's muffled voice. "You know, I'm not trying to be all protective, but she could put anything in there."

"She won't," said Mal. "She might have some unresolved issues right now, but poisoning isn't her style, really."

"... Unresolved issues," her brother repeated. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose. How's the League doing?"

There was silence from Mal, and a chuckle - the bastard! - from Benedict.

"You know," he continued, "that's really unexpected. Biting little girls now, Mal? Isn't that rather leaving the moral high grounds?"

"It's more complicated than that," said Mal. "Speaking of moral high grounds, Benedict, what the hell are you thinking wearing that? Do you have any idea what the ribbon means to some of us?"

"It makes life so much easier, don't you think?" said Benedict. "That was the first time I wasn't chased out of the village by a horde of pitchfork-wielding pig farmers the moment I set foot there." A pause. "The effect isn't particularly long-lasting, though, for reasons I cannot fathom."

"You complete bastard," said Mal. In the kitchen, there was fervent agreement.

"Loving every minute of it."

That, thought Polly, was the kind of commentary that should get people flogged. It was right up there with 'I realise I'm an arsehole, but you've got to admit I'm good at it.'

As she was rummaging through a box, desperately looking for something to grind the coffee beans with, she couldn't quite hear the two of them talking.

There! she thought. A coffee grinder! Solution to all of my problems!

Nearly all of them, at any rate.

"I didn't ask you to go into morals." That was Benedict. "Last thing I heard, you're a soldier now?"

"It's not the same thing," said Mal.

Polly ground the coffee very, very slowly, in order not to miss anything.

Benedict again: "You kill people for a living. So do I. Where's the difference?"

There has got to be a hole in that argument, thought Polly, there just has to be. It's fighting for the greater good, and such.

So what if it turns out to be harder and harder to grasp.

"Look," said Mal, "we've been through this before. We didn't reach a satisfying conclusion. Let me have a smoke?"

There was more hushed conversation, but by now, the water was boiling. Polly spooned the ground coffee into a cup that was at least clean-ish, and poured water over it. She had absolutely no idea how to go about this, and Mal was one of those impossible people who were all for quality with their quantity, but the mixture smelled right and the colour looked sort of familiar, and so it should be okay. She grabbed the steaming cup and was almost at the door when -

"I didn't know she'd change so much," said Mal softly, and Polly stopped mid-stride, straining her ears.

"You're certainly not controlling her very well," said Benedict.

"I'm not controlling her at all," said Mal. "I mean, look at the evidence."

"Damn morals always getting in the way of the fun, eh?" said Benedict, and there was a very unamused silence. "How much did you give her?" he added. "All of it? 'Cause I've got the feeling you might have overdone it. Free will is so overrated these days."

"No," said Mal. "I did not give her all of it. As it were."

A drawn-out sigh that didn't sound entirely theatrical. "You always had a more is more approach to practical vampirism, Mal."

"Thanks for reminding," said Mal. "I regenerate."

More silence, and by now Polly had noticed the coffee cup was kind of burning her hands, and she stepped forward and then -

"Fool," said Benedict softly.

Polly took this moment to leave all that behind her and live in the present, and the present, right now...

... included one complete arsehole, a lot of snow, and her life completely gone to hell. Unimpressed, universe, thought Polly. Unimpressed.

That was when Benedict looked up, took a drag of his cigarette, and winked at her.

"So, is the withdrawal death toll still at fifty per cent or did they think of something clever by now?" he asked, louder now. The malice would have been dripping, if it had had the capacity to do so.

All right. It was on.

"You kinda failed to mention that, Mal," said Polly. "Coffee's up, by the way," she added, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Thank you so very much," said Mal, taking the coffee out of Polly's suddenly unsteady hands. She took a sip, and hardly screwed up her face while she did so, so the coffee must have passed some kind of quality test.

"I heard they have some kind of safety measures now," she added, finally. "They work. No-one dies much. On account of the immortality thing." Mal was glaring at Benedict as she said that, which did nothing to improve Polly's mood.

"So, Benedict," said Mal, "why have you been following us?"

Benedict tried to look innocent, and failed spectacularly. "I haven't," he said, despite the evidence.

