The sun was still far from rising when Tristaan slowly stirred from his sleep. It was still too early for even a faint half-light, but he knew his time left was short before he'd have to go catch a boat. That knowledge in itself was less than motivating. Today was the day to travel back to Old Rose with Ivan, though he had to admit a good part of him no longer wanted to. After a day of resting and packing up, the Circus would be on its way again as well.

With a sigh, he moved to embrace the dark-haired witch breathing softly beside him, letting his hands gently roam the body he'd come to care about as much as enjoy – a subtle reminder of his reluctance to begin a likely dangerous job for the doctor. He inhaled slowly, more than a little intoxicated by her presence in the darkness, quietly yearning for the ability to somehow capture everything he could about Sarinah, bottle it up, and carry it with him to the Harbor and back just so he didn't have to feel as though he was leaving something important behind.

"Hey, beautiful," the passive ventured quietly, barely a groggy whisper, face nuzzled in her hair and close to her neck, "I need t'go soon."

Sarinah started to come awake, slowly aware of his hand on her and warm breath on her neck. She made a sort of soft hum in the back of her throat and spoke sleepily, eyes still shut.

"Ne kov, I don't want you to go." Her brain was still half asleep, but as she spoke she realized what he was talking about. She opened her eyes and looked into the darkness of the storage kint.

"I want to come with you." The dancer said. She knew he wouldn't let her, but it didn't stop her from saying it.

"Mmmmmmnno."

It was dark. She was warm and soft. Part of him wanted to stay, but he had to admit part of him was interested in the adventure of things. Tristaan knew that in this case, with Ivan and his plans, it would be a mistake to get the witch involved. Even if he could trust the doctor more, it would still not be safe enough. She would be distracting, and he wouldn't want to see her hurt.

He found himself kissing her neck, moving toward her ear to whisper, "I'd take you with me if I could, you know, but it ent a fun trip. It's a dangerous one, unfortunately. It ent my place t'bring you int'somethin' like that."

The passive sighed, but it was more like a soft, reluctant groan. His hands moving so he could hold her closer, he spoke with what reassurance he could, as if he was reminding himself as much as he was telling the dancer, "It won't be long ..." He hoped, "An' you'll be enjoyin' your freedom, so it'll go by fast'nough ..."

"You won't have time t'miss me." He teased, knowing it was entirely untrue.

She frowned at that. Dangerous...she really didn't like the idea of dangerous and Tristaan in the same sentence. Of course he could take care of himself, but it was still concerning. Nuzzling against him as he sighed and held her closer, the witch let her frown fade. He didn't need a mother-figure worrying over him.



They both knew that was a happy lie. Wriggling so she could turn onto her back, she tried to see his face in the blue dark.

"The festival won't be anywhere near as fun as it should without you. And who will speak for me when I have all those young kov's chasing me?" She kept her voice low, raising her arms to rest above her head in the tiny space they shared. If he'd been able to see her face, it would have been grinning.

He laughed at her, amused but jealous at her teasing, "Chasin' you, hmm? I don't know how I could concentrate in Old Rose if I have t'worry 'bout such a thing ..."

He could see hints of her features in the darkness, and the mischevious glint in her eyes matched his own. Tristaan caught on a little to the direction this was headed. At least, he thought he did, and he might have been nervous if he hadn't already taken some time to consider how he really felt about the witch after all.

The passive returned Sarinah's grin, arching a slim eyebrow with an almost coy expression in the slowly fading dark. He turned a little, still propped up on one elbow, to lean against her, his free hand slowly tracing a lingering line from her waist to her face. Resting his palm against her cheek, his voice was quiet, excited, but serious, "Are you sayin' you're spoken for, then?"

The dancer giggled a little, happy that she could affect him even if he was miles away from her.



Sarinah looked up into his face, just making out his coy grin. She thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow in return.

"Is the sky blue?" Her answer came out playfully, but her heart thumped like a galloping horse.

((Wordy post is full of words.))

"N-ne, not yet. But it will be once the sun rises."

