Note: I went all Mulan in the last ficlet (I've seen that movie about 40 times, by the way - no joke), so I thought... let's keep the theme going! :)

.

.

.

"…I take off my wartime gown
And put on my old-time clothes."

- from the Ballad of Mulan

.

.

.

Arriving home is a mad swirl: her ma and the aunties and Jaspert and half the neighborhood watching, not to mention Alek and his people. Her ma catches Deryn up in a fierce hug, pressing her fingers to her boy-short hair to hold her closer.

Deryn hisses, "Don't tell him, Ma, he doesn't know! Keep him down here!"

"What?" her ma says, but Deryn is already tearing away and running up the stairs to her room. Her heart is pounding, and maybe this is a bad plan – no, for certain this is a bad plan. Too late now.

Behind her closed door she strips off her boys' clothes. She takes a moment to fold them neatly and set them aside; they've served her well. Then she pulls on her girls' skivvies and over that, her Sunday best. The white blouse with the bits of lace and fine buttons; the blue skirt, nearly the same color as her eyes; the black boots, polished and dainty.

She's just doing up her boots when the door opens. It's her ma.

Her first thought is panic – for Alek. "Ma! You didn't leave him with the aunties -!"

"Your aunties are too busy cooing over that wee beastie he brought. Jaspert's showing him round the garden," her ma says. She shuts the door again and stands before it, tears filling up her eyes. "Oh, Deryn…"

"Ma," she says, fighting back her own tears, because she did miss her ma, and her home, and even her aunties.

Her ma flutters a hand, dispelling the mood, and moves on to other matters. "That lad's the archduke's son, isn't he? The one everyone's been on about. The newspapers said he might even become emperor!"

"Aye, but he's… he's just Alek," Deryn says, looking at the tips of her boots.

Her ma makes the hmph noise that means she hasn't been fooled. "Well, my girl, let's see what we can do with your poor hair before you go down to see your Alek."

There's nothing to be done for her poor hair, it turns out, so her ma ties a neat kerchief around it – white, with tiny blue flowers and birds embroidered all along the edge. It hangs to her shoulders.

Deryn stares at herself in the mirror. It's startling, how much the illusion of longer hair softens her. Before, she looked like Dylan in a dress; now she looks properly feminine. No one could mistake her for a boy now.

"All right," she says. Her heart is pounding again.

"Wait," her ma says, and goes and fetches something. Face paint. She dabs a bit of pink on Deryn's cheeks and lips. Nothing garish. Just a hint.

"War paint," her ma says, with a crooked smile, when Deryn gawks. "Now you're done."

She kisses her ma, then runs down the stairs in a great clatter, slowing as she comes to the back door. The garden isn't so big that Jaspert can have had much to show Alek – and indeed, it looks like Alek is being bored to death by a long retelling of that time when their auntie's fat cat managed to climb over the wall to the neighbor's.

She shakes out her skirt and runs nervous fingers over the kerchief. This was a daft idea, she thinks; you should've just told him!

But she steps out into the garden anyway, knuckles white around a fistful of skirt.

Jaspert sees her first, grins, and interrupts himself to say, "And you've already met my sister Deryn."

Alek turns.

His eyes widen.

She holds her breath.

He smiles.

And then he says, "It's about time."