malle.

A barely contained smile stayed locked on his face as he looked Malle over. She was still the same Malle. It didn’t matter to him if she had brown hair or blonde hair or pink hair or no hair. The pretty blush on her face paired with the almost shy question caused him to step forward where she had stepped back, keeping her close. 

“I do.” Gently, he brushed a piece of blonde hair across her forehead and kissed her there. “But I still don’t get how you did it.” Jacob knew absolutely nothing about hair dye but he was fairly certain going from Malle’s dark brown to blonde had to entail some kind of magic, maybe even a blood sacrifice. The faint scent of strong chemical hit him. Was it bleach? He couldn’t tell. Jacob blinked at her, a little awestruck all of the sudden.  “Did it… hurt?”

He was so close, she could hardly stand it, and the way her heart battered in her chest spoke exactly of that. Malle smiled, staring up at him. Step away, a small voice said, coaxed, insisted. Step away from him.

But she was glowing, all sunshine and happiness, radiating from within. Infatuation did that, painted the world in softer colors. Made all the time in the world for her to get lost in green eyes and long eyelashes and an awkward, almost boyish smile. Her lips parted, about to speak, and shut. Motion at the other end of the path. She stepped away from him with a quick pivot, angling her body only partially toward him. “No, I’m sorry captain.” Polite, then. Her lilt softened her words, but not nearly enough. “I don’t know where Dominic is right now.”

Some morning following that.

The sound of a handsaw woke her, but she didn’t get up right away. Stretched out on the black sheets, relishing in the space and the coolness of his empty half of the bed, long vacated. Sunlight splashed from the skylight overhead. The floor was warm when she rose.

Padding into the main room, Malle touched her fingertips to the kettle and decided it was warm enough, poured herself a cup of tea. The sawing had stopped, save for the steady shick of a smaller knife shaving off ribbons of wood. A yawn bubbled up, escaped her mouth, as dark brown eyes spotted a familiar form on the porch. She smiled. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on.

She opened the screen door and stepped out, both hands around her tea. “Good morning,” blonde wisps flitted around her face; she squinted as she looked out onto the grass. A hand dropped to rest on his shoulder, thumb rubbing the ridge of muscle there. “What are you making?”

“I’m not–” Hurting? Aaron knew that was a lie. He did hurt, a lot, but somewhat less with each passing day. Hurting for different reasons buried deep beneath whatever he could find to do on the island. A prince and a pirate. And, mostly, drinking. Watching Malle, Aaron could tell the facade of being okay was slowly breaking down before his eyes. And he didn’t know what to do. He had no answers for how to cope except for, well, the aforementioned things that kept him busy.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aaron went to the pantry and retrieved a bag of flour and sugar, noticing when he came back the way Malle seemed to fade right before his eyes like a ghost. He set the things down on the counter and moved closer to the princess, caught a little off guard by another apology and the touch on his arm. He didn’t deserve any of that, or to feel the way he did. 

Aaron put a loose arm around Malle’s shoulders and gave her a brief hug, not letting go as he looked at her with a knitted brow. Was it something specific that made her drift away from moment to moment? Or just the weight of the island being too much for her tonight? “Malle. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, of course I’m--”

She stopped, eyes blazing, gaze pinned on the corner of the countertop. She stared at it with such force that she thought she might turn it to glass, like she might be able to make it shatter from sheer force of will. It didn’t, of course. She did.

Malle shook her head slowly, a long, slow inhale filling her lungs. “No,” she said softly, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry, we aren’t all that close, you shouldn’t have to see this. Her jaw trembled and she caught another breath, expelling it slowly. A small sigh escaped, turned into a cry. Hands lifted, covering her face. She pivoted and hid against his shoulder.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so very--

The sob that wracked her seemed to come from the ground, rattle up her legs, wrap around her torso. She shook, head against her hands, hands against him. Misery tasted like cheap white wine and a too-floury dough, and she hated that she was miserable for any other reason than she was trapped there.

