Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch

A/N: Good evening, people! I've finally gotten around to updating – no thanks to ff playing up! Since it has been a while since the last update, I have included the tail end of the last chapter at the start of this one. As always: a huge thank you to everyone for your lovely support and kind reviews. :)

Love In The First 39 Degrees

Chapter 16

"Oh, what do you know?"

Removing the blanket from around her shoulders, she threw it to the other side of the room before getting to her feet, staring the other woman down, her green eyes sparking with a look the witch had never seen in her before.

"Im-"

"This is your fault anyway! If it wasn't for you, none of this would have happened!"

"My fault?" the older woman asked, genuinely confused, before her own defences kicked in, hating that she was being accused of something that - to her knowledge - she had not done.

"What do I have to do with anything?"

"I - I just mean that I shouldn't have stayed to look after you."

That stung. Actually, it stung more than she would care to admit. Initially, Constance had hated the idea of the non-witch staying to look after her, but after a few days, there had been something almost comforting about it. For the first time, in a long while, someone cared...

'I should have known.'

"May I remind you, Miss Drill," she practically spat her name, "I didn't ask you to stay! I told you, I was fine. I don't need you…I don't need anybody!"

She cursed as her voice cracked, it did not matter though.

The blonde seemed to forget that she was even there as she continued in her rant, voice shaking and tears streaming down her cheeks with an uncontrollable force. Deep down, she knew that the words were not really directed at the sorceress but more towards the situation as everything just became too much for her. She could not stop the words that were pouring out of her mouth, like word vomit.

"He'd been going on for months. He was fixated. He was obsessed; he just would not stop… every date, our every conversation, everything! It always led back to you! I told him he was wrong, god, I told myself he was wrong, but he just wouldn't listen; he was like a dog with a bone. He kept saying it and saying it, over and over-"

"Saying what, Imogen? What did Serge keep saying?

"THAT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER, IMMY!"

The words hung in the air as their eyes locked.

She couldn't breathe; the air quickly thinning around her.

It was what she had wanted.

It was what she had dreaded.

It wasn't enough.

It was too much.

"I thought I would find you here," Imogen quietly spoke, gesturing around the air, frankly a little unsure of what to do next. This was not exactly a situation she had found herself in before.

She had spent the majority of the morning looking for the brunette and, after the potions laboratory proved to be the end of a fruitless search, she had been about to give up, reluctantly accepting that Constance did not want to be found, when she suddenly remembered a conversation she had been privy to some weeks before when the deputy headmistress had been poorly.

Which was why, on a relatively dull day in June, Imogen Drill had found herself heading for the duck pond in the local park.

And sure enough, there was the witch.

Feeding the ducks had been a prime – yet sadly all too brief - feature in the relationship between Constance and her Mother, and then later with Ophelia, but, even now, as a fully grown adult, her skills more accomplished than most could ever dream of, it was still a refuge that she would go and seek. When she was angry, when she was upset; when she was feeling lost.

"Well, given that you now know this is my hiding place, one would expect you would."

Constance gave nothing else away as she tore a chunk of bread from the small baguette and threw it in the water, the previous stillness in the air instantly broken by squawking and quacking as the ducks fought amongst themselves for their supper. Secretly though, she felt a rare glow rush through her at the fact Imogen had remembered at all. Over that short period, after finally running out of objects for "I Spy", they had talked about a lot and, though she had been too delirious to remember most of it at the time, now, odd snippets kept coming back to her, like missing pieces of a jigsaw.

Imogen bit down on her lip.

Okay, so this was not getting them anywhere.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting but she needed a reaction; she wanted something, anything, anything but the indifference she was receiving at present. Remaining undeterred though, and knowing there were things to be said, she lowered herself onto the grass and sat down next to the older woman who had still yet to react to her presence. At closer glance though, she could see the clear emotional battle that the potions mistress was fighting with herself. As she sat down, her hand accidentally brushed against the porcelain skin, jumping back in shock at how icy cold it was. Unzipping her tracksuit jacket, she gently draped it over the frozen witch.

"You're freezing Constance. Have you been here all night?"

"I couldn't sleep."

It was the truth.

