is it the whispering ghost that you fear the most?

[undonewithout]

Shameful as it is, the bathtub in Gideon's apartment still fills Harrow with an apprehension she knows is misplaced. This is not the Mithraeum; there are no threats lurking around the corner or waiting patiently just above the plaster of the ceiling, no need for wards on every surface and a wary eye at the door. Being aware of that doesn't stop the flutter in her chest or the twist in her guts as she tries to bathe, or limit the few seconds of panic she feels when rinsing her hair leaves her vision blurred with water, every inch of her waiting for rough hands on her shoulders and the hard push down.

She hasn't found a way to explain it to Gideon yet, to tell her about the Saint of Duty and his ceaseless siege against her, no reason for it she knows or can provide. She asks, instead, for her cavalier's protection, a seat outside the bathroom door and the black rapier in her hand. There are questions in Gideon's eyes every time--but every time, she nods and finds a chair.

Tonight has been quiet for them both, a simple dinner and a softly companionable few hours in the lounge, Harrow reading a book while Gideon sprawls on the couch, her headphones in and connected to the television. Once or twice, Gideon's fingers brush her ankle, and Harrow doesn't flinch away. As the show Gideon had been watching ends and the credits start to roll, Harrow marks her place and sets her book down.

"I was going to take a bath," she says when Gideon pulls her headphones from her ears. She worries her lip in her teeth. "Would you...?"

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[undonewithout]

The pleading whine in Gideon's voice is humiliating, the helplessness in her eyes a rebuke. They're things her own weakness have opened the door to, all those momentary touches and midnight crawls into Gideon's bed, the wounded-animal comfort she's sought that's softened her beyond repair. Both of them have forgotten themselves, forgotten their place and their history, regressed further than they should thanks to the ancient ways of this foreign city. If Crux were here, if her parents were alive and well, if...too many things, the best they could hope for is a swift correction to set them back on their intended courses.

It has to end, but all Harrow can think of is the flush on Gideon's cheeks and the helpless way she says I need you. A knife twists in her gut, in her chest, lances of pain and disgust that tighten her jaw and stiffen her spine. Slowly, she moves forward in the tub; slowly, she reaches for the plug, lifting it to let the water drain.

"Leave your underwear on. You don't need to get the salt."

[wedobones]

She'd been convinced that Harrow was about to say no, and, when she says yes, for a moment, she isn't entirely sure what to do. She peels her t-shirt over her head, stands up and pushes her sweats down and then climbs into the tub in her shorts and bralette.

"I just wish I knew where I come from," she says, settling in the tub with her legs bent and her back against the enamel edge of the tub.

[undonewithout]

Harrow watches the descent of the water line while Gideon hurries out of her clothes, her face burning at the tense feeling of shock that pervades the room in the wake of her acquiescence. She replaces the plug as Gideon steps in behind her and keeps herself rolled tightly forward, the water lapping at the taut, thin curve of her back with each of the movements behind her as Gideon settles. Her mug rattles on the edge of the tub, forgotten.

"You were birthed on the shuttle," she says, though the old story rings more hollow now, given the scant details the both of them have towards a fuller picture. "Your pod flung free when it crashed on the Ninth. Whatever rebel base or colony planet your mother came from, you never set your feet on its soil."

[wedobones]

"That isn't what I meant," says Gideon, tipping her head back to look up at the ceiling. "I wish I knew who my parents were. Like...it's almost worse to know a tiny bit, you know?"

She looks at the tight line of Harrow's back. "You can...you know. Lean back. If you want."

[undonewithout]

"Lack of evidence never stopped you from gross confabulation before," Harrow says, remembering finding Gideon sitting by a niche at five, twelve, seventeen, telling the bones within every mediocre detail of her life. Of arguments that burst into fights, Gideon's Maybe they were important answered by Harrow screeching Prove it and raising skeletal hands to drag her to the ground.

She'd never expected Gideon to be right; even now, the idea seems impossible. Slowly, Harrow worries her cuticle with the bitten edge of a fingernail. "But I can...see how just a crumb of the truth could never be enough. Learning it now, when there's nothing to do but know it."

Harrow can hear Gideon breathing behind her, slow and even, quiet in the moments after her suggestion--or offer, or request. The scant few inches of space that lie between the two of them are a thing she's keenly aware of, a void easy and impossible to cross. The danger she'd feared here, in her vulnerable state, hasn't come to pass--but in concentrating on that she'd made herself blind to other hazards.

"I'm fine," she says, staying still and hunched, her face aflame.

[wedobones]

"I just wanted someone to want me," says Gideon, draping one arm along the edge of the tub. "Whatever that looked like." A muscle in her jaw tightens as she looks at the tight curve of Harrow's back, the nobbled line of her spine. She'd woken up that morning with Harrow curled into the small of her back, but the other girl had pulled away the moment that she'd woken up. "Turn the light out if you want," she says, her voice husky. "But come here? Please?"