It was a question she had asked herself so many times over the time she had been on the island. She wasn’t a very good pirate. She befriended royals, helped them, disagreed with certain things that were done. Emily had joined the island to be with her brother, the only family she truly had and in that, she had found another family on her ship. “For my family.” Looking over at the Princess, the blonde offered nothing but a nod. “My brother is all I have, or, he’s the only one I have who’s worth having. From him, I have an entire family on my ship and I stay for them.” 

Blowing out a breath, she didn’t bother saying that she stayed for him, how he made her decision to stay so much easier. “I don’t agree with the laws put in place by the royals and even though I may not agree with everything that has gone on, those laws affect the people dearest to me and I don’t like it.” It was the most tension she had ever really heard in her own voice. “I have work I can do here, I can help here. My life might be a giant pile of horse crap right now, but being here.. It saved my life.” Looking over at Malle, Emily parted her lips to speak, although this time it was softer. “We’re not so bad, you know, you could have a good life here.. If you let yourself.”

You could have a good life here.

“I had a life.” She looked up, then, dark eyes intent. There was something about it, about the idea that she was the one making things difficult, that rankled her to her core. She made no laws. She made no rulings. She was hardly a part of her own family, and it still led to this. 

Malle sighed. The months had worn on her, worn her down. She’d been so polite when she finally acclimated to the island; so frightened. So timid.  She hadn’t left her room the first day she’d been there, after a pirate backhanded her so hard she landed on the floor. That was Jacob. He hit her. She bit him. Her jaw tensed. 

Eyes blazed, and it was several moments before they relented, before her thoughts coalesced enough to speak again. Softer, then. “I had a job, worked as a researcher for an economics forum. I had friends, I hosted dinner parties for them. Had a dog that took up half the bed, and I had a man there who wanted to marry me.” There was still bitterness there, a spite to her tone. Malle shook her head. “I had a life, Emily. It was taken from me.”

She rose, then, and went to wash her glass. “I’m sorry. It’s just not --” I want to go home. “It’s not simple. Even though I wish it was.”

Jacob was a heavy sleeper and after the day he’d had, half spent chopping wood and the other half with Malle keeping him busy, he was snoring softly in a deep sleep when Malle got up. But not before long he woke, slowly, his ears distantly catching the sounds of cabinets opening and closing and the quiet padding of bare feet on tile. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and reached out to discover an empty space in bed beside him, brow furrowing. He didn’t care that Malle was in the kitchen, he only minded that she was gone.

Not quite enough to get out of bed, though. Jacob pushed himself up and rubbed a hand over his face and looked to the door as he heard Malle come down the hallway. His eyes looked her over, a bit hazy, catching all the ways the fabric of his shirt clung to her body. And he smiled. They cooked together quite often (Malle more than him unless he was manning the grill) and the familiarity of Malle moving around his kitchen brought a warm feeling up from his chest. He’d missed this. He’d missed her. He couldn’t tell her enough.

He opened an arm to her, beckoning her back into bed with him, a wide smile on his face. “Sure.” I wish we could run away from here, she’d said. Jacob had no answer to that. To disagree would be a lie, to agree would be too honest. But he thought about it constantly since Malle said it. It made him think about eating food at a restaurant. At a proper table with Malle across from him eating by candlelight. What a thought to have to execute while they were indefinitely stuck here. But there were worse things–Malle in his bed wearing only his shirt was not something to take for granted. “Come back here,” he said sheepishly.

—

one week later

Jacob waited outside the villa, a few paces away by the path so that he wouldn’t be seen walking up to the door. Trying to avoid any questions after what happened seemed best. A part of him thought the sneaking around was fun before, but now it grated. Another thing the island had to take from him, another freedom pulled away in the tug-of-war. When the door opened, he saw a blonde woman exit and he looked away, a bit surprised that it wasn’t Malle and he didn’t want to be seen by–

Wait.

