A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your kind words and feedback! I wasn't expecting anywhere near this kind of response when I started writing this fic, and seeing the new review emails in my inbox really brightens my day. Keep 'em coming!
Without further ado, here is chapter 8, part two! :D

8
part two

Shirayuki remains silent for some time, still standing very close, and just—thinking. Pondering over every detail of every thing that had just happened. Every word, every expression, every gesture—so much to process. To think she had yelled at him for something he didn't even say! Granted, there had been plenty of times in the past when his flippant behavior and disregard for anything remotely serious grated on her nerves, but to loose her temper outright? And in a situation like that—!

She was simply appalled with herself.
Normally she took pride in her excellent memory. But. Everything about that trip to Tanbarun had gotten jumbled up inside her head. Scattered stretches remained crystal clear, but the rest blurred together, leaving her with only a vague sense of what had truly occurred.

She'd find a way to make it up to him, though. Some way. Somehow.
That conclusion reached, Shirayuki nods to herself.

"Eh," the slight motion jolts Obi out of his reverie, and he realizes that his fingers have not left her hair—that they've been combing out tangles and smoothing the stray locks back into place for the past... several minutes, probably. He quickly pulls his hand away and takes a half-step back.
"...Sorry," he lies.

"Oh. It's fine. I don't mind," she shakes her head lightly, sending red strands fluttering about her shoulders. Truthfully, she hadn't even noticed.
But she looks up at him now. Resolute.

If he was being honest, he'd admit that the expression on her face just then made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Instead he stood still, much like a deer startled by a flash of light in the dark.
Now what was he in for?

"Um, Obi?" Shirayuki inquires, "What were you going to say?" When he makes a quizzical noise, she elaborates:
"When you jumped down out of the tree?"

Obi blinks, slow to react to the sudden shift in the direction of their conversation. When he jumped...? Oh. Oh.
He scratches at his shoulder – "I…don't know," – and glances down at his toes. "Probably something stupid. Because I'm a huge idiot."

"You are not—"

"I ran off without listening... That was pretty stupid."

"And I ran after you in nothing but my nightgown, so what does that make me?" It's not so much a question as a statement of fact.
Then she sighs, and ventures:
"You...looked liked you were mad."

"I, I was," he confesses.

"At me?" Shirayuki raises one hand to delicately touch her face, brushing her fingertips against the scar. Feeling it's familiar track across her cheek.
"Because I thought you were mad at me for keeping it a secret."

And Obi is horrified at the notion that she thought for an instant that he was angry at her and mentally kicks himself for the who-knows-how-manyth time that night. Hadn't Master warned him to be more self aware? That his words and actions had an effect on those around him, whether he intended it or not?
Seriously!

When the silence begins to stretch once more, Shirayuki softly asks:
"...Are you going to ignore me?"

"What? No!" He shakes his hands rapidly in front of him. "...No, that'd be..." He trails off and tries briefly to wrap his mind around the idea, but it refused to budge, to even consider it.
"Please Miss, I'm not that childish."

She makes a scoffing noise then, a short little sound that she quickly stifles.

"Okay, okay," Obi continues to wave his hands for emphasis, "maybe I am but I can't... no. I couldn't do it." He couldn't even imagine it. Giving her the cold shoulder? Ignoring her for hours, for days on end?

To hear her call his name—and not respond? Not answer her at all?
It would be torture.

"Besides, your angry face is scary."
And since he was not wearing a scarf just then, he hid his grimace behind the back of his hand. It was too scary by far, and he did not want it pointed in his direction again any time soon. Any time ever.

Shirayuki nods, but that determined expression remained.
"I know I'm...pushing you, but I—Obi, I need to know that we're on the same page now."

"Miss I'm not even in the same book yet, give me a minute to catch up," he sighs.

Her eyes widen then, just a bit. Was...was that...?
It was, wasn't it?

Obi rubs at his temples. This was all simply too much for one evening. Too much for one day, even. Probably too much for the entire week.
To think, that all this time, she had been just as terrified by the thought of his leaving as he had feared a dismissal from his post! But he wasn't sent away. He received a promotion. A promotion he was sure he hadn't deserved, when he saw that scar.

If only there were something more he could have...no.
It was done, now.
Long done and over.
Regrets wouldn't change anything, and neither would guilt.
But words...?
Words might. Actions might. And maybe...

"Obi?"

"Give me a chance to—"
He presses harder at his scalp. Seriously, Obi, think!

He didn't know how to put the feeling into words. He wasn't sure he had words for it. So he kept apologizing to her. And she was probably just as tired of hearing 'I'm sorry' as he was. So maybe, just maybe...

"A chance?" Shirayuki inquires, tilting her head to one side. "Is that what you want?"

"I—" A chance...? But that was exactly it, wasn't it?
A chance.
"Y, yes," he managed.

"Oh, of course you can have a chance," she hurriedly exclaims. "You can have as many chances as it takes!"

As many as it...? Obi just shakes his head at that.
"Miss, if I mess up that much please fire me."

"No! Never! I—" her expression tenses again, for only the briefest of moments, because –

"Huh. Well. Maybe I'll just start messing up on purpose, then..." Obi scratches his chin, making an overly dramatic show of pretending to consider the possibilities.

And he's rewarded with a long, exasperated sigh as Shirayuki mutters his name in a very tired, drawn out sort of way. Seriously...

Then a loud, rumbling snarl emanates from her stomach, and her hands snap to her waist in a futile attempt to muffle the sound.
"Obi," she squeaks, embarrassed, "can I borrow your stove?"