(A/N)- Idea came from a Walking Dead fic I was reading, character mentioned snakes being in the woods and as Imogen spends most of her time running along in the forest, I whipped up this little scenario. Hope it's believable! :)

Also remember that this contains implied femslash and outright addressed femslash sooo if that sort of thing disgusts you, turn back now and don't leave a nasty review, or I'll cast my imps out into the night to plant bug eggs in your ears as you sleep soundly upon your pillow. Don't say I didn't warn you.

- These Wounds Run Deep -

"I shouldn't have worn my lace-ups," Imogen muttered irritably as she tied her skin-tight shirt tighter around her middle, applying pressure to the wound at the middle of her back. Her yellow t-shirt was already soaked with blood, as were her hands, and the sight of it caused a chill to run through her.

They had a sick bay at Cackle's, but the nurse was often off-duty as the only injuries that usually occurred were minor and could easily be taken care of by ... ugh.

Constance Hardbroom.

She headed back in a slow jog, trying to ignore the pain that shot throughout her body as she went.

Luckily it was fairly early in the morning. The girls would still have a few hours before they had to get up for breakfast. She didn't want any of her students to see her like this, nor any of the teachers ... not even her.

She knew there was a first-aid kit in the stationary cupboard in the staffroom. Imogen knew a thing or two about taking care of injuries, perhaps she could patch herself up and no one would notice ... that is if Davina Bat hadn't decided to spend the night in the cupboard.

She wished that now, more than ever, she owned a car.

Keeping a slow and steady jog, she was able to ignore the pain, but now that she was coming to a halt upon entering the building, the severity of the injury seemed to hit her full force, and she let out a strangled cry, grasping her middle desperately as she leaned against the large oak doors.

She took generous gulps of air as drops of sweat started to form on her forehead, and her worst fears came into mind.

That bloody snake had been poisonous.

With an angry growl, she shoved open the castle doors and strode down the hall and up the short steps into the open staffroom, where the last person she wanted to see sat at the table, drinking her morning tea.

"Good morning, Miss Drill," she greeted automatically, her scrutinizing gaze falling to her middle. She didn't appear to notice the blood, for she could only remark on how inappropriately dressed the younger woman was.

"Those shirts of yours just get smaller and smaller, don't they?" she said, voice laced with disgust.

Imogen scowled at her but said nothing as she strode over to the cupboard, her back to her as she rifled through the supplies.

"Imogen, what on earth?" Constance exclaimed, getting to her feet. Imogen turned to find her standing before her, her eyes wide and fearful as she froze, pulling away her hand which she had just reached out to touch the knot that suppressed the non-witch's wound.

"I got bit by a snake," she explained dismissively, and turned back to rummage through the bandages, her hands shaking as she tried to discreetly look for any anti-venom they might have.

"What, are they projectile now?" the witch spat, confused.

"I was tying my shoe and it bit me, okay?" she answered in a huff. She felt the witch's cool fingers gently curl under the ends of her shirt, and she whipped around, ignoring the ache it caused her when the witch's knuckles collided lightly with the knot.

"Pardon me!" she snapped, "Can you please just mind your own business?"

"Just let me look at it," the brunette replied gently, "You shouldn't be losing as much blood as you are. It might've been venomous. Do you remember what the snake looked like?"

"Of course not, sorry if my only concern was getting out of the area as quickly as possible," she muttered irritably.

Constance rolled her eyes, and took the smaller woman by the shoulders, easily turning her round to get a better look.

She felt her slender fingers gently probing the area, lifting up the shirt a bit to get a better look at the punctures in her tanned skin. Imogen forgot all about the pain almost instantly, the sensation of the witch's fingers proving to be too damn much for her. She longed to feel them upon her face, gently exploring her skin as she leaned in for a kiss on her soft burgundy lips ... She inwardly cursed herself for thinking such thoughts, her hand instinctively flying to the gold charm that hung around her neck, the symbol of hope in her quickly failing relationship.

"You were bitten by an adder." Constance confirmed, and Imogen paled, "I'll have to see to it immediately."

The potions mistress had struggled to keep her voice even, but her breathing became shallow, and Imogen turned to meet her worried eyes.

The witch took hold of her hand, and immediately Imogen wanted to shrug it off. Constance seemed to foresee this, for her grip quickly tightened.

In a flash of magick that only helped to fog her senses further, they appeared in the store room of the potions lab.

Imogen watched, half-dazed as the witch rushed about the room, snatching up supplies and glass bottles. The sight of her moving so quickly made her dizzy, and she struggled to sit upon a nearby stool. Constance noticed, and quickly placed the items on the countertop before snatching up the dustbin and handing it to her.

"Just in case," she said, her eyes flickering to meet hers before she rushed over to the sink.

Imogen wrapped her arms around the dustbin, willing her body to expel the toxins but it would not come. The witch quickly returned to her side, lifting up her shirt even more without her consent.

She dropped the waste basket to the floor in surprise, spilling it's few contents.

"Imogen ..." she said in a reprimanding tone as she pressed a cold damp cloth to her warm skin, cleaning up the excess blood and causing the younger woman to gasp lightly.

Constance sighed in exasperation, "If you'd stop with the sound effects and -" Imogen flinched away as her fingers accidentally brushed against her lower back. She twisted around to try and get a better look at her injury, her green eyes unintentionally locking with the witch's.

"And if you'd stop jumping away whenever I touch you -" she retorted, getting to her full height, refraining from putting her hands on her hips on account of the damp towel in her hand, "- this will be done before you know it."

Imogen relented, realizing that her behavior was quite possibly a bit over the top, and she released the breath she was holding, relaxing her body and nodding shortly in agreement.