Tristaan obviously hesitated, grin fading a little and voice heavy despite it's quietness. He didn't quite play along, or so it seemed. Perhaps it just wasn't in the way he was supposed to. Suddenly things were a little more overwhelming than he thought they could possibly be.

He could feel her heart beating, his chest against hers, and he understood her expectations. Could she understand his insecurities?

"Sarinah, I ... you ..."

The passive looked away, as if it made too much of a difference in the dark, and decided to lay his cards on the table. He could've kept his thoughts to himself, but he knew that would just be unfair. He had feelings, too. More than he had honestly bargained for. He gathered the words that seemed to flood his mind into something coherent.

"I ent gonna lie t'you: Now's usually th'time in this sort'o'show where I dust."

He emphasized usually, as if it would somehow make his words hurt less, but he wasn't sure for who, "We could both go two different ways, an' sure it'd hurt a bit – okay, more than a bit. But, really, you've got your freedom t'enjoy, an' I can only continue t'pretend."

There it was.

That was the card that lost him hand after hand after hand, no matter how good the other cards seemed. Or so he felt.

Eventually, he feared, if he really followed this through and did exactly what his heart longed for, it would only come down to his freedom again. It would come down to what he was so tired of running from.

He paused, briefly. He didn't really want to unpack all his insecurities at once and put them on display, but he didn't know how else to express what he wanted to. It was difficult to separate the beginning of his feelings from what he feared would be the end, and while he knew he had very long-term things to say after such a brief time together, Tristaan had no idea how to really balance the scales in his mind and heart without doing so.

For him, caring about someone was very much an all-in or an all-out situation. Usually, it was his choice to be all-out. It had always been safer that way, but for who, really?

"It'd save us both from reachin' another crossroads: Th'one where it'll be painfully clear who I am and who I ent, what I can do and what I can't ... You-you're lovely, an' amazin', an' thoughtful, an' ... a witch. No matter how I look or what I say, I can't really escape that I ent a wick. You can own what you want, marry who you please, an' enjoy all th'smiles of bochi you can handle. I can't. Not really. Not legally. Not ... Not in th'way I'd like, anyway."

He really believed that. Whether it was something he'd been raised to believe or whether he came to the conclusion on his own didn't matter. There was a finality in his voice, as if no one had ever bothered to tell him different. Perhaps he just felt helpless to change.

He sighed, not wanting to leave the dancer hanging on what sounded like a rather negative train of thought. He continued to think out loud; the passive felt the need for her to understand how he thought so she could perhaps hear how he felt, "I ent sure I can do things th'same way this time. I don't want to. You've seen, you know, an you've ... felt more 'bout me than anyone else. I-I don't know what t'do 'bout that, 'bout how I feel about you because of all we've shared."

"Damn, I'm sayin' too much." He smirked, chagrined.

Tristaan regarded the dancer carefully, conflicted but not sad, determined but rather afraid. He knew what he wanted, but he had no desire to make anyone promises he could never keep. At the same time, he really was tired of running.

"Oes, Sarinah. Oes, you're spoken for."

Just don't ask me what that means. Not yet.

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbXTIb3J1Qc))

The dancer heard something in his voice. Had she said to much, assumed to much?



She couldn't quite see him in the dark, but she knew there was definitely something wrong. Sarinah lay in the dark, suddenly worried.



She sat up, sat back a bit, pulling the sheet up, shaking her head a little. Was he...was he telling her it was over. That this was it. The little door in her heart she had forced shut started to creak open again, and thoughts of Rovin's disappearance flooded in. Was it happening again?



Sarinah felt numb. It couldn't end here, now. It just couldn't. So what he wasn't a wick. He could be anything and she would love him. If he was caught out as a passive, so what? She'd fight to her own death to save him, it would hurt less than leaving him. What did galdor legality have to do with it? If he wanted to be a wick, why should it bother them.



Her heart started beating again and she felt tears of relief sting her eyes a little. Still...he sounded so...desolate. Why did it have to be so hard?



