Pairing: Tonker/Lofty
Rating: B

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
Note: Tonker thinks there's been quite enough of this Polly/Mal lark. She's decided that even though later parts of her epic (current penciled title "After The Curtain Fell") are very very rough she's gonna get me to post something cos otherwise y'all are gonna forget about her.To put it more sensibly, y'all have your own versions of how the T/L story works out. This is mine and I stand by it however much it may wander away from canon as you see it.

Dinner Without Strings
by Treehugger

Autumn had come early to Ankh Morpork that year. Chill fogs crept up from the river, filling the streets and loitering around long after they’d outstayed their welcome. This particular evening was an excellent example. The darkness had slunk in towards the end of the afternoon, surprising those working at desks in the city who found themselves squinting at their ledgers earlier and earlier each evening. The streets were full of those hurrying home, collars turned up against the cold dank miserable air. Swirling up from the Ankh, the mist tapped at the lighted windows along the restaurant mile, drawing attention from those scurrying past to the tableau of warm glowing window panes.

No one passing the curry restaurant on the corner would have known that the two women sitting so calmly in the window were struggling to maintain a light conversation whilst gingerly negotiating great sucking holes of past hurts. Magda withdrew her attention from the stallholders making their way home along the darkening streets and turned back to her companion.

“So where did you go?”

She had finally plucked up courage to broach the four years that lay between them. The question had hung over the table since they’d sat down, threateningly overshadowing the polite small talk as they examined the menu, ordered and waited for the starter to arrive. As in the café, neither seemed able to address the past and they had stuck instead to light topics such as the weather and the latest humorous play on words within the pages of the Times.

Tilda looked up from the patterns one finger was tracing on the cloth and at last met her eyes. “I was,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “I was trained. As an alchemist. The Engineers guild took me in.”

In the pause Magda, her gaze wandering, noted the restaurant was filling up, couples sliding into small corner tables, groups.

“They were interested in things blowing up.” Turning to look out of the window Tilda added quietly “I was good at making things blow up.”

Magda waited patiently. You couldn’t push Tilda to talk; you had to wait for the sentences to be ready to come out. True enough it hadn’t always been that way, she could remember a time when words tumbled easily out of that expressive face and the problem had been to make her keep quiet, make her find caution in her speech. But then a lot of things had been different to the way there were now and it was no use thinking on them or you ended up being angry all the time and to live that way was just too exhausting. She breathed deep, concentrating her mind on the muscles involved, on the miracle of inhalation until the memories were safely back in the box and she could once again raise her eyes. The starters arrived and Magda began her meal, nibbling distractedly at the crisp delicacies her thoughts caught up in the dark haired young woman opposite.

She looked just the same...

The incongruous meeting had kept playing over and over in Magda’s mind as she’d waited at the bar for her dinner companion to arrive, wanting a drink but not having one.

It had started out as such a normal day, the café crowded as usual with the mid morning rush. Her mind had been blank, concentrating merely on getting the orders out in time, looking up in frustration after calling an order twice to be halted in her tracks by the absurd sight of Tilda, rooted to the spot on the other side of the counter, hand outstretched for the mundane cardboard cup. They’d both stood there frozen in time until Tilda, visibly pulling herself together, had snatched the coffee from her hand and walked out of the café.

She’d come back of course...

After the rush of caffeine addicts had passed Magda had looked up to see Tilda sitting at the corner table. Waiting.



Looking around at the now reasonably crowded restaurant Magda buried her apprehension and calmly reached for some more dip. Admittedly she would rather be outside somewhere, unfamiliar enclosed spaces still gave her some trouble, but it was too cold to walk the streets and she adamantly refused to take Tilda to the pub. Not this time.

The waiter came round to refill their glasses. Realising he was still hovering over the table Magda looked up with her polite but dismissive smile. She wished she could have a drink. Was it acceptable to tell waiters to go away as they had personal business to discuss? She was still learning about how far she could go when telling people to leave her alone. He asked them if they wanted more dip, but reading her facial expression correctly nodded and walked away to interrupt one of his other tables.

Tilda dragged her gaze back to the present. “We were developing a new method of refining explosives, to improve precision. It was quiet there, out of the city, safer to do that away from people.” She paused, the tug of the past strong. “I liked being away from people then.”

“You were safe?” Magda might have no right to ask, but the fear had haunted her for too long to stop the words now. “I was afraid, when I couldn’t find you, I thought…”

“No.” The response was quick and very firm. In a gesture of reassurance - full of echoes from the past, Tilda reached forward and squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t do that. You should have known I wouldn’t do that.”

The contact became awkward and both moved back, allowing the space to open up between them again.

“I just went away for a while.” Her attention back in the reality flowing around them, Tilda realised she had as yet eaten none of the starter she had spent so long over choosing and lifting her fork, dug in.

They finished the dishes in silence. The waiter came and took the plates away, leaving them for a few quiet minutes before bringing the main course to the table. Tilda separated out the dishes efficiently and they dug in. Hunger was a pragmatic need even in the face of deep emotional turmoil. It had been a long day.

Swallowing piece of bread Tilda forced out her own question. “How are you?”

Magda’s gaze dropped from the glass she was just about to take a drink from, to the table and then wiggled away to the more interesting spectacle of a couple walking arm in arm along the opposite pavement.

“Better than I was” she murmured. The admission stuck in her throat. Tracing a food stain on the cloth she took a deep breath of courage and continued, “after you left I- it wasn’t great.” She halted, fighting a wave of sickening memories. She felt a hand lightly cover hers for a moment.

Magda hadn’t meant to bring this up now. The plan had been to keep conversation light, impersonal. She had just wanted to say hi, maybe catch up a little but not if it was an effort. Perhaps make sure that Til didn’t need anything, check she was ok.

