I wrote this after reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead; falling in love with both the fast-paced, exploratory dialogue with its multiple meanings, and the unique relationship between the loving-searching Ros and the pragmatic-philosophical Guil. I've sought to echo both those impressions in this drabble – I hope it's true enough to the play's spirit. Set during the time on the ship, late evening. Very mild slash.

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Ros: They can't tell us apart, can they?

Guil: Can't or won't -

Ros: As they're all wont to do.

Guil: Rosencrantz or Guildenstern?

Ros: (offering) Or Guil or Ros-

Guil: How many guilders for a rose?

Ros: One for one.

Guil: One for one's worth.

Ros: But which is worth more?

Guil: A guild could be a rose by another name.

Ros: So poetry says.

Guil: So the distinguished say.

Ros: And we can't be distinguished.

Guil: By that thought, we're not the same.

Ros: (on verge of fear) We're then alone?

Guil: (grave) Alone if sane.

Ros: (plaintive) I don't want to be-

Guil: Alone is changed.

Ros: But nothing changed.

Guil: And we're not the same.

Ros: (last, desperate) Then where are we?

Guil: (carefully, folds Ros into his arms)

Not alone.