[undonewithout]

The rough sound in Gideon's voice makes her shudder, a twitch of muscle that ripples through her and then out. She speaks of wanting and being wanted, offering the dark as a shield, an excuse not unlike the ones Harrow keeps on her tongue when she presses to Gideon's back in the night or feels the brush of her fingers at the nape of her neck as she reads on the couch. It's too much. It's everything.

"Gideon," she says, warning.

Reaching up, she pulls a stud from her ear and throws it blindly, does it before she can tell herself to stop, flinging an arm and hand out of the polished disc of bone. It lands short, requiring extra articulation to reach the panel on the wall, but after only a minute the lights switch off, their small bathroom plunged into a soft grey darkness. Harrow unfolds, moving back, leaning against her cavalier.

[wedobones]

Harrow leans back against her, her bare back to Gideon's chest, and it takes a long moment before Gideon can let out a shivering breath. One arm still draped along the side of the tub, she shifts her other hand, lightly curling her arm around Harrow's middle.

"Thanks," she says.

[undonewithout]

Pressed this close, Harrow can feel the tightness of Gideon's chest, the held breath that doesn't release when she expects it to--and when it does, the tremble of it takes her by surprise. The water is no barrier at all between them, but she makes herself think of it as one: a layer keeping the contact of skin on skin, Gideon's arm slipping around her waist or the gentle touch of their thighs, from overwhelming her. It works, just enough. When Gideon speaks, her voice thankfully more normal than it had been a moment ago, the heat on Harrow's cheeks reignites itself.

"Do not get used to it."

[wedobones]

A smile tugs at the corner of Gideon's mouth; she lets the tone of Harrow's voice and the seamy sensation of warm water seeping into her underwear settle her a little bit.

"Don't worry," she says. "I know my station in life."

[undonewithout]

Harrow makes a dubious noise at that, though something in Gideon's phrasing settles uncomfortably in her gut. Not a bitterness, exactly; more like resignation. She puts it aside, shifting a little in the loose hold of the arm around her waist.

"You'd better."

[wedobones]

"It's general dogs body, right?" says Gideon, gently teasing. "Who else is going to make you tea." Her fingers drift through the water over Harrow's ribs.

[undonewithout]

"You make me tea because you don't trust me in the kitchen," says Harrow, keenly aware of the shift of Gideon's hand, counting each slow touch to the curving lines of her ribcage. Faint tension settles in the line of her back and the angle of her shoulders, but she doesn't move away. Her teeth catch her lip, reminded of their prior conversation, of the desperate measures she'd been pushed to on the Mithraeum.

"Nor should you, frankly."

[wedobones]

"In my defense, the last time you tried to do anything in the kitchen, you set fire to a dishcloth," says Gideon, resting her chin against Harrow's shoulder for a moment, her fingers still idly drifting through the water above Harrow's skin. "Ever your sword, Harrow. For whatever you need. And you know it."

[undonewithout]

"You will be unsurprised and not particularly reassured to know that's not the worst thing I could have done," she murmurs, making a quiet noise when Gideon's chin brushes her bare shoulder. It's dark in the bathroom, but she closes her eyes anyway, for the sake of another layer, another barrier. "I know that. I promise you, I know that."

[wedobones]

"You're right," says Gideon, the corner of her mouth twitching in a smile. "I'm not at all surprised." She shifts, the water sloshing softly around them in the tub. "This is nice, though. We could do this again."

[undonewithout]

Gideon moves behind her, changing the points of contact between their bodies, and even if it's slight it's still a reminder of where they are; that Gideon's half-clothed and Harrow naked, the water growing colder around them. She can hear a low reprise beginning of the panicked, staticky whine in her head, the alarm tone that now sounds to her more dire than the tolling of any bell in Drearburh. Carefully, she leans forward, putting space between the warm solidity of Gideon's chest and the curve of her back.

"I told you not to get used to it, so don't."

[wedobones]

Harrow pulls away and something in Gideon's belly writhes, slimy and cold. She lifts both hands and wipes damp palms over her face.

"Understood," she says. After a moment, she pushes to her feet and steps out of the tub, reaching for a towel. "I'll be outside if you need me, okay?"

[undonewithout]

Harrow's discomfort takes a different form when Gideon pulls her hands away and stands up again, the water pattering noisily from her body and her sodden underthings. She doesn't turn to watch her fumble for a towel, staying still and curled forward again, wrapped in on herself in the dark. Words claw at her throat, things that might call Gideon back and that are too bare, too childishly helpless, to say. She lets her mouth be a prison, locks them tight behind the clench of her teeth, and soon they subside into nearly nothing again.

"That's fine. I won't be much longer," she says after a minute. "Turn the light on as you leave."

[wedobones]

"Your wish, my command, night boss," says Gideon, her voice quiet and impassive as she wraps the towel around her and steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.