“What did you do?” he asked in surprise when she got closer. “How did you–” Jacob blinked and chuckled, reaching for her and gently grazing the backs of his fingers against a lock of blonde hair. “I don’t think anyone will know it’s you hanging around me, now,” he said, grinning.

She woke with a headache pounding in her temples, and a fumble on her nightstand told her why. Instead of her customary cup of water, she was greeted with a half-drunk mug -- a mug, really, Malle -- of wine. Half-drunk. And slowly, painfully, she remembered the two bottles that came before that.

The hair was a shock. Not that she’d done it -- the scent of bleach and peroxide followed her like a cloud of angry bees -- but that it didn’t look awful. There had been several moments where she’d wondered, not the least of which when she stumbled into Lola’s shower, her scalp plastered with what could only be lovingly called blue goop.

Two large cups of tea and a helping of toast later, she felt more like herself. Less like herself. A little unsteady either way, as she fidgeted with her dress. He was a surprise, and her eyes flew wide as he spoke.

What did you do?

“Good question.” Malle murmured, a small blush appearing on her cheeks. She didn’t know. And she didn’t know how to explain the helplessness that overtook her at times on the island, that bade her to recklessness, to shed pragmatism. 

“I didn’t do it for that,” Malle waved the idea away. Wet her lips and took a step back, not realizing how close they were. Her smile remained, tentative. “Do you like it?”

                    she looks at the female,  a  bit expectant   as the tea is poured and offered.   a seat is taken eventually as she wants to be more comfortable.   she blames it on the headache  or  perhaps   she has been too buried in her own business to even notice that similar accent            ‘       thank you.        ’                      there’s a shake of her head,  making  brown strand of hair fall slightly on her face the barely twitch of her mouth makes it seem like a grimace when in reality hers is just the smallest of smiles.     while silence falls in place for only a moment   and it will continue to do so after the name is spoken.   it clicks  and right away, the pirate’s posture straightens /  a sharp breath is take in return.  

 she has to be,   right ?   green hues observe even the most infinitesimal move she makes  -  how the upmost daintiness and most delicate hold  make their presence,  head shake and yet she doesn’t wanna ruin the moment though  and she will continue to enjoy her tea            ‘       so, malle yes ?  name’s calla.       ’

If the temperature changed between them, it didn’t register for Malle. She continued to smile politely, and took a sip of her tea to check the temperature. Not too hot. She found that the tea on the island turned bitter quite easily, made of fine-milled assam stock, and really left a lot to be desired.

“It’s nice to meet you.” A nod, her head bobbed. “Are you-- I mean to say, er. Were you -- captured?”

Eli tapped his finger against the glass beaker on the table, “I still need to find someone to drink that,” the salicylic acid experiment, the greenish liquid with a faint, bitter smell hadn’t received much popularity. Eli sighed and leaned his head against his hand, a steaming cup of herbal tea in front of him. They were at the office of the infirmary sorting and storing the herbs Eli had collected. At to bottom of their cups, a sample blend from the newest batch. Eli brought the cup to his lips and blew before taking a tentative sip, his brow furrowed, he took another sip, “Does that taste like bubblegum to you?” he asked.

@isoldedavies

There were several pirates on the island who didn’t seem to fit -- Dominic and Dylan, Flynn and Kane. But Eli, she thought, perhaps fit least of all. He’d be better on a mountainside, somewhere cozy and safe, with a small village who knew him well. Not here. Not in the chaos.

Sitting primly on the edge of the chair, Malle accepted the cup and blew gently on the surface. She took a sip. “Not bubblegum, I don’t think.” Her accent was soft, rounding her words, and her lilt lifted the end of her sentences. “Licorice, maybe?”

“Oh. No. Malle.” Aaron scoffed, mostly at himself, forcing a grin on his face. He didn’t know why he said it. Reassurance, maybe. But there were few people he trusted to lend an ear. If he was quite honest with himself, he couldn’t let himself trust anyone after what he did. Eyes darted away from the princess, down at a spot on the table, and back at the glass of wine. “You do not have to do that. Not for me. I have one of these kinds of existential crises on the daily now.” Aaron put the glass to his lips and drank a couple gulps of wine. It was kind of a joke, kind of not, just like everything on the island. The last person he wanted to bring down with his sour mood was Malle.