"Polly here has seen you at least three times. Why?"

"Well," turning the cigarette holder in his hands, clearly enjoying Mal's wistful fixation on it, "there's some kind of family gathering up at the castle. Our mother feels it's time to -"

"I'm not available," said Mal.

"But everyone's coming!"

"That's supposed to be a good thing how?"

"Look, Mal," there was a pause, a ruffling of hair - it still lay flat afterward, Polly noticed without surprise -, "this is kind of, ah, your only chance to make up. At this moment, our mother's perfectly willing to talk to you."

"Benedict," said Mal, with a sigh, "this is really not the time -"

"What better time is there?" asked Benedict. "You stay for a day, have everyone admire your, ah, charming company, let them believe you're not all that reformed after all, and then you two leave for Ankh-Morpork. Please?"

"That would be lying," said Mal.

"No. It would be making an effort. Everyone's got to make an effort."

"Well, I won't," said Mal. "Tell Mother I'm terribly sorry I can't come, but I've got more important things on my mind."

"Mal," said Benedict, a knowing smile on his lips, "he's not going to be there."

"Who?" asked Polly, always headfirst into the difficult. The siblings looked at her in a way that made Polly feel as if she had stepped onto a frozen lake intending to do a shortcut and just now found out it really wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Our father," said Mal after a moment of entirely uncomfortable silence. Then she turned back to Benedict, and added, "So do I look like I care?"

"Well, actually -," began Benedict, studying Mal in much the same way as Mal had been studying, well, everyone else for as long as Polly had known her. Something about that was quite satisfying.

Mal's face was perfectly blank as she stared back. A pause, and, "Why?"

"I believe he got eaten by a cat," said Benedict off-handedly. "Are you coming now?"

"Eaten by a what?"

"Cat," said Benedict. "You know, four-legged, fluffy, charming. Taste a bit funny, though."

Mal whistled softly. "Now that's a new one," she said. "Any chance he's going to rise again?"

"Not this time, I don't think."

"Good," said Mal.

Good, thought Polly. Good? What kind of family was that? She got the not talking to one another, because these things happened, she got the not keeping track, because the Borogravian postal service was shaky even if you didn't live in a tent, but she didn't get the 'good', and she didn't particularly want to, either.

"We're not coming, though," said Mal, between long sips of coffee. "On account of me being a thoroughly ungrateful and also very reformed disgrace of a - daughter. Now do the civil conversation thing, I've been missing that."

"Okay," said Benedict. "What happened to your hand?"

Mal made a noncommittal gesture with her bandaged right hand. "Silver," she said. "Had a bit of an accident there."

"I see how that kind of thing can happen to you," said Benedict, "but honestly, in the middle of a battlefield? Isn't that taking clumsiness a little bit far?"

Strange. Polly remembered having asked the same question. She had nearly forgot about it.

Mal narrowed her eyes. "How do you know it happened on a battlefield?"

"Just guesswork, Corporal Maladict," said Benedict lightly. "Do take your paranoia elsewhere. How did the silver get there?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" asked Mal quizzically.

Benedict smiled. "I really think you should attend tonight. You might learn a few things." He winked and got up in a fluid motion. "I'll be back at dusk to pick you up and I'll have a fancy coach," he said. "Just in case you're tired of walking. Now excuse me, ladies, I'm going to find myself a cellar. Sun's about to rise."

"It's not going to hurt you if you won't let it," said Mal with a faint smile. Benedict took her hand, kissed it lightly.

"Oh yes, it is," he said, and, with a mock salute to Polly and a last swish of the cloak, he was out.

-

The silence lasted all of a minute, until Mal finished her coffee and gloomily watched the grounds as they failed to do anything interesting. Polly didn't dare say a word. Mal could out-gloom anything.

"So," Mal said finally.

Polly held her breath. Mal hoisted herself up to sit on the bar, tucking up her legs. She cradled the coffee cup in her arms, maybe for some leftover warmth, maybe not.

"What do you think of him?" she asked.

"He's, well -," said Polly, faintly surprised.

