In the time since their “reconciliation”, the two individuals making up Wynne Fhey had discovered quite a bit. How to speak to each other. How to call each other up when they sank to the depths of their subconscious. How one or the other of them could take charge of their body, and how to smoothly hand off control. A new philosophy for Wynne, which she’d been diligently putting into practice, and a name for Pitch, which she couldn’t stop saying for a full week after she found it.
All these discoveries they shared, not just because of their inherent closeness, but because their memory was one of the parts of them that hadn’t fully splintered in two that day in the snow. Whatever one of them lived, the other could pull up and review with only a bit of effort, like pushing through a sheet of paper.
Which is all to say that when Wynne awoke from a period of dormancy, cast her mind back over the past several hours, and found herself meeting active resistance, she immediately suspected Pitch was up to something.
“Mrgh. Pitch. What’s going on with–”
“Ahaha, heeey there!” Pitch sat up from her workbench and hurriedly fixed their body’s eyes on an empty patch of wall. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you back for a bell or so. Is… everything good? How are you?”
“Curious why you’re blocking me out of everything that happened since I drifted off this morning,” said Wynne.
“Oh, thaaat. Right. It’s not important. Don’t worry about it.” Wynne felt Pitch flatten their ears against their head and shuffle their feet awkwardly, presenting a magnificently half-baked show of sincerity to the empty workshop in the back of the Rising Stones.
“I think I can decide for myself if it’s important or not. And clearly it’s important enough for you to have figured out how to do this. I’m kind of impressed, actually.”
“You–” That caught Pitch off-guard enough for her to perk their ears again. “Look, really, just– go back to sleep, okay? You’ve been working hard lately. I think you need a bit more rest.”
“You know I can’t just do that whenever I want. And I’m feeling plenty energetic, thank you. What have you been doing?”
“Just… maintenance stuff, you know! Keeping our sword oiled and all. Figured I’d save you the trouble.” Her gaze involuntarily flicked over to their greatsword, still laying untouched exactly where it had been that morning.
“Pitch.”
“Hey, really, can we just drop this please? It’s really not important–”
Wynne pushed a little harder on the wall separating their memories. With some effort, she could pick up faint snatches, and from there a web of context began to unfurl; Pitch had come to this room earlier after accomplishing something, with a plan to do something, feeling overwhelmingly pleased with herself, carrying an armful of–
“STOP.”
Wynne flinched hard enough that their body staggered back a pace. She hadn’t heard that kind of steely anger in Pitch’s voice since… the day they’d met properly.
“I’m trying to be diplomatic about this,” Pitch continued, “but if you’re just going to barge in and–” She stopped and took a breath. “Look, I know you’re curious. Worried, too, probably. I know I don’t exactly have the best track record with being, you know, ‘in charge’. But I…” She shook her head. “If we’re going to be together long-term, not just as Wynne Fhey but as us, I– I need some accomodations in here, alright?” She paused again, taking a much deeper breath.
“I need to be able to keep secrets from you. And I need you to trust me enough that it’s not a problem when I do that.”
Wynne took a moment to respond, feeling their tail swish in agitation. “…Why?”
Pitch immediately continued, “Because I just spent the worst winter of our life thinking I was you and I’m still desperately trying to figure out who I am, and I can’t do that if you’re watching over my shoulder constantly and injecting your thoughts into everything I do!”
The two of them realized Pitch had started shouting aloud. She leaned against the workbench and took a moment to get their breathing back under control.
“Please. I understand your concern. But please just let me keep my silence. On this and whatever other petty bullshit I need to.”
Wynne sat there for a moment. “This…secret project of yours… There’s no risk it’ll hurt us, right?”
“No, of course it’s not going to hurt us. Or anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Pitch glanced at the floor. “Not again.”
“Then I suppose I don’t need to know.” Wynne felt control of their body shift back to her, but made no effort to look away from the floor. “…I’m sorry.”
“Ah, whatever,” said Pitch. “There were always gonna be growing pains. Don’t worry about it.” Another pause. “…Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a bit longer.
“…Aargh, but now I’m really curious!” said Wynne.
“If all goes well, I’ll tell you in a week or so,” said Pitch.
“A week!? The anticipation’s gonna kill me! How am I supposed to focus?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find something to distract you. Like our job.”
The cramped workshop filled with laughter, and Tataru decided not to check in on them after all.