Pointing her fork at a bowl of steaming vegetables and asking lightly “Are you gonna eat all that?” Magda struck out for the shore. It worked, Tilda smiled and pushed the bowl nearer. As she dug her fork into the potatoes Magda felt the tension wash out of the moment in gentle waves. Responding in turn to Tilda’s generous gesture she pushed her stew over and they shared the remainder of the dishes between them – though admittedly some went together better than others.

“So, you’re back in the wonderful place that is Ankh Morpork.” Magda sopped up the last of the sauce on her plate with some bread. “What brings you back here then?”

“I’ve only been back a short while, came down a few months after Alls Fallow.^[1] They’re having problems with the Undertaking”

“They’ve dragged you into that mess? Oh dear.” Magda sat back in her chair, attempting but failing to hide the look of pity that flashed across her face. “They’ve really stitched you up, you know that?”

“Hey!” Tilda’s annoyance was partly genuine but mostly exaggerated. “It’s a good idea in theory.”

“In theory yeah. In practice it’s a colossal cock-up, half the roads in the city are closed due to massive holes in the pavements, and the rest are clogged solid from sun-up to sun-down with “Undertaking” traffic and dirt movers. The noise of the work is driving all of us mad, not to mention the dust that gets everywhere in summer and covers the roads inches deep in mud in the winter. It’s a damned waste of time.”

“I see you have strong feelings on the matter then.”


Magda thought she had best graciously accept her companion’s frown as a fitting commentary on that rant. It had been a little enthusiastic.

“Me and the rest of the city.”

The dishes were empty, Tilda chased the last grains of rice around her plate before sitting back in her chair with a sigh of enjoyment.

“My work isn’t really anything to do with the tunnels you know. I’m more… specialised.”

“Don’t tell me. Those idiots are really planning on blowing up the Patricians Palace to put a track through down to the river? I thought that was just a rumour!”

Tilda hid a smile behind her hand before lowering it to reveal her poker face once more fixed firmly in place.

“I can’t really say. It’s sort of classified.”

“Classified.” Magda sighed and turned to find the waiter approaching them with the desert menus.

Deciding to leave the subject of civil engineering and public transport to one side for the moment they concentrated instead on the choices available for the discerning diner in the way of desert. Magda tried to return to the topic after they handed the menus back to the waiter and watched him walk away, but Tilda, unable to discuss anything about her work and not really wiling to defend the project as a whole in the face of an irate citizen danced around the subject until she gave up in despair.

Digging into her ice-cream it was Tilda who switched the conversation back into the lines Magda had so artfully been avoiding.

“It was odd to bump into you again. I thought perhaps you’d moved on.”

“Surprising, no? In a city this big.” Magda carefully sidestepped the moving on comment. “I didn’t think you drank coffee.”

“All engineers drink coffee,” Tilda smiled again and this time it stayed. “It’s where we get our best ideas, and our craziest! You’ve seen those new Clacks towers, right? All night coffee buffet at Joes.”

Ah coffee. Magda could talk that about for hours. Four months as a Barista had been a detailed introduction to the world of caffeination. She settled more comfortably into her seat and prepared for a discussion on the benefits of double filtered and the problems associated with the new steam driven system found in the most expensive coffee houses. The conversation drifted on from random topic to random topic as they finished their meal.

Later, walking through the streets with that dark head at her shoulder Magda realised she was once again waiting for a small hand to creep into hers. She sighed and put it from her mind, those days were gone, best to face it. Wasn’t it enough to be able to know that Tilda was alive and well and to walk through this city with her?

Magda stopped in the street. “Tilly. Wait a minute.” Tilda looked back at her curiously.

“Did you know I tried to find you? Not then. After.” Tilda looked confused. She wasn’t explaining it right, Magda remembered this scenario well. She had never been the one who was good with words.

“I wanted to apologise.” She broke into a wry smile. “It’s part of the programme. Step Nine: Make Amends. Though I still don’t know what I would have said. There aren’t really any words…“ Her voice tailed off again.

“You found me now.”

Tilda said it so calmly but as she stood there on that wet street Magda knew at last that for all her companion might be quiet and occasionally awkward she was Tilly again and the relief of it broke over her like a tidal wave. The old Tilda, who had been thought lost in the fire, had somehow survived and more than that, had gone on to grow and blossom. Her Tilda, who was sure of what she knew and unafraid to speak it aloud. Who was smart and intelligent and could explain anything given enough of a run up and some dust to write in. She was...

“...Those words will do to start with.”

Magda abruptly realised she’d missed an important part of the conversation.

“I said: an apology will do to start with” Tilda repeated, and Magda’s heart rejoiced to see the return of the emphatic eyebrows. “I hereby officially accept yours.” A small smile crept onto her face for a moment before slipping away as she shivered in the chill. “I should go. I have a busy day tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.”

She held out her hand, boundaries obvious. Magda took it gently and held it in both of hers like the precious thing it was.

“Don’t disappear on me again, ok?” It slipped out before she could swallow back the pleading words.

But Tilda didn’t react, merely smiling and smoothly disengaging her hand. “You make good coffee, I’m sure I’ll pop in sometime.”

And then she was gone.

~X~

^[1] Lying in the middle of the second summer (due to the intrinsic difficulties of a flat world the disc has eight seasons instead of the more customary four), Alls Fallow is the switch side of our Halloween, when witches stay abed and enjoy a night snuggled up under the covers rather than having to be out-and-about freezing certain appendages off. In Earth terms, Tilda came down to Ankh Morpork at the end of the summer, toward the early autumn.