"A cocky bastard," completed Mal. She was shaking her head. "Honestly, the nerve."

He's probably cruel to small furry animals, Polly thought.

"Sit."

Polly sat. She didn't feel like being difficult, not now.

"Mal -," she said, and stopped upon noticing that she didn't have the faintest idea of how to go on.

"I think we can stay here for the day after all," said Mal. "Gonna find a kettle and a bathtub and stuff." She yawned. "Gonna be nice here."

Practical, maybe, thought Polly, hobby linguist.

"Mal, I believe we have to talk," said Polly. 'Apologise' was so big a word, she wasn't sure she'd get it out right.

"Talk, then," said Mal.

Polly, then, just settled for hiding her head in her hands. How to find the words? How to - Maybe best to start with stating the obvious and work from there.

"You may have noticed I just tried to kill you," she said.

"I did," said Mal, which only fed the surrounding silence.

"So," Polly volunteered, "I should really learn to ask questions first."

"I expect that would be helpful."

Polly groaned inwardly. This was all her own damn fault, she knew, but could Mal try and be a little less condescending?

"Mal, I'm sorry," said Polly. "I don't know why this keeps happening, and it frightens me to death, and -"

"Polly," said Mal. "Hey. It's okay. Your criminal intent wasn't that convincing."

"No, Mal," said Polly. "You keep telling me it's okay, but it bloody well isn't. You didn't even do anything to stop me."

Mal sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip. "That would be because I needed to find out how far you'd go."

That was unexpected.

"So, how far would I go?" asked Polly, after a while. "See, that question's really quite central to me at the moment."

"First of all," said Mal, "I had my hands free, which you knew, and didn't do anything about, so you couldn't have killed me even if you wanted to."

"That could have just been plain incompetence on my part," said Polly.

"Is that so, sarge?" said Mal. "Secondly, the hesitation, which I was rather glad to notice because you really went a lot further than I'd expected."

"... Oh."

"Then again, I have an optimistic worldview," said Mal, shrugging. "Thirdly, all that unnecessary talking and threatening was, considering you're a soldier and know better, really just a way to get me to do something. I hope." Pause. "That line about the fun was just plain nasty, though."

"So you weren't afraid at all?" asked Polly. This talk turned out to be rather surprising, and confusing, and if she didn't feel so awful about everything, she might get angry again. She didn't like that lab rat feeling all that much.

"Oh, I was," said Mal. " I do not take stakes lightly."

Polly didn't answer.

"You know," said Mal softly, "it's telling, the way you interpret things. I mean, I tried to explain to you why I did what I did. Not very successfully, I admit, but at least I used a lot of words. And you take the first chance you see to believe it was out of a common vampire instinct. Out of... hunger." She reached out to touch Polly's cheek. "Why do you think you're food, Polly?"

"Because," said Polly, "you bit me."

A weary glance out of slightly narrowed eyes. "Ah," said Mal, and nothing more.

"It's the truth," said Polly.

The first rays of the morning sun were trickling through the windows, and Mal got up. "But think about it, kid," she said, and wandered off.

-

They had shared dinner - or breakfast, or whatever - in silence. It was potatoes and carrots, mostly, which Polly had cooked in the inn's kitchen until they were slightly softer carrots and potatoes. Nothing spectacular, but she wasn't trusting Mal's cookery, either.

She had also found some rats in the pantry for the necessary, ah, proteins. Which had left her some sanity to look forward to the potatoes, and the carrots, delicious vegetables that they were, seasoned with thyme and onions. Life was good if you had seasoning.

Afterwards, Polly had felt very much like just falling asleep in the one guest room, where they'd found and lit a fireplace. It was warming up pleasantly now, which was slightly strange and, at the same time, the most fantastic thing that had happened to her, ever, and Polly could feel herself getting sleepier by the minute.

Mal, however, had dragged a wooden bathtub into the room. She rather insisted on hygiene. Hygiene right now.

"Remind me again why you joined the army," Polly said as she lay sprawled over the bed, trying not to fall asleep too obviously while Mal was melting the second pot full of snow over the fireplace.

She also had soap. Nuggan knew how she'd found that.

