Characters: Polly, Mal
Pairing: Mal-sided Mal/Polly
Rating: B

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
Notes: I was looking through a book about rocks, trying to find an appropriate jewel to-which I could compare Polly's eyes, and I found myself thinking "it should be about the colour of... coffee." God-damn! I didn't even know I'd done that! I thought I was giving her brown eyes just because, well, that way they wouldn't be blue -- blond hair, blue eyes? A little too fairy-tale typical, if you ask me. ;-) -- And then I find out what shade of brown they are. One more thing for Mal to obsess about. ;-)

Coffee Coloured Eyes
by Amazon Syren

The jungle was burning, fire raining down from the sky, and the leaves were burning away leaving only tall tree-trunks, sharpened and charred, all around her—

Mal sat up in the dark, breathing hard. This could only get worse. Unless she got some coffee into her very, very soon, this could only end with her screaming and screaming, and killing someone.
"Mal?" a whisper in the dark.
Killing someone close to her.

"Mal?" the whisper came again, as Polly sat up, not three feet from her.
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," she whispered back, "don't worry about it."
"Yeah, right," Polly muttered, crawling out of her blankets, coming closer. Damn, damn, damn! Don't get too close to me, kid, 'cause I don't know that I won't bite you!
"Is it getting bad?"
Mal turned her face sharply away from Polly's concerned expression, away from her eyes that were the exact shade of coffee beans. "You could say that." A hand on her shoulder, too much and not enough. "I gotta get out of here," Mal said, shaking off Polly's hand, stumbling out of the tent.

Darkness, outside. The waning moon had not yet risen, but the night sky glowed orange in the distance. Only a day away from the war.
Not much point in trying to sleep now, Jackrum'd have everyone up within the hour anyway. Mal wasn't sure yet whether the squad's night-time marches were helping her situation or making it worse. On the one hand, it was less of a stress on her system, which was over-taxed as it was, but on the other hand it was too familiar. Too much the like the bad old days...

She headed for a handy tree, becoming aware that Polly had followed her into the night. She stopped.
"Go back to bed, Ozzer," she said, using the woman's soldier nick-name. "Don't make me pull rank on you."
Polly was right behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from her body.
"Look at me, Mal," she said. "Come on."
"No!" Too sharp. She softened, "that would be a very bad idea right now."
A pause.
"Why?"
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
In the last few days, Mal had become painfully aware of just how much she wanted Polly. Not only as a lover, although that was truer than she wanted to admit, but also as a confidant. She desperately wanted to be able to tell her ‘I'm a woman'. To say 'I spent ten years locked up with no-one to talk to but the walls. It happened over thirty years ago, and I still hear the locks turning in my sleep.' To let Polly know that she was the closest thing to a friend, to someone Mal could trust, that she'd had in almost half a century.
But she couldn't. Not now. She couldn't afford to let go now, and one glance could be all it would take.

But she had to say something. Polly deserved to have some idea of what was going on.

"Because... Because... I don't want you to see my face right now," she looked at her feet. "I don't want you to have to look at my eyes." And because if I look too closely at yours, I might go over the edge.

Polly's hand on her shoulder again. "Is there anything I can do?"
Oh, gods, how she ached to lean into that touch, to accept that promise of comfort and safety, to let her guard down for even a moment. Just for a moment.
But she knew what could happen if she let go of herself, now, even for a little while, and so she couldn't do it.
She shook her head, still turned away, forcing herself to keep her voice from breaking. "I'll be fine," she said firmly. "Get some sleep, Polly."
A squeeze on her shoulder, "if you're sure," and the trailing touch of her hand as she departed.

Mal listened to her footsteps, almost silent on the damp earth, until she knew she was near the tent again.

"Polly?" she called, half turning.
Polly stopped, looked back at her.
Over her shoulder, eyes still down-cast. "Thanks for asking."
Mal saw Polly nod, and waited until she had ducked back inside the tent, before she hoisted herself onto a tree branch to try and sleep again.