The witch dressed her wounds quickly and quietly, and Imogen, ashamed that the wound was located in a space she could not reach to mend herself, could only sit there in embarrassment, her face heating whenever she felt the slightest brush of the other woman's hands.

"I've warned you about snakes in those woods," Constance muttered in slight annoyance, "but you never listen to me."

Imogen smiled lightly as she recalled her last encounter with a snake, "Maybe he came back for revenge."

"Pardon?"

"Don't you remember?" Imogen asked in surprise, "That time we crossed paths in the woods and a snake was by my shoe ... you flung it into the bushes with magick, and ..."

Imogen blushed as she remembered what happened next, how overcome with emotions she was ... and Constance didn't stop her when she threw herself at the witch, pressing her lips to hers, pulling her hips to hers as if she were possessed. Constance didn't stop her when she pressed her up against a nearby tree, unbuttoning the the collar of her dress to kiss her slender neck ...

Constance didn't stop her.

She wished she had. If nothing had ever happened between them, she supposed she wouldn't be having all these problems and doubts in her current relationship ...

Imogen was met with an uncomfortable silence, so mind-numbing that she barely noticed the sting of what she supposed was peroxide or something similar.

"Of course you don't remember," Imogen answered for her quietly, "because that never happened, did it?"

"Almost finished," Constance murmured, ignoring her as she bandaged her up.

She fumbled with the bandage tape as she tried to get it to stick to her hip, and Imogen seized the moment to take her shaky hand in hers. The simple touch made the non-witch's heart flutter with excitement, and she hated herself immensely for it. It was never going to stop, was it?

Constance froze, staring at the tan hand that was now enclosed around her ghostly pale fingers. Her breathing grew shallow, and her heartbeat quickened, yet she was determined to keep her tone of voice as casual as possible.

"I wasn't always horrible to you, was I?"

Imogen was thrown off by this, and her grip on the witch's hand loosened, causing her to quickly withdraw her hand.

Imogen waited until Constance gathered the courage to meet her eyes before she gave her answer.

"No," she replied softly, "Not always." She then added with a light snort, "Not now, obviously."

Constance nodded, a faint smile crossing her lips but she still did not feel assured by this response.

"Not then, either, when ... it did happen, you know. There's no use denying it."

Constance squeezed her eyes shut and looked away, disappearing behind her back to gather up her supplies.

Imogen turned, watching her as she busied herself, her shaking hands snatching up the bottle caps and twisting them on tightly. Two in each hand, she returned them to the cabinet from whence they came, creating a soft breeze in the room as she hurried past the non-witch.

"Constance," Imogen pleaded, almost inaudibly, but she knew she heard her. She heard everything.

The witch's keys jingled noisily at her side as she returned to snatch up the bandages. Daringly, Imogen shot out her hand and caught her in the crook of her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

She expected to be met with an almighty stare as usual, but instead her brown eyes were downcast, looking shamefully to the floor.

"Constance, look at me."

She reluctantly looked up, her brown eyes glassed over as she stared back in a mixture of fear and longing. Tentatively, Imogen reached her hand up and rested her palm against her cheek. With a quiet sigh, the witch leant into the touch, closing her eyes briefly to savor the moment.

Imogen moved closer so that their hips touched, and at the close contact the witch's eyes shot open, flickering nervously as she looked back into her green eyes.

And then ... she pulled away just as the non-witch went to kiss her.

Imogen didn't bother to hide the hurt in her eyes. She wanted to be allowed to touch her. She knew Constance wanted the same, she wanted Imogen as much as Imogen wanted her. But even before Serge, there was always something in the way, something holding the witch back ...

The witch's penetrating gaze fell to the tin gold necklace resting in the middle of the younger woman's collar bone, and a sense of guilt swept throughout the sports mistress.

It was her turn to freeze up as the witch was suddenly cradling the small heart locket in the palm of her hand, her fingertips unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally?) brushing against her skin, sending goosebumps up her spine.

Constance forced a small smile as she mused aloud, "He's a lucky man."

Imogen couldn't help the tears that threatened to form at those words. She wanted to reach out to the other woman, to take her hand in hers again and tell her everything. She was tired of leaving everyone in the dark, making them think she was in a great relationship, boasting in front of Constance and the others about her cross-country trips with the man, ignoring the hurtful gaze that the witch would cast at her ...

She had been so cruel to someone who cared about her, regardless of whom she was with, even though she should've been with the witch from the very start ...

"Take a day off," Constance urged gently, "You look like you need it."

Imogen choked back the urge to laugh; far too often she had told Constance to do the very same.

"What about my classes?"

"I'll explain to Miss Cackle," she dismissed, "Your injury is bound to cause you some fatigue, and we don't need you passing out in front of the girls ..."

Imogen nodded, gluing her eyes to the floor. A light platonic kiss on her brow broke her out of her thoughts, and she looked up questioningly, wondering what it meant but Constance remained expressionless.

"I have to wake the girls," she excused, exiting the room, "I'll check in on you later."

Imogen stood alone in the stock room, fingers gently reaching to her bandaged injury. Still sore, but much better than she had been before, anyways ... a soft buzz emanated from her shorts pocket, and she withdrew her phone, a scowl crossing her features as she read the caller ID.

She hung up, and texted him instead.

"You already said it was over, so it's over. Goodbye."

She flipped her phone shut and slipped it into her pocket, taking a deep breath as she gazed out the window in the morning sunlight.

She'd already argued with Serge earlier that morning, which had caused her to not tie her shoes up properly. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have gotten bitten by that snake ... and she wouldn't have had a moment alone with Miss Hardbroom ...

"Thank you," she added in a new text.

Sometimes, terrible things happen for a reason ...

(A/N)- Ended cheesy, I know. Reviews?