Coffee with Cream

Blade awoke the warmest and most comfortable she had been in ten years. Despite that, the instinct drummed into her after three thousand six hundred and fifty-two nights in the Spire took hold, and she sat bolt upright. It was pitch black and she unthinkingly succumbed to the impulse, "Shit, I'm awake. I'm awake, I am, I'm awake."

"It's okay."

She jerked her head round to the voice, desperately, "Sir? Officer? I'm awake. I am."

"It's okay, Jaina."

She hesitated. She looked around her. Her eyes hadn't adjusted yet. She took a few slow, deep breaths, thinking quickly. Then she remembered. She fell back on the bed, closing her eyes. Avo. Her head. Avo.

Her hand slid along the sheets and then hit something. She frowned, and reached out, grabbing it. She brought it into her hands, feeling it. A knife had been tucked into the mattress by her hand, six inches, flat blade, jagged edge, tucked into a small cloth sheathe, just like she always used to, so long ago.

Blade never liked to be without a blade.

She paused for a moment, feeling it, and then propped herself back up against the headboard. She still couldn't see properly, but she ran her fingers over the knife in her hands, almost thoughtfully, "How did you know."

"Are you joking? Married for almost two years. Pistol under the pillow, knife slid into the side of the mattress. You thought I wouldn't notice?"

She put her hand under the pillow and brought out a small clockwork pistol. She clicked out the cylinder and shook it into her hand. Three bullets slid neatly onto her palm, cold and smooth. She paused, and then pushed them back in, blindly, deftly, shutting it with a flick of her wrist.

Then she frowned at her palm. There was a thick bandage tied over her skin, wrapped tightly around her hand. She turned it over, looking at the other side, and then shook her head, yanking at it.

Hands bearing the same medical attention as her own reached out to stop her, "No, don't. Leave it. It hasn't healed yet." When she let go, he withdrew, settling back in his chair, "It wasn't that bad. You left a few of those health drink things, and I'm used to you showing up wounded. It'll clear up completely before long."

Her eyes were starting to adjust. Her arm, once rubbed black with soot, was now completely clean, her skin feeling soft and lightly perfumed. A thin bandage was wrapped around her head, and, though she was aware of the place she'd hit it, it was nothing more than a slight ache.

She glanced down. She was in a long, cloth shirt and blue shorts, her shoes and corset having been removed and placed beside her on top of the small chest of drawers. Next to her clothes on the floor was a bag, a big, camping bag, full and, by the looks of it, quite heavy.

She looked at it for a moment, and then glanced up, "What's that."

Michael paused, and then nodded to it, "I packed you a bag. Everything's in it. If you want to leave... I won't stop you."

"Why the change of heart."

He didn't reply. Blade kept her eyes on the bag. Beside it was a golden crossbow, Master class, a repeater. A good weapon, and probably augmented, considering the shine. Next to that was the sword from the wall, the Master Katana, still glowing with its faint light.

After a moment, she looked back up, "I said some things that hurt you, didn't I."

"That isn't what this is about."

"Yes it is. Partly."

There was a pause, and then a low, weary sigh, "Maybe. I just..." he drew off, and then shook his head, "I don't know."

She nodded, slowly. Then she shook her head, "Michael, I... I'm sorry."

He looked up, "What for."

She gave a small, emotionless laugh, "Many things. But... I'm sorry for..." she made a vague gesture at his hand.

He glanced at it, seeing the bandage, gently running a thumb over it, "Don't apologise. It was the only way you could have made me understand."

"Do you understand?"

A small, half-shrug, "A little, I suppose. I can't understand fully, I mean... that thing... every day, every night... for ten years..."

"Mm."

"It's just... I can't..." he shook his head, "I can't imagine it. And... I know it must be... must be infinitely hard for you."

She shook her head, retreating a little into the headboard, suddenly feeling very bare in front of him. She had never liked to talk about her emotions, about her feelings. Maybe she was a bit like Hammer in that way. Don't talk about dark times. Do not mention the Spire.

