You Can't

The teacup had a floral pattern, and the carpet was pink.

Seeing the carpet at all was a relatively foreign experience for Rita. Her own home was always such a mess, with books and scrolls everywhere. Surrounded by words, she knew them all. They were a comforting presence that she could both control and loose herself in.

She had the pattern on the carpet memorised.

They were different. Just look at their rooms. Rita's was untidy and cluttered but full of purpose. It was her safe haven when she grew tired of the bleating intellectuals she worked with. Estelle's was the room of a person who's days were full of nothing to do. It was impossibly neat, and sometimes Rita would imagine Estelle before they all met, walking around the room with her typical gentle tread, cleaning and dusting and putting things away, with not a soul to talk to.

And when she thought about that, she usually sent Estelle another book.

She was a genius researcher. Despite the fondest wishes of a hundred petty colleagues she had adapted to the new spirit-based magic. In fact, she'd actually broadened her horizons. Her personal flying machine and the chemicals powering it were just two of her latest inventions.

That just made it all the worse. She should have a solution. Hell, she should be smart enough to know that this was hopeless.

Looked up from her tea. Estelle was reading a letter, she recognised Raven's scruffy handwriting.

"What's that old pervert up to these days?"

The healer giggled. Rita felt her heart fluttering in time with the sound.

"He's working in that café in Danghrest."

"Huh, trying to pick up more girls."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just trying to help them out."

"I'll bet he is."

Estelle laughed again, trying to cover it with a gloved hand. Rita smiled back before draining the rest of her tea and setting the cup down on the ornate little tray.

"Oh! Let me get that."

The researcher watched as she gathered up the saucers and delicately brushed the crumbs into a napkin. She then pulled one of the cords near the door and within a few seconds a knock announced the arrival of a plain but cheerful maid. Rita listened as she gently insisted on helping her with the loaded tray and asked her brightly about her brother's school work, and how was her cat's pregnancy coming along? She'd be happy to come and take a look at her again, and did she want to borrow any more books? -oh! Rita sent a wonderful book about cats a few months ago, where did I put it...?

Sincerity in every word. Estelle cared about people so much, it just made it harder. Surrounded by everything she could ever want, she'd happily give it all to help a friend. Or even a total stranger. Hadn't she exhausted herself healing Rita in Heliord? Hadn't she offered Phaeroh her life if it would save the world?

When she'd worked on her blastia Rita had refined techniques and mechanisms that made people's lives better. When she'd fought Duke she'd risked her life for the world. But it wasn't the same thing, because she could never care about people the way Estelle did. She wasn't sure if that was a curse or a blessing.

As the two women chatted about life and cats, Rita pulled her scarf through her fingers. It wasn't that Estelle didn't feel anything for her, it was that she felt for everyone. But Rita only felt for her.

She liked the others. They were her friends, even Raven. She wrote letters when she knew where they were and they had regular contact. Judith in particular stopped by often. The Krytian had a calm presence that was hard to dislike, but although the conversation ambled congenially enough about anything really, it was always shadowed by the knowledge.

Judy knew, and Rita knew that Judy knew. And they talked about their adventures and about magic and the future and the latest lame line Raven had tried, and left it shadowing them, until Rita felt like burning the whole planet to a ball of ash, and Judy would say something inane and polite and leave quietly.

She wanted to tell her, but a part of her still hoped that the noose around her neck would go away if only she ignored it hard enough.

"Are you feeling alright? You're very quiet."

She looked up into blue-green eyes filled with friendly concern.

Friendly and nothing more.

She didn't have to fake a smile, not to those eyes. It was genuine, the bouquet at the graveside.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot of research to think about."

"Oh, don't let me keep you if you have work-"

"No! No, it's not important, not very. I was just kinda distracted, you know how I am about my research."

Estelle sat back down at the small table. Rita could feel the girl examining her. She resumed her study of the carpet.

"I'm fine, really."

"You don't look well."

It was getting worse. When it first started it had been bright and colourful, simple and nice. Now it was always there, weighing her down with every step. She buried herself in her books and her research, and they helped her ignore it. But it never went away. She should just leave- no, that was childish. She should just tell her. Estelle wouldn't be cruel. She could picture her face, her eyebrows raising and her mouth falling open. Or her brow furrowing, pragmatic concern.

Sometimes she saw a smile, and hated herself.

Estelle wouldn't be cruel. Intentionally.

She forced herself to sit straighter and lean into the conversation.

"Don't worry about me. I've just had too many long nights. Hey, did anyone else write to you?"

"No, but some travellers brought a message from Yuri. He's still travelling, they said he caught a boat at Nor Harbour and..."

Under the table, Rita tugged harder on the scarf. God, Yuri. She hated that he wasn't enough of a jerk for her to hate him. She hated that Estelle talked about him so much. She hated that she couldn't tell if there was anything to it.

When she heard he was somewhere dangerous and fretted, was that the friend, the healer, or someone more... involved? Was she imagining that sparkle in her eyes, that sudden warmth in her voice?

Did she ever talk about Rita like that?

Yuri was her friend and Estelle was... also her friend. She wanted them to be happy, just... not together.

And that was why she hated herself. What would make her happy? If Rita had to live and die without the one she wanted, would she be happier knowing that Estelle was just as miserable?

No.

Yes.

She'd said something, something vague about Karol in an attempt to move the conversation somewhere less painful. Estelle might have replied, but she was quiet now, staring through the table into her own thoughts.

She wouldn't have to say anything. She could just reach over and take her hand. Just stretch out her fingers and touch, and she'd know and the world would shatter around them, and Estelle would say something understanding and Rita would put on a brave face and nod back, and one day they'd be talking about something pointless and it would come up, and they'd laugh at the ridiculous ideas you have when you're a child. She could see it.

She could see the older Estelle laughing, with her gloved hand over her mouth. And by her side, she could see the older Rita laughing as well.

Laughing, and looking at the princess with eyes that could never hate, but could never really forgive.

"Estelle."

The other girl looked up, caught her eye, and saw something that made her blink.

"Rita?"

"Estelle."

If she could just

"I."

She just had to

"Yes...?"

"I... have to go. Home. I have to go home now."

"Why?"

"It's getting late, I have to go."

Stood up and walked to the door. Leave. Later she might get a concerned letter and she'd feel so stupid, but right now that was far away.

A hand grabbed her arm.

"Rita, you're crying."

Face to face now, it was also so inescapable. Her destiny had narrowed to a single, wretched path. There was no other way forward, and it was too late to go back.

"I know. Please don't ask why."

"I can't let you leave like this."

"...please..."

How long did they stand there like actors who'd forgotten their lines? Estelle still hadn't let go of her arm. The tears had dried and left rough trails on her skin before one of them spoke again.

"Rita, talk to me. I'm your friend, I have to help you."

"You can't."

"I don't believe you."

She forgot herself and turned to look at her. It was so unlike Estelle to say something even as confrontational as that. Her face was set. Without any warning, Rita suddenly knew what it took to stand in front of a fiery monster and say that you were willing to die.

"Tell me what's wrong."

If there was only one path left...

"...okay. Can we sit down?"

Estelle released her arm slowly, followed her to the table. They sat opposite each other. Rita felt her thoughts moving as if stunned by a bright light; slow, bumping into each other. She could feel the space between them, waiting for words to fall. She couldn't think of any.

She looked up into the young woman's face, and braced herself.

Reaching across the space, she took her hand.

The End

(Author's Notes: never written romance before, so feedback would be massively appreciated)