Getting up on her knees, the brunette came closer, took his face in both hands and kissed him like she would never see him again. It was a long, passionate, heartfelt gesture. When she finally pulled away, she tried to see him in the slowly lightening dark, eyes damp.

"You better come home to me Tristaan Greymoor."

The passive moaned softly, reaching out to keep her from pulling too far away, smile slowly spreading across his face at her words, "Home ..." He echoed quietly, voice warming noticeably, returning her kiss deeply with gratitude, "I can't say I remember th'word, but you make it sound nice."

He was quiet for a moment, contentedly close, but still thoughtful, "I'm sorry if I ... if I make things complicated." Tristaan had no desire to be a burden, nor did he particularly want to be disheartening. Change was hard.

"I don't mean to. I just ..." He trailed off, wishing he could explain.

Sitting up, he fumbled around purposefully in the dark. The small space didn't leave much room for misplacing anything. Returning to embrace the witch, the passive took her hands in his and pressed something cold and metal against her palms. It might have been a watch, but it was scuffed and dented and definitely broken. It was too dark to make out the delicate engravings of what may have once been a family crest on both sides, and even if it was opened, it was still too dark to see the smashed face on one side or the unfaded spectrograph on the other.

Later, in the daylight, the family photo would reveal that a smiling dark-haired boy of barely eight grew up to bear remarkable resemblance to his father.

"This is all I have left of ... home. My dao-my mum," He said the word carefully, as if it had been a very, very long time since he'd last spoken it, "Left it with me when she abandoned me on th'streets. I kept it safe, always thinkin' I'd end up back there. I didn't, an' now I know I won't ever. Th'day I ran away from th'factory, I gave up. I smashed it to bits. I stopped time."

He breathed, meeting Sarinah's gaze in the darkness with what could only be described as a hopeful grin, "You hang on t'this, an' I'll promise t'come back for it. Maybe, when I find you on Surwood, I'll get it fixed." He squeezed her hands in his, "An' start something ... new."

Sarinah could have melted in his arms, she loved when he spoke about her so nicely. And she loved his kisses. She listened to him fumble through his words in the dark, nodding gently. The dancer knew what it was like to try and explain yourself and have a hard time doing it.

"You don't make anything complicated. You make everything right." The witch said softly.



Sarinah frowned, looking down in the dark, rubbing her thumbs and fingers over the item. It felt like one of those fancy pocket watches, but it was very broken. Purposely it seemed. Her sensitive fingertips found the latch at the front, but she didn't open it yet.



She rubbed it again thoughtfully, sad for the man who had lost so much. How could a family do that. A mother? It was disgusting. The black and red haired witch shook her head.



Smiling back, the dancer nodded, somewhat speechless. Finally, her voice came.

"I'll guard it like it was my life." She grinned. Looking out one of the small windows, she sighed.

"Best be getting ready, or we are both going to be late." It was a half hearted thing to say, she didn't want to do it. But things would be alright. They had to be.

"You're too kind." Tristaan said with a hint of lingering awkwardness, smiling at her. He wasn't sure he could really make anything right, but he certainly considered Sarinah worth all the effort. Obviously it was not an effort without danger (be it from misinformed bar patrons to bored Seventen), which only made everything excitingly more appealing than it already was.


Somewhere between "guard it" and "late" Tristaan had let his calloused hands slide away from her own, over her shoulders, to rest with mischievous listlessness on her lower back.

"Ready?" He chuckled, lips at her collarbone, "That can be arranged ..." The passive lingered purposefully, pretending to take her words as a more desirable innuendo than a reminder that they had separate places to be for an undetermined length of time.

"But you mean ready for leaving ..." He said coyly, tracing light kisses down and towards her sternum, enjoying the sound of her heartbeat, reluctance heavy in his voice. Technically speaking, he didn't have a boat to catch until noon, but there was a bit of packing. Some goodbyes. And breakfast.

Tristaan managed a sly grin, looking up at the brunette through some of his hair, beginning to lean away slowly, "Oh well, I s'pose you're right."