She could tell he'd sensed her physical and emotional retreat, and he seemed to draw back a little, but he couldn't keep his questions to himself for long. He hesitated, and then shook his head, "That... that thing... the Will user... who was he."

"The Commandant?" she heaved a sigh, shaking her head, "I don't truly know. Garth called them amalgams. But, basically, they're like... humans with bits of Spire... threaded through their flesh. They're... what we would become. If Lucien had his way. The Commandant was the first of these... Spire Beings."

"Amalgams?" he gave a small, hollow laugh, "Spire Beings? Spire Humans?"

"Yes. Lucien's little private army."

Michael shook his head, "Call them whatever you want, they're monsters." he said, firmly, "I saw him, I saw what he did to you. He was pure evil."

"No." She whispered, "No. The Commandant wasn't a monster. That's the worst of it. He wasn't evil. He just... obeyed. He was obedient."

"Then he's mad!"

"Quite probably! He'd been sliced open, infused with Will, Avo knows what it would have done to him!"

"But..." he hesitated, and then shook his head, "He... still did all those... those horrors!"

"Yes. But he didn't enjoy them. Of course, he didn't not enjoy them. He just... did it because he was told to."

"That's insane."

"I know."

"You sound like... you sound like you're... making excuses for him."

Everyone has their breaking point. And I will find yours.

She instantly bristled, "Of course I'm not! The things he did were inexcusable! But..."

"But?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She paused, and then let out a low sigh, shaking her head, "He had a collar." She replied, dully, "Just like all the others. He was a slave, just... more obedient. More trusted."

"Like the Officers."

She had been expecting this, waiting for it right from the beginning with baited breath, but still she had no answer prepared should he ask the question she was waiting for.

"I suppose." She said, slowly.

Please. Please don't. Please don't ask me. Please.

But she knew he was going to. He was her husband. He had to. No matter how hard it was.

His eyes were tracing the floor. He was strong, so brave, keeping it together, but he needed a bit of time to get the words up. He licked his top lip, biting it. In any other setting, maybe she would have found it endearing. Had she found it endearing? Before... all this?

He looked up at her. Pain sparked across his face. He opened his mouth, "Did you..." No, not the right words. Eyes back to the floor again. Another try: "When you were in the Spire... did anything... did you... did the Officers..."

He couldn't do it. She could see that now. She had to take pity on him. She didn't want to. Hell, she couldn't think of anything she'd like to talk about less than her stint in the Spire.

C'mon, Blade, tell us about the Spire! Tell us about your ten years of hell! Tell us about being the only woman there, about the Commandant, about the Officers, about how they thought you were just an object, just 'the new toy', about how they tried with the collar so many times just to see if they could make you crack, to see how far they could push your limits, see if they could -

She tore her eyes away from his, moving them to the floor. She pulled in a deep, fortifying breath, and took on the quiet, factual monotone that she knew would help her through this: "I don't know. Not that I'm aware of."

"You can't remember? Did the collar...?"

"No. Well, yes and no." Jaina lifted her head, "The collar... I couldn't endure many activations. Seven, towards the end. In the beginning, only three. After, I would... fall unconscious. I would pass out, it would just... it would be too much. I can't help what happens to me after I lose consciousness. So... I can't tell you. Not truthfully. Not for sure."

Michael's emerald eyes pierced hers. Her husband. He was looking at her with something in his eyes that she couldn't name. Too many emotions flickered over him, she couldn't keep up.

"Do you feel disgusted by me?" The question was simple, open, unbelievably direct. For a moment she didn't realise that the words had come from her mouth. When she did, though, she kept firm, looking at him, her eyes calculating his eyes, locked onto his every emotion.

More emotions flickered over him. Hurt? Guilt? She couldn't tell.

Then he shook his head, slowly, "No. Never. It's... I know it's not you."