“I’m sorry. How are you? I saw you at the bonfire but I did not get a chance to say hi while I was with Lecia. You looked very cute.” Aaron straightened up and walked around the kitchen island with glass in hand, standing near her and looking at what was in the bowl. “I would not say no to some cookies. I could help?”

On the daily. Malle smiled, glancing at him. It was an odd turn of phrase.

The first mention of the bonfire stole it away, and she tensed a little before nodding, all too eagerly. Yes, the bonfire. Of course. “Oh, I’m sorry.” It would have been better, perhaps, to sit with Aaron and Lecia. She didn’t see them as often as she should. They’d been on the island together longer than most of the royals, and it wore on them. Wore them down. 

“Cookies?”

The room seemed to go in and out of focus, she was in the moment for one second, out of it the next. Malle blushed. Terrible conversationalist.

“Oh, of course.” She nodded once, then glanced at the bowl, then dumped its contents unceremoniously into the rubbish bin. “Not those, though.” Obviously. “I-- did it wrong.”

Malle looked up, dark eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry. It’s just -- I’m awful company tonight.” She reached out, a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

Jacob didn’t know how long he stood holding Malle, trying to fathom the unfathomable tears streaming down her face. I love you. He was not one to cry for. He was not one to love. But she did, and even Jacob felt the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It was easier to kiss her, to hold her. No one is going to hurt you. I’m not going anywhere.

Inside–it started in the shower. When through the frosted glass and steamy air he saw the outline of dark hair and the curves he’d memorized and a small hand that opened the door. Jacob missed Malle more than he could describe–he was afraid of how much he missed her. Closed eyes and the touch at his back. Hot water and warm hands. He dismissed the worries and dread at least for a few minutes–a few hours.

Tousled in sheets on his bed, Jacob situated himself up against Malle and tugged her body into his. Her hair was wet and so was his, and he brushed a few stray strands out of her face. I love you. Jacob felt a flutter in his chest like his heart was about to escape his ribs. He squeezed Malle tight. “Malle,” he murmured. “Malle.” Jacob couldn’t stop saying her name or breathing the scent of her hair or feeling the warmth of her body against his. He hoped she believed him when he said he’d never let anything happen to her. Jacob grinned at her. “I missed you. I really did.”

Pine needles clung to the back of her dress, discarded on the floor. She could see the outline of it faintly in the dying light, and the bed was cold everywhere but where his skin touched hers. Malle pushed back, wanting more of it. Her wrist, bandaged again after the shower, lifted. Her fingers laced with his and pulled his arm more securely around her.

She was exhausted.

“I missed you, too.” Her voice was soft, and close to sleep. Every part of her hurt, bruises on her hips, her thighs, her neck all traces of just how much missing they’d felt. Malle shifted her head, cheek finding the soft part of his arm. Safe. She felt safe. Almost dreamily, she sighed. “I wish we could run away from here.”

---

3:09am

She’d woken hungry, ravenous, her stomach an empty pit. They’d fallen asleep around sunset. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, eggs and a single strip of bacon taken with too much tea and a glowering stare.

Malle knew his kitchen like she knew his villa like she knew the man who lived there, and she found bread and cheese, turned the oven on. She reappeared in the doorway, dressed only in one of his shirts, a toast-filled towel in her hand. Malle smiled to see him half-awake, the moonlight catching his eyes. She looked a little guilty. “I was hungry.”

I didn’t leave.

She lifted the towel, offering a slice to him. “Care for a toastie?”

