#this is like 50% ooc but i just want them to smoosh their faces together the official version of this is still in the works

[iamthepulta]

Sunless-Albion tasted like gunpowder and cinnamon.

If Westlie opened her mouth and breathed deep, she could ever-so-faintly taste hours on her tongue. A muted, earthy tang, like truffles stored in ice.

The sky was a deep pitch.

She hadn't gotten used to it, even after two years; even after near-death blowing up the sun; even after landing the Queen's final blow with her own two hands. None of it felt real.

Elijah's footsteps sounded on the stairwell and she turned as he made the final step. One mug was more carefully balanced than the other, lest it slip on his glass fingers. She took that one. They both settled against the railing.

She sipped. Elijah had made an Achlys blend of tea; dark, earthy, very familiar. She savored it. "... The sky's darker than I remember."

She couldn't see his smile behind the mug, but the skin behind his eyepatch wrinkled. "The Khanate has helped. There have been contributions."

"Contributions from you I hear."

His nose wrinkled. "Family contributions."

"Your contributions."

He ignored that, and Westlie dismissed it for another day.

"... How's Andy?"

"Brilliant." She smiled. "Still rough around the edges, but he learns quickly."

"You have an inordinate amount of patience for the most inexplicable things."

"Thank you," she sipped again. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"He needs it."

"He does."

"What about Arthur? Are you going to visit him?"

Westlie hesitated. "... Probably. At some point. I should."

Elijah hesitated, and Westlie could see the question on his face. She took another sip so she could hide behind her mug.

"Why haven't you come to London for two years?"

'Busy' was true, but it was also a lie. Westlie squinted at the stars like they would hold an answer and Elijah waited.

She admired that about him, as much as she hated it. That deep-sunken silence as she tried to reconcile her actions with words. She let her breath spiral in soft blotted clouds from the chill. "I... I don't know."

Elijah waited.

"Nothing's finished," she whispered. It sounded loud despite the noise of London. "There's so much to do- so many runs to make- we didn't finish."

"There's no sun in the sky. No throne of hours."

"Achlys-" Westlie's voice cracked; for a second she hated herself for sounding half her age. "New Winchester, Port Prosper- They took the brunt of London's invasion so we could have that chance. There isn't enough to repay them-"

She stayed quiet for a moment, hoping he'd read her mind- that she didn't want to sit. She had to do. Had to keep doing. She could help, she could fly, she was free, it was purpose, and whenever she was still there was that itch to keep pushing.

She wasn't Morgan- Gods knew where Marion and Sally and Morgan were off now to kill more Judgements- but she wanted to make things safe in the mess they were leaving. Which words said that?

"I- I just... I want to finish the job; and right now, it's not in London."

"I know." Elijah hesitated. He cleared his throat. "I mean, you have a ho- place here, if you want it. Somewhere to stay that isn't Arthur's."

"O-oh."

"I hoped you weren't staying away because of that." His voice softened a little. "I know you're not done."

"... how?"

"Your letters were happy." They'd finished their tea, so he couldn't hide the way his visible eye softened with understanding and the separation that lingered between them sometimes.

They stood there on the roof of the Fry mansion as gas lights shone through the mist and locomotives steamed to the docks.

"I missed you," Westlie blurted out. "It's not the same."

Elijah's face flushed a violent pink.

Her cheeks burned.

"I- fuck-"

"Yo- you have a home here, whenever you need-" Elijah's words were a little strangled but he managed. "I- I mean that."

oh fucking hell

In the middle of the night Elijah was still wearing his goddamn tie under his waistcoat and Westlie had parked in Wolfstack station and signed 29 pages of paperwork and after two years Elijah was still going to play dignified even though it was very, very attractive- and she dragged him into a kiss.

It was fierce and crushed and hurt, kinda, but she wanted it to hurt because she couldn't stop captaining, and there was a hole at her side where he once stood and that hole hurt, and she missed him and that hurt, and they were both gasping and red when she finally let go.

"... Ow."

"I love you." The words choked in her throat. "I love you- I will come home."

"You could have said that."

"I am- did."

"Gentler next time." But he was teasing now in his dry manner with the subtle up-quirk of the lip.

"Fine." Westlie waited for him to collect the mugs and face her again before she grabbed his tie.

She

gently

with

emphasized slowness

-pulled him down into another kiss that she did make softer that time because she was almost crying with relief. She didn't pull away at the end, and he rested his forehead on hers.

"I'm sorry," Westlie whispered, "for making you worry."

"Come home to me, Wes."

"I will."