Sarinah felt his hand slip down as she spoke, smiling as he did so. She'd thought he'd be jumping the gun to get ready so he wasn't late.



The dancer chuckled softly, enjoying his soft lips on her skin. Obviously he wasn't in the same mind set as herself.



She shivered a little, all thoughts turned to one thing.



Looking down at him, the dancer laughed slightly.

"Ye must be moony if you think your getting away like that, kov." She said softly, moving to lay down again, reaching to pull his face to hers for another more amorous kiss.

"Oh. Har. Must be."

The passive grunted bemusedly, catching her lower lip teasingly in his teeth as he allowed the dancer to lead his face with her hands. He leaned his head back briefly, grinning in the growing grayness, practically mumbling, "I ent got a ship t'catch 'til noon ... y'think I woke up this early because I was in a hurry t'leave? Who's th'moony one, eh?"

He laughed playfully, hands moving slowly upwards from her back, obviously taunting her, "Although, if you've got a ride t'catch ... I wouldn't want t'be th'one t'keep you."

Sarinah playfully slapped him on the arm, chuckling. So she had more worrying things on her mind. Could anyone blame her?



The dancer quickly wrapped a leg around his own, and pushed on his shoulder, using her weight and momentum to roll him on his back. She knelt over him, hands either side of his head, hair falling off to one side.

"Ohho no you dont! You ent getting away that easily." Leaning forward, she kissed him again, still giggling a little. His playful mood in such a somber moment was uplifting.

"I knew I could count on you t'hold me captive-ated ... a bit longer." Smiling into her affections, he inhaled deeply, once again yearning for some way to bottle up everything he could of the lovely dancer - how she smelled and tasted and felt - just to carry with him into danger.

The passive ran his hands firmly up her sides, over her shoulders, through her hair, sighing heavily. He spoke quietly between increasingly earnest kisses, though it probably was not what he should be saying given the change in mood he was aiming for. He still wanted her to know, "It might be more than a week ... before ... I see you again."

Sarinah delighted in his hands, loved the way he pushed them through her hair. Matching his sigh, she moved one hand to rest on his shoulder. The passive began to speak between kisses.



The brunette broke away and paused. More than a week? How long could it possibly take to escort the doctor to Old Rose and back? She pushed away the feeling of fear and worry in her stomach and returned to her kisses, moving down to kiss his throat.

"No more...talk." She said in between each kiss. Stopping, she looked up at him.

"I don't want to think about it right now. Right now, I can pretend you ent going off to maybe get yourself riffed. When the sun comes up, then I can worry." Making a little half smile, she turned back, long hair brushing his skin lightly.

Tristaan's grin widened, her lips at his throat and hair on his skin dizzying and exciting and distracting, but it was a struggle to push away more words. He indeed didn't want to give the dancer any more cause for concern than he already had, though he could admit that there was more to worry about than he had originally expected. Ivan's more thorough explanation before the Circus had been a bit of a wake-up call to what he had signed on for. Some of it was probably best not to go into detail about, especially now.

At the same time, he felt a little guilty keeping the entirety of what he was embarking on from her.

So far, he really hadn't kept anything else.

With a contented, affectionate sort of moan, the passive resigned himself happily to returning Sarinah's welcome attentions. It would be longer than he liked before he could enjoy them again, and he certainly wanted their parting to be one worth clinging to until he could find his way to Surwood.

"Fine. I'll shut up now, but don't you be rushin' th'sun on my behalf. I ent in a hurry ..."

((ftb, but after the dots posts welcome. har. ))

....

Sarinah finished tying her over skirt to her waist, gold trinkets clinking sweetly, then turned to look at Tristaan. His quiet, reserved exterior masked a passionate and amazingly skilled man. She blushed and cleared her throat.

"You packed everything kov?" Her own belongings were packed into a brown blanket and wrapped then tied. The roll was dumped out the front of the caravan.

"Oes, rosh. What I can take with me, anyways." Everything he owned save his new clothes fit neatly into a single satchel, which was already outside with his boots, sword, hat, and Smirk (who was somewhere, anyway). He'd be leaving his nice clothes with the Circus, probably with Calli, for he figured he'd see them all again on Surwood. Eventually.