“The world is strange,” he replied with a sigh, taking in the sight of the forest edge and the pathway. It was still too dark to make out anything specific, but with the path there was enough light to make it back to the villas without any issue. “I have lines I don’t cross. Although, the lines have been blurred in the last 24 hours…” Trailing off, Dominic decided to end that topic right there. “Me? Stubborn?” He grinned and chuckled. “Yes, I’ve been called that. It’s not really an insult to be stubborn sometimes.” He faced her completely. “Malle, let’s get some sleep. God knows we could use it.”

A sigh, resigned, escaped her lips, and for all of her momentary outbursts, she restrained herself once again. Malle nodded, stepping away from the tide and the surf. “You’re right.”

He was, annoyingly, right a lot of the time.

She felt as though she should thank him, but for what, she didn’t know. So she only glanced up, and nodded, and looked away as she walked back to the path. “Why?” They’d walked in silence for some time before she spoke, the ground beneath her bare feet cold. “Why are you here? You don’t fit the bill at all.”

Lola nodded a couple of times at the words. The moments when she enjoyed being on that island had long come and gone. Now it was just down the drain as Lola was forced to relive some of the worst experiences she’d ever had. She was just fed up and frustrated, though she wasn’t about to take that out on others. Never.

Somehow, Lola was still able to plaster a smile on her face, the lie slipping easily out of her lips. “I’m fine. I’m always just fine,” her shoulders drew up and down with a shrug as she raked her fingers through Malle’s soft hair.

Sometimes the Spaniard would wonder whether the smiles she was used to throwing others were actually believable enough or if others were merely indulging her, letting her think she was, somehow, able to get away with the white lies that had become her life. Whatever the scenario, the princesa was aware it wouldn’t end up being something important. Things were what they were, and people were wrapped in their own problems, so, why would it matter?

“Is there any specific reason why you find yourself hating here?”

“Wine helps me feel fine.” She felt a little laissez-faire about the whole thing, and altogether too light for her current predicament. Everything was out of her control; her brother, the pirate, her brother, the prince, the other pirates, the other princes. She’d been told what she should do a lot in the last forty-eight hours, and this -- well, a voice said. This was undoubtedly a bad decision. But there weren’t consequences on the island, and she felt as though she was watching it all from high above. 

The bleach against her scalp brought her quickly back into the present. “Erm.”

Yes, of course there were reasons. Many, and all of them specific. The words struggled to come to her mouth.

“I feel awfully helpless here.” She confessed, glancing up at the other woman. “And, trapped. I don’t see a way out. Or if we’ll ever get out.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Henry asked, confused as he raised an eyebrow. He paused for a moment, staring at her hand before moving to take it. “Are you going to kill me or seduce me?” Henry joked, “Because either way, I am a little scared.” 

As he moved to stand, he smiled over at her, “Lead the way, darlin’.”

The villa was a bit down the way, and not the first one she’d had. Gideon had taken that, for what and why, she was still unclear. Malle stopped outside the fourth of such a row, lights off, and nodded to him. Follow me.

It was the door by the kitchen that she kept open, almost forgotten along the side of the building. A little fiddling with the doorknob did it, and it fell open, revealing one of her former captor’s abandoned villas. Malle turned back, her features illuminated only by the shaft of moonlight, and grinned. She didn’t speak until they were inside, with the door shut. Lights flickered on as she moved around the room with practiced ease.

“I tend to lose a lot of pirates.” She confessed. “But my current one is quite dedicated, so I don’t use this as much as I’d like.” She used to sleep there, when Sid left. Enjoyed being on her own on an island too-full of people. Pausing in the foyer, she opened a drawer on the entry table. A few seashells, refined into sharp points, rattled around. Malle looked up. “It’s nice to have a place to get away.”

It was easy enough for Emily to say really. She had never grown up with anyone around her openly hating pirates. When Tommy had come into her life, she had only admiration for them and that had only intensified with the more she met and now she was one herself, she couldn’t really fault them. But it was different for Malle. Her parents were one of the reasons the laws had been passed. Emily didn’t know much about the Welsh in particular, but if it was hatred enough for Malle to take her love out of her life, it must have been bad.