"I didn't know about the hygienic standards, or lack thereof," said Mal. "I mean, I did expect at least some kind of godawful community showers, although, given the sock situation, those'd probably not have been appreciated by all."

"Showers?" asked Polly in mild confusion. "As in, rain?"

"As in a watering can strapped to the ceiling," said Mal. "Well, it's a bit more advanced than that, but that's the general idea. Saw those in Ankh-Morpork."

The room was filling with steam. Mal hoisted the pot over to the bathtub, which contained somewhat colder water, and tipped it over. A fresh cloud of vapor rose. She stuck her hand into the tub.

"Perfect," she said dreamily. With just about the right amount of ceremony, Mal dropped the whole bar of soap into the water.

Polly watched.

"You're a foam kinda girl, right?" she asked, half-noticing how slurred her speech had become. Sleep couldn't be that far away.

"Absolutely," said Mal, and slipped out of her clothes, just like that.

Damn, thought Polly. How fast am I supposed to move? It was an idle thought, seeing as she hadn't attempted to move at all. Or shut her eyes, as she realised just then.

She did shut her eyes now, and waited for the various watery sounds to stop. At least, Mal went about this in a fairly... ladylike way, if that word could be applied. There wasn't much sloshing and splashing, one had to be thankful for that.

Also, Polly was very awake now.

When she opened her eyes again, it was all a bit more bearable. She saw black hair poured over the rim of the bathtub, a hint of pale angular shoulders. Mal's face, in profile, was half obscured by steam. She wore an expression that Polly could only describe as soap-induced bliss.

Well, thought Polly, bathing is nice, after all. She was feeling a bit grimy herself, but was soldier enough to not let that distract her further from sleeping.

Er.

Mal looked over to her, and gave her a crooked grin. Polly looked away. She was so not watching. There wasn't anything to be seen, right?

Right.

"You know, I've been thinking," said Polly.

Mal was doing things with a washcloth. "What about?" she asked.

Polly had to very firmly shut up a few opinions on that matter.

"I think we could afford it," she said carefully.

"Afford what?"

"Staying at the castle for a day," said Polly into what was very suddenly a very disconcerting sort of silence. "No, listen, Mal. When was the last time you saw any of them?"

"Just now," said Mal. "Isn't that enough?"

But Polly had seen Mal embracing her brother. It wasn't very normal Mal behaviour, so certainly this had to mean something?

"I mean before that, obviously," she said.

"Been a few years," said Mal. "Look, they're not big on Black Ribboners. Can't imagine anyone changed their mind."

"Don't you miss them at all?" asked Polly.

"Polly -"

"Don't 'Polly' me, and especially don't stress the second syllable like that, because that's been annoying me for years," said Polly. "Just give me a straight answer, and then we can go spend tonight in great heaps of snow, if that takes your fancy. Do you miss them?"

"Look, you met Benedict on a charming day and you still don't like him," said Mal, and thought, and added, "Well, you do not like him, don't you?"

"Er," said Polly. She had always been told not to talk badly about other people's relatives, and yet... "No, I don't, actually. Sorry."

"The rest are worse," said Mal.

"Um," said Polly.

"And that's why we're not going."

A definite splashing sound could be heard as she resolutely took up the washing business again.

"Ah, but you do like him, do you?" asked Polly. "He's right, you know. This is your chance to just go there, make a good impression, say hello to dear old mum and leave again. Everyone's happy, and maybe you could drop in for a tea and biscuit from time to time. That's what family is all about, isn't it?"

Mal was rubbing her face vigorously with a soaked washcloth, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like 'tea and biscuit, my arse.' Polly disregarded it.

"And I can go around and tell everyone how very mysterious and charming and darkly enchanting I think you are," continued Polly.

"If it was mysterious and charming," said Mal. "Batshit crazy, more like. Fainting all the time. I'm a girl, remember?"

Given the circumstances, Polly wasn't likely to forget.

"I could tell them how good you look in underwired nightdresses," she said, and blushed. "Of course, that would be a downright lie -"

"You mean I don't -" began Mal in a mock-offended tone.