Blade's eyes narrowed very slightly. He... wasn't lying. Was he. Ten years spent figuring out deceits, catching onto the tiniest change of timbre in voices. She was a fast learner. She caught on quick.

And Michael wasn't lying.

She didn't speak, just kept her eyes on him. He paused, and then shook his head, looking down at the floor, "D'you remember the last time we saw each other? Before... before you left?"

"When will you be back?"
"I don't know."
"Days? Months? Years?"
"I don't know."

She shook her head, slowly, "No."

"You turned up here. After going through that damned Crucible. I was worried sick, I was... so scared. But you turned up on the doorstep with that goddamned smile of yours and a trophy the size of your head. Avo, I hated you then." He gave her a gentle smile and she returned one, "You'd brought a small Jade to put in the necklace you were making Rose Marie, and a wooden sword for Mattie. You had a Bandit's balaclava tied around your arm and a White Balverine tooth hanging round your neck by a chain."

"The Crucible." She said, slowly.

"Yes. And we went for a walk, leaving the kids with Lloyd down the road."

"We were in a garden." She said, suddenly, shaking her head, "A little garden. Fenced off. A... stream? Water?"

"Yeah. A little alcove kind of thing up the road. Not many people knew about it, we used to go quite often. You kept up the act, kept up the idle conversation, and then... then you told me what you were going to do."

"I... told you I was leaving for the Spire."

This is about Lucien, isn't it?

"Yes. I... tried to convince you against it, of course. But I knew I'd never change your mind. You had to go, I saw that." He paused for a moment, thinking, and then shook his head, "The first year was the worst. And then... every year, on the day. I couldn't help it, I... went to the Guild. I wanted to be around the people you had. I used your Seal. Shot apart a few beetles and spent a few hours wandering around caverns the first time. The times after that I used the Cullis Gate. Hammer and that Theresa... they were a great help, I guess. If not a bit of a pain. Theresa, that is." He saw her glimmer of a smile and returned one in kind.

She paused, and then shook her head, "But you... you coped. Yeah?"

She knew he had suffered. But she couldn't bear the thought of him hopeless, crumbling beneath the pressure. He wasn't that sort of man.

He nodded, "Yeah. More or less. I started... picturing everything about you. Y'know, so I wouldn't..."

"Forget?" she completed, giving him a small, wry smile.

"Yeah. I'd picture you. Your hair, the way you dressed, that weird mix, that stupid mask, walking so tall, that dumb mutt of yours at your heel."

"Hey." She scolded, gently. She glanced at the door, towards the 'mutt' in question. Probably hadn't heard a thing, still sleeping, the lazy sod.

He smiled, "But you know what I kept coming back to? Your eyes." He lowered his own, "Clichéd, I know, but I just... I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours before."

"That's stupid."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're bog-standard brown."

"No they're not."

"Yes, yes they are."

He smiled again, and then shook his head, almost hesitantly, "We've had this conversation before. Do you remember? Do you remember what I called them?"

What colour are your eyes?

She shook her head, slowly, "Tell me."

"Coffee with cream. That's what your eyes are. Coffee with cream."

"Michael, come on! They're brown!"
"Look at them! They're like... creamy... browny sort of... light... hazelly mahogany."
"Hazelly mahogany? What the hell kind of colour is that? That's not a colour that's a parable!"
"Well I don't know! They're... sort of... coffee... milky coffee... like... coffee with cream."
"Coffee with cream?"
"Yeah. That's exactly what they are. Coffee with cream."

Coffee with cream.

She looked at him. Was that a real memory or a Spire-induced lie? So many of her memories had been warped, changed, erased completely. She couldn't tell any more.

But the way he was looking at her made her feel it was. He was looking at her like he knew, like he knew she remembered.

Her eyes flittered over the room. It was much brighter now, and warmer, too. She glanced at him, "What time is it?"

He stood up and walked over to the window, reluctantly, pulling back the curtains a little, "Pretty much sunrise." He waited a beat. "The kids will be up soon."