Emily watched the girl as she took a sip of her whiskey, trying to swallow it without making a face at the burn on her throat. “No, Malle. You can, you just won’t.” She felt for the girl, she really did, but the look on her face was pain, pure anguish and to Emily, that wasn’t something you gave up. “If you love him.. There are ways, Malle, there’s always a way. Don’t throw it away, you’ll always regret it if you do.”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat as they looked at each other. There was no where to hide, so instead, she tore her gaze away and reached for the whiskey, pouring more than a generous helping into her cup. “He isn’t mine.” Oh, but how she wanted him to be. Biting down on her tongue for a moment, Emily fought to keep her emotions at bay before taking a gulp of whiskey. “You don’t get it, Malle, no one does. I’ve never..” Again, she was fighting for control, trying so desperately to not get upset. She had never been so devastated as that day she had discovered him gone and the months after it. “I can’t go through losing him again and I can’t see that there’s any other outcome.”

Malle nodded slowly, and for a long while, she said nothing. It was a nice thought. It was a thought that she, perhaps, could have had, had the roles been reversed. It felt impossible, then.

She lost the taste for whiskey rather quickly, instead playing with the edge of the glass. There was nothing to say, nothing she could say. Everything felt monumental, and she felt even more hopeless than she thought she could, stranded on the island.

“I’m sorry.” A soft smile played on her lips, and she shook her head. Sunlight caught the golden strands in her hair, disappeared quickly. “It’s not my place. I shouldn’t pry.”

Malle glanced up at her. “Why do you stay here, Emily?”

Lola resorted to leaving her room less. To seeing the people that she knew less. The Spaniard was aware that she was searching for answers in all the wrong places, but, what else could she do? It felt as if she had nothing she could even be looking forward to. So, she was attempting to do what she did best: ignore herself and what she felt and focus on others.

When Malle’s knock rapped on her door, initially Lola had considered just being quiet and pretending she wasn’t there. But, what good could it do? Besides, when was it that anyone else had done that with her before?

And, the offer had been something too hard to pass. Besides, Malle, for any reason, had managed to put her hands around a bottle of wine. Lola was dying for any alcohol.

Helping Malle was something that also helped her. And Lola would sip the wine every now and then while they were attempting to dye Malle’s hair.

“Sure,” Lola reached for the bottle, handing it over to her. “Remind me, what’s the reason for this… Extreme makeover?” She requested, feeling deliciously tingly from the wine.

Malle laughed. She’d never colored her hair -- never colored it like this, anyway -- before. Turned bits of it blue, in college, just to see what would happen. She’d been threatened with expulsion until she changed it back. But this -- 

A shrug lifted and lowered her shoulders, a heady blush from the wine suffusing up the pale skin of her chest. “I don’t know,” Malle confessed. She was a little disconnected from reality just then, floating, a little dreamily. Lovesick, or daydrunk. Or both. “I just hate it here so much.” Deep brown eyes lifted, looking at the Spanish princess. Lola was one of the very first she’d met on the island, her first night as she stood on the threshold to her room, terrified to leave. It was odd, after all this time, that she didn’t know more about her.

“Are you all right?”

A single eyebrow rose at the girls sudden insult, followed by a hardening stare, a certain sense of resolution coming around and showing itself in the brunette’s features as she stared back at Malle. It was a bit surprising, Emira had to admit, that this girl had the balls to insult her to her face. She hadn’t expected it, but now that it had occurred, she automatically changed her own stance and prepared to change her own tune. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Miss mousy on her knees in the dirt insinuating that I belong down there with you as trash.” There was a distinct iciness to the princess tone. 

“Frankly, its not that surprising. You always were of the judgy sort. Perched on your high horse telling the rest of us about all our flaws and mistakes, pretending as if you had none of your own.” Flipping a lock of her long brown hair, Emira stepped closer to Malle, until she could crouch a bit, but mostly bending down, refusing to dirty her clothing in a similar fashion and wanting to hover over the girl to instill a certain sense of threat. Eyes intent but just as intense as she spoke. “Its why you’ll keep loosing friends honey. No one can stand being around a girl who thinks she’s flawless and perfect whilst no one else can live up to her standards.” Her tone was sugar sweet with a ring of pity. 