After fleeing from the staffroom, she had gone back to her own room, a million different questions, scenarios and emotions flooding her brain, sending her into a panicked frenzy. Dragging her suitcase out from underneath the bed, she had started throwing her belongings into it, only stopping when she swept the bathroom shelf of toiletries and caught sight of herself in the mirror. What was she doing? She didn't want to leave but, at the moment, she couldn't stay. She needed to get out.

She had to think.

She had thought. She had thought for hours and hours, she had thought to the point where her brain wanted to explode and, on one hand, she honestly wasn't sure whether she was any further forward or not, but on the other hand...

Her train of thought was thrown as a voice broke into her mind.

"I'm sorry," Imogen said, unsure if the witch had heard or not.

She had.

Constance's mind was instantly in further overdrive. Why was she sorry? Sorry for saying it or sorry for feeling it? It was the latter, surely, god it had to be! What on earth had she been thinking, fooling herself into believing that she was worthy of love? Who was she trying to kid? At the end of it all, Imogen was no different to any of the others.

She said nothing.

Pulling her knees closer to her chest and swallowing the sobs that were threatening to erupt from her throat, she whispered to herself, repeating her childhood mantra over and over again.

'Don't let them see you cry…don't let them see you cry…don't let them see you cry'.

It wasn't working.

She tried harder.

'Don't let them see you cry…don't let them see you cry…don't let them see you cry'.

"I-I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Constance. I'll leave-"

Constance nodded, "I think that would be for the best." She couldn't have this conversation just now, maybe later on when her thoughts weren't so muddy. Probably not though.

"- Cackle's. I'll leave Cackle's. The last thing I want to do is make this weird for you. I'll tell Amelia w-when she comes back. Obviously, I won't say why but I'll-well, anyway, I'll think of something to tell her," she forced a smile, "I'm sorry again, Constance, truly..."

Imogen trailed off, her heart in bits at the thought of leaving it all behind. Still, it was too late now and she only had herself to blame. Getting to her feet, she brushed the loose grass off her tracksuit bottoms and started to walk away, everything within her fighting the urge to look back.

There was no point.

It was all over.

"I don't want you to go."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned back, sure that she must have imagined it; the voice had been so quiet, like an echo in the distant ether, but she didn't appear to have. Constance was now on her feet, her beautiful brown eyes swimming with unshed tears, as she walked closer to where Imogen was stood.

"Please don't go, Imogen. I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to leave…me."

She could scarce believe it but she had to know…she had to ask. She dared to hope.

"What do you want?"

"I-"

The simple question threw her off guard.

She didn't know.

For so long, everything in her life had been dictated, her entire path set out for her with no care given as to whether or not it was one she wanted to follow. Heckitty Broomhead had demanded, threatened, ordered, bullied and beaten but she had never asked.

Not once.

Her Father had been too engrossed with his string of floozy's to notice she existed most of the time, only taking note when yet another nanny had walked out, washing their hands of dealing with "an attention seeking brat".

"Discipline, girl, you need discipline," there was no warmth in his voice as he picked up the phone,"Ah, Mistress Broomhead, Good evening…"

She shuddered as her memories flashed before her. Pain. Blood. Screaming; so much screaming. Had she brought it all on herself? Had she…deserved it?

She knew that she had been unruly in her pre-teen years. It wasn't exactly something she was proud of. In fact, it was something that would come as a surprise to many if they were ever to learn the truth, things they would never have expected of the prim and proper deputy but the truth was, she had once pulled stunts that were probably worse than most of the school put together; done things that would make even Fenella and Griselda blush! She hadn't meant it. Any of it. She had just been so lost and so lonely, desperately seeking the validation that she was loved and never once receiving the answer she craved. Until now…

"Constance?"

A voice pulled her back to the present and she looked up to see Imogen staring at her.

"I-I don't know," she whispered as she sunk back onto the ground, defeated; "I've never had the choice."

Imogen could feel her own heart breaking as she sat down next to her, "Okay, if you had the choice, what would you want?"

"You."

The word was barely audible as Constance stared down at her hands, absentmindedly playing with a loose thread, yanking it off because it wasn't perfect...because she wasn't perfect.

Just what exactly did Imogen see in her?

Daring to look up, she found a bit more conviction in her voice as she repeated the thought that was consuming her mind and, if she was being completely honest, had been since the not- quite- declaration the previous evening.

"I want you. I-I want…us."