She nodded, slowly. She didn't know how to reply to that.

"Will you... will you see them? Talk to them, I mean?"

She shook her head, almost sadly, "What would I say?"

He didn't reply. He couldn't reply.

"I've been such a bad mother." She murmured, softly.

"No." He replied, immediately firm, "No. No, you haven't. This wasn't your fault."

"I disappear for half their lives and you think I'm a good mother? Sorry, Michael, but that's bullshit, and you know it."

"This wasn't your fault." He repeated, shaking his head, "You didn't ask for this."

"But it happened. And it's time I start dealing with it." She took in a slow breath, "I need to talk to them, don't I."

"I think so. I think... I think they'd love it if you did. Of course, I could talk to them first, y'know... fill them in. Tell them what's going on. If you want."

"You're their father, Michael. I couldn't think of anyone more appropriate to be by my side in this. If you're okay with that."

Michael nodded, "Yeah. Yes, of course. I just... What are you..."

Jaina shook her head, "I don't know. But... I'll have to say something. It's not fair to leave them like this, not now I... Not now I'm here."

She shook her head again. Her fingers had found the Guild Seal around her neck, unconsciously, and she was feeling out the piece of ribbon that tied it around her neck. She glanced down at it, tracing the engravings on the metal, slowly.

He saw. Michael paused, looking at the Seal for a moment. "I hate that thing."

"I know."

"You said Theresa had called you back to the Guild."

"Yes."

He took in a slightly shaky breath, "What d'you think you're going to do."

She looked at him, and then shook her head, "I don't know. What do you think I should do?"

"Stay." He said, immediately, "I think you should stay. I want you to stay. I mean... if... if you want to."

She paused, looking at him. Then her eyes moved over to the bag by the door, packed, sword and crossbow by the side. Her fingers itched to take her blade. Reflex.

She shook her head, and went back to the Seal, taking it in her hands. Once again, she felt the metal grow hot, and she murmured her ally's name, quietly. Theresa gave her customary greeting, and then, for a moment, Blade stayed silent, thinking about what to say.

"I... I need to ask you something. Yes. No, I don't... I just... Yes. Yes, I do. Well. Here it goes..."

A frown moved over her husband's face. She knew he couldn't hear the other half of the conversation, and she didn't enlighten him.

She paused, thinking through what she was about to say, and then shook her head, "I want seven days. No, no arguments. Just seven days. A full week. You owe me, Theresa." There was a long pause, and then she nodded, slowly, "Thank you." She released her grip on the Seal, letting it fall back down onto her skin. She raised her eyes to his.

Michael was looking at her, something unnameable flittering through his eyes, "You... you... chose me. Over Lucien."

"Well. Lucien is over twice my age." She was making a valiant attempt at light-heartedness, but even she could feel how bitter the joke was.

He shook his head, "All these years... your quest... I just... I know how important it is to you. To everyone."

"Yeah. Well. It'll wait a week, right?"

He paused again, "Right."

She looked at him for a second, and then shook her head, "There's... there's not going to be any... any sort of magic fix. But... I'm willing to work on it. With you."

He flushed slightly. It was like almost... pride. Relief.

No, she realised with a shock, That's not what it is. It's love. That's... love.

She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. They had a long way to go. Walls of thick stone stood between them. All that happened in the Spire, all that happened here. Ten years of pain, for both of them.

Michael was the first to break the silence. He looked at her for a moment, hesitated, and then shook his head, "D'you think..."

"What." She asked, quietly.

"D'you think... we'll ever... get back. Back to how it used to be."

She nodded, thoughtfully, "Well. I don't know. I'm no Seer. Sometimes I think it'd be better if I had listened to Theresa reading the fate cards a bit more closely when I was young."

He managed a small smile. She clocked the effort. Then she shook her head, "Y'know what? I think so. I think... I think we're already on the way there. Y'know why?"

His voice was so soft. "Why."

A single tear slid out down her cheek. "I remember your name."