Righting herself her expression shifted as if she hadn’t just insulted the other right back. “Oh rest assured, you haven’t and you won’t. Luckily Vidar was smart enough to put himself first and I have no doubt he’d do the same all over again. But it is curious that you have no interest in either of us. Why would you say that if it isn’t a little bit true, hm?” Her smile was indeed curious. Oh she did wonder. Did Malle think she could get between her and Vidar? Was she a true threat or just another hitch to step over? And was she really as disinterested as she claimed to be.. 

Emira was beautiful, that was true enough. And she knew it, too, which always made Malle, with her deep brown eyes and her light brown hair a little uncomfortable. She watched with curiosity, though, as the princess crouched down where she had been only moments before. Malle fidgeted.

If her threats were meant to startle the Welsh princess, they didn’t. Her countenance, which so rarely held back what she really felt, served as no mask then. Fear didn’t play on her features. Nor embarrassment, or a high point of blushing. Confusion did. A little worry.

“Erm, I’m up here.”

Malle’s feet, clad in white tennis shoes, shifted uneasily in the dirt, not accustomed to being the focal point of such attention. She looked around, a little wide-eyed.

“What was that? Why would you--”

And then, all at once, she stopped. It didn’t matter. It had been ten years since she thought about either of them, and that was longer than both world wars and much too long for anyone to hold a torch -- if one such existed in the first place. Malle shook her head. “This is a silly conversation, Emira. You might not know me, but I’m not known to be a liar. And I’m not a cheat. And I have no interest in--” She looked around, then back at the other woman. “Whatever this is.”

“Malle,” Aaron greeted the Welsh princess. Carefully, quietly. Lacking his usual strut and panache and need for intelligent conversation. He was tired wrapped up in a hoodie and sweatpants, a look he despised but had come to wearing because he had little else. “It is good to see you.” He lifted onto his toes and planted his hands on the counter to peer over at what she was doing with a small smile on his face. Only after did he recall that Malle offered him wine.

Turning, Aaron found the cabinet and the cheap bottles. He found one merlot and another pinot grigio for her. There was no need to ask if he should open one or both. Who cared, really? Aaron twisted the top of the red and got the bottle opener for the white, and he watched her as he slowly worked the cork out. The minute or two of silence would usually get filled with some idle babble, Aaron mentioning something about Mina or Lecia, the poor choice of food in the canteen, or any manner of mundane chatter that popped into his brain. Now he was quiet.

Aaron slid the newly opened bottle of white in Malle’s direction for when she needed another glass, and went about pouring himself the merlot. Finally he spoke. “Do you remember when we were trapped in the villa during the storm?” Months ago. Months. “You asked what I would do when I got home.” He didn’t want to think about that. “I am starting to forget the little details. I can’t remember what color rug I had put in my parlor.”

Was it pinot grigio? Malle looked at the label, dubious. Tasted like shit. But, in fairness, wine wasn’t her forté; she was much more at home with a large cup of tea, or whiskey. Or both. 

It was too hot on the island for toddies, though.

On any other night, she would have been better at this. Any other night, she would have shut down her own thoughts, sublimated them, listened to him. Cared. He was clearly in pain and she felt empathy for that. She cared about him. But her own pain left no room for any other, so she only glanced at him for a second and then back down. The cookie dough looked like shit, too. She’d have to throw it out.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t dismissive, wasn’t cold. Wasn’t anything, really, except the expulsion of air and the gracing of a small, gentle smile. It faded fast.

“I can make you something?” She offered it a little helplessly. She felt helpless, and useless, and not worthy of being there or anywhere. Malle looked up, a little bright-eyed, nodded to the ingredients on the counter. She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t empathize. But her hands still worked, and maybe that would be enough. “What do you like?”