The passive smiled roguishly, turning to regard the witch warmly. Like a precious family heirloom untouched for too long, Tristaan could see that Sarinah's time in Vienda had left her a little tarnished. It made his heart sing in his chest to see how a bit of patience and kindness could rub off the stains of unmet expectations and undesirable assumptions to reveal someone beautiful and bright underneath. She was very lovely, inside and out, and it was her unabashed and fiery acceptance of who he was regardless of what he was that stirred his emotions in ways he'd never known or allowed himself to know.

"You promise me t'have a good time 'til I see you."

He stepped towards her and took her hands in his, "An' I'll promise t'be careful an' meet you in one piece."

He had always been able to fight as though he had nothing to live for, which was not always the healthiest of perspectives. Now, he could not even pretend that was true.

Running his thumbs over her fingers, he added, "If you really miss me, you go an' find an ol'Crow named Guaril. You tell that ol'bastard that you know me, that you're my 'benny trouble,' an' he'll tell you all sorts of embarrassing growin' up stories 'bout me. As any good da should." He smirked, knowing the old wick would appreciate the title, "I know that th'Eyes an' Crows don't see face't'face on things, but if there's trouble, you tell 'em who you belong to an' I know he'll look out for you."

The passive lifted their hands to his chest and smiled in the rosy light that had finally begun to reach its fingers above the horizon, "I'll see you soon'nough, beautiful, so this ent goodbye."

Sarinah looked down at their hands, smiling sadly. She didn't trust herself to speak, so instead, she nodded.



She giggled and looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh now you know I am going to search for him, I ent gonna miss that sort of stuff for the world." The idea of meeting Tristaans da was thrilling. Then something struck Sarinah. She'd finally be able to find her own family. They hadn't ended up in the outskirts of Vienda. She had looked, but no one seemed to know where they were. Durg Lordes wasn't here either. It seemed that they might have gone straight onto Surwood. Which made sense.



Sarinah shook her head, tears had come by accident, and she laughed, taking one hand away to wipe them from her cheeks.

"No, it definitly ent kov. It's just...fotamos." She sniffed once, the crying had already stopped. Sarinah learnt to control her tears over the years, customers don't pay well for tears. Taking a big breath, she smiled broadly. Outside, there were calls for final travelers. Kint drivers were starting to leave already. The dancer looked at the door.

"It looks like I have to go." She said in almost a whisper.


------



It was about as much as the passive could muster to put on a brave face and not let the moisture in his eyes spill over anywhere on his face at the sight of a teary-eyed Sarinah. That was almost a bit too much, but somehow, he managed to keep a gentle smile instead. He was well-practiced in bravado, but not necessarily when there were definite emotions involved. It was a nice, new sort of feeling.


"Oes, an' I won't keep you this time." He lifted his hands from hers to hold her face, his fingers wiping her cheeks.

"I'll miss you."

Tristaan thought about saying other words, but he wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say before wandering off into danger. He wanted to hang onto such statements for a brighter time. It would be something to look forward to. He at least hoped his tone of voice made his feelings obvious, even if some of his lingering insecurities kept him from saying important things too soon.

He grinned and kissed her tenderly, savoring her lips.

"Fotamos, lovely Sarinah."


------




The dancer's lip trembled and she smiled bravely. It was just a week or two. He'd be fine!



Returning the kiss, she pushed back more tears. She had to go now, or she'd break down. Pulling away, she bit her lip and walked past him to jump down and pick up her pack. Walking to the nearest caller, she threw her back inside and climbed up on top of the caravan. Seating herself between other wicks, she looked back to Tristaan and the storage kint they had shared. A strong breeze caught her hair and whipped it in front of her face. Reaching up, she tucked it away behind her ear, capturing the passive in her mind as he was now, hoping that this wasn't that last time she would see him. As the caravan started to move, she kept her eyes on him till they turned and like that, he was gone.