"Never seen you in one, is what I was going to say," said Polly. "Anyway, sometimes a well-crafted lie is better to glue, you know, family ties than brutal honesty all the time."

"And there I was thinking I was the suave and smug bastard," said Mal. "You make it sound like I have the social grace of our friend Mr. Pitchfork."

Polly shrugged. "I just think you need an outside opinion from time to time," she said.

Mal sighed.

"It's a castle full of unreformed vampires," she said. "How well do you think you'll be able to deal with that?"

"There are not actually any humans about, are there?" said Polly.

"No," murmured Mal. "Only pets."

She drew a deep breath and let herself slip fully into the water; at least, that was what the sound suggested. Polly swallowed. There did not seem to be enough space for Mal's legs in the tub, so she bent them at the knees, propping the soles of her feet on the rim of the tub.

She stayed like that for a longer time than was strictly considered healthy. Polly did try to fall asleep in the meantime, because she wasn't a peeking kind of girl, but it proved impossible. The lack of sound was unsettling.

She got up, more out of worry than anything else, and tip-toed over to where the bathtub stood, until she caught herself and walked normally. She wasn't trying to sneak, after all.

Mal's hand on the rim was so very pale and still.

Polly took some time to look at it. The bandage was gone. She could see something dark behind slightly bent fingers, and, following some instinct or other, she took Mal's hand gently, in order not to startle her. It was cool despite the heat of the bath, and she turned it over to get a clear view of the palm.

The wounds seemed barely healed, which was strange even for silver burns, as Polly understood. And then there was the general pattern - a long burn across the palm, several others on all fingers...

This had most certainly not been an accident. This had been someone holding something in a tight grip -

Mal didn't react at all.

Slightly unsettled, Polly sat down next to the bathtub. Traced Mal's thin wrist with her thumb and noticed the complete absence of a pulse. She risked a glance over the rim, saw foam, and a few strands of black hair floating, and not much else.

"Mal," she said, forcing herself to sound calm, "come up. This is seriously uncool."

There was a slight stir in the water. There was nothing more.

"Mal, come up," said Polly, tugging at her hand, trying not to touch her more than necessary. "You are," scaring me, "drowning." She thought about that, and added, "Or at least faking it very well."

Mal was jerking up, gasping for air. "'m not drowning," she said. "'m a bloody vampire." Still, thought Polly, you are breathing heavily, and coughing, and I damn well hope you've got soap in your eyes.

"But, you know, thanks for the thought," said Mal, "I appreciate it. Let go of my hand?"

"Why?" said Polly. She could feel a faint pulse now. So much for sanity.

A pause. "Because you're hurting me."

Polly hadn't considered this. She let go in an instant, as if burned herself.

"Sorry," she said. Pause. "What the hell was that about? Needed a moment to remember the grave, or something?"

"Nah," said Mal, "needed a moment to think, is all."

"What about?"

Mal shrugged. "Things," she said. "You can get pretty abstract when you're playing dead."

"Ah."

Polly noticed just now that she was kneeling next to the tub now, impossibly close to Mal, who was rubbing her eyes - ha! - and possibly still trying to regain composure. There was something to be said about Mal, thought Polly, when she was wet, she was wet, just like a cat. Just like Polly, who had been Dripped On.

Blushing again. There just seemed to be no end of that when Mal was your company.

"Don't," said Mal.

"Don't what?" asked Polly.

"Don't get all embarrassed like that," said Mal, reaching out for a towel behind Polly.

"Don't drip water all over me, how 'bout that?"

Towel temporarily abandoned, Mal's left hand briefly tugged at a tendril of Polly's hair, which was, Polly thought, all uncombed and grimy and not up to vampire standards at all.

"Has to happen one of these days," said Mal. "You know, the bathtub is your friend." A sharp smile, and then Polly's vision shifted.

She blinked, and there went the images again. Floorboards covered in white snow, bathwater running red, slashing and screaming and teeth and claws that she didn't remember she had. Pity Mal was so damn immortal, but -

- she was sure she could work her way around that -

Bugger.

How to drown out the screams how to to drown out -

She looked into Mal's eyes, and there, at least, she found something that was only slightly less scary, but at least familiar and so she leaned into a kiss she would forever deny she had started.

It did drown out the screams.

Also, it was soapy, and water dripped everywhere, and Mal was almost distractingly good at what she was doing, and there was a definite and very reassuring lack of blood. Polly wondered whether Mal had seen all of this, whether this had been a contagious vampire hallucination or merely everyday insanity due to a certain overexposure to battlefields in her life.

Mal's still cool hand settled on the back of her neck, and there was the sound of water dripping, and something about that was unsettling. It made Polly stop for just a moment, and then, another kiss to the corner of Mal's mouth, and drifting off from there, the taste of soap and skin, and it still felt right, if a little wet.

She felt Mal tilting her head just a tiny little bit upwards, and Polly's fingers traced the curve of her jaw, and then she lay a kiss on the soft skin below, determined to make this good. There was blood pulsating just under her mouth, oh dear.

Polly stopped. She felt like she had passed a test.

Come to think of it -

"Y'know, Polly -," said Mal, and she sounded very different from normal.

"Yes?" said Polly.

"I've got to know these things. Sorry, Polly."

"Know what?" asked Polly.

""So," said Mal. "What the hell was that about?"

"Er," said Polly. Mal was retreating already, hugging herself in the water. "Come to think of it," she added, "I have no idea. You liked it."

"Not the point," said Mal.

When had they gone from things being Mal's fault to things being Polly's fault, and had they ever been even, somewhere along the way? She'd have liked to punch Mal, now, but realised it was pointless. Mal didn't say a word.

"I mean," began Polly, and stopped, and tried again. "What the hell happened to your self-confidence? Clearly that was about being helplessly in love with your wonderful personality and satisfactory outward appearance. Yes?"

"Polly," said Mal. "You've been pointing stakes at me."

"One stake," said Polly, but her voice was softer already, "You know that I'm really sorry about this."

"Yes," said Mal. "How sorry, exactly?"

"I'm not trying to make up for anything, if that's what you think," said Polly. "And I realise that was probably not the most diplomatic thing to say, but, well -"

Mal looked down, shaking her head slightly. "This is so not the time."

There was a lot of silence. Polly contemplated things. When she was done contemplating, she said,

"Would I know if you controlled me?"

"No," said Mal. "What, exactly, are you implying?"

Polly shrugged. "My turn to make accusations," she said.

So she hadn't exactly known what she'd been implying, but in the lengthy pause that followed she came to the conclusion that the universe could go screw itself for all she cared.

"One has got to know these things, Mal," she said, fighting for a light and conversational tone and failing spectacularly, "So, am I under your control, then?"

"That coffee you made," said Mal, "was the worst bloody coffee ever that wasn't made from acorns. So your point is - ?"

"Coffee's not a matter of life or death, though," said Polly.

"Ha," said Mal. "Not my life or death, you mean."

She reached for a towel on the floor, rising from the bathtub and wrapping herself in the towel in a distinctly nonexhibitionistic way, Polly was glad to notice. She still turned around to allow her the privacy to dress.

"Mal?" she volunteered, after a while.

"Yeah?"

"You could do it, right?"

A sigh. "Do what?"

"Control me," said Polly. "And don't look at my back like that. I know something about vampire folklore."

"Define 'could'," said Mal. "'Could', as in, could I rip your head off with my bare hands? 'Could', as in, could I just say, 'screw bloody coffee, it's bodily juices from now on'? It's pretty theoretical, your 'could'."

"But you could," said Polly, "theoretically. And I wouldn't know."

Great. An identity crisis. Just what she needed.

"But I don't," said Mal. "It's a choice. And I don't think it'd work if I tried, 'cause of all the blood that was passed back and forth -,"

"Ick," said Polly.

"It might be you controlling me," said Mal. "Just a thought."

Afterwards, when Mal had wandered off to find a nice spot to hang down from somewhere else, Polly managed to get some direly needed cleaning up done herself, acquire a night shirt from the laundry room, and sink into the bed like a sackful of kittens sank into a river, which was a dreadful analogy if she thought about it.

But accurate all the same. It had been that kind of night.