A/N: Yes, well...*peers cautiously around for indignant professors* Considering I should be working on research papers, this is only a one-shot, despite my desire to write a lot more conversations between these two characters. Maybe some other time. And really, it's far to easy to poke holes in the story Martin gives Gonff in the beginning of Mossflower, even pretending I don't know what really happened. I can't imagine Gonff wouldn't have noticed, since he's the one the story was given directly to, and so this fic was born.

And also considering this was a rush job, concrit is welcomed.

"Gonff, are you okay?"

Startled out of his exhaustion induced haze, Gonff jumped, spinning to see Columbine's concerned face behind him. Dragging a smile up, he managed a laugh that didn't sound quite as forced as he had expected it to.

"Oh, just tired from trying to spot Bella bringing the Abbess back, you know? It's hard work this late at night!"

Columbine crossed her arms across her chest, and fixed him with a firm look. "You're as bad as Timballisto, you know that?"

Gonff blinked at her. "What?"

Columbine huffed and rolled her eyes. "He hasn't left Martin's side for hours. I practically had to force him to eat some soup. You've been out here nearly as long. I don't think you've even seen Martin since the Abbess finished tending to him."

Gonff glanced away, not wanting Columbine to see his conflicted expression. "Timballisto's got every right to sit with Martin. And somebeast had to keep a watch."

"Oh, Gonff," Columbine sighed. "You have just as much right to sit with your friend as Timballisto does."

Gonff felt his mouth twitch into a wry grin. That wasn't the problem. "I know. It's just…I just can't. Not right now."

Columbine blinked and shook her head in fond exasperation. "He's not out of danger by any means, but he's no longer at death's door. Please, Gonff, at least look in on him before you go to sleep." A gentle paw landed on his shoulder and Gonff looked into compassionate blue eyes. "I don't want you to have nightmares because your last image of your best friend was of him trying to get into the Dark Forest."

Feeling a surge of welcome relief and warm gratitude, Gonff covered her paw briefly with his own. "I will, Columbine. On my word as a Prince of Mousethieves."

"Good." Columbine smiled at him, and then went back to the impromptu lean-to Trubbs and his fellow hares had set up around Martin's sickbed, leaving once more shortly after entering it.

Gonff watched her go, and heaved a sigh. He really should just suck it up and go see his friend.

Timballisto sighed as he eased to a new position on his chair. Seasons worth of brutal treatment at the paws of Ripred and his crew had left its mark on him. Gazing down at his badly wounded friend, he shook his head as a bitter smile curved his mouth.

"I don't know if I should be grateful or not you never had to deal with Ripred, Martin," he said softly, mindful of the Abbess slumbering fitfully on another bed near her patient. Columbine had left, returned to admonish him to get some rest tonight, and gone again. "But is this any better? Didn't you suffer just as much on your own?"

Martin didn't answer, frightfully still on his sickbed. Timballisto shook his head slowly, head dropping into his paws, memory replaying a frustrating conversation in his mind.

They were nearly back in Mossflower Wood. The next dawn should see them within the boundaries of the woodlands, and Timballisto knew he needed to confront Martin before that happened. Fortunately, his younger friend was alone at the moment, standing by the forward rail, gazing out at the stars in the growing twilight. Timballisto joined him and wondered briefly where Gonff and Dinny had gone to. It was odd not to see them with Martin. But it was better to have this conversation in private. Taking a deep breath, he stared resolutely at the rising stars instead of at Martin, who had turned to welcome him with a smile.

"Martin, what happened to you? To Windred?"

Martin froze and the smile dropped from his face. He turned away. Timballisto drew another deep breath and turned to the younger mouse. "Please, I need to know what happened to you. Right now, I only have my speculations and I need to know what actually happened."

"It won't change anything, Timbal," Martin murmured, the old nickname slipping easily from his mouth. Timballisto fought down a wave of nostalgia. It had been so long since someone had called him that.

"No, but I still need to know. It was my responsibility and I failed." With a start, Timballisto realized Martin had started to shake. Concerned, he placed a paw on the young mouse's shoulder. The warrior glanced up at him, head shaking, tears standing in his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.

"Timbal…I…I'm sorry. I can't."

Timballisto blinked in confusion. "You can't tell me? Why can't you?" He leaned forward, intent. "You were barely three seasons out of infancy, Martin. Leaving the caves on your own was your fault, but nothing else."

Martin's smile was bitter. "How was it not? My leaving alone was what prompted Grandma to come looking for me. That's what started it all. That's why we were captured."

Timballisto shifted to grip both of the younger mouse's shoulders, feeling his vague hope of being proven wrong in his suppositions vanish. "Martin, what happened? Please, you can tell me."

Martin shook his head. "I survived. No one else did. What else matters?" His watering eyes sought out Timballisto's desperately. "Please, Timbal, I promised. I can't. They're counting on me. They…they'd be in danger. I-I can't. I just can't, Timbal."

Timballisto let go and leaned back on the rail again. Did it really matter? Or was it just his own need to know just how much suffering had befallen the tribe because of his inability to lead them effectively? To his right, Martin was quiet, but his silence was as determined as his temper tantrums had once been. Timballisto knew the answer wouldn't change.

Looking up with a wry smile, Timballisto spoke. "You've only gotten more stubborn over the seasons, Martin." He sighed, and gave a small nod to his friend. "I won't ask anymore, but..." The elder mouse fixed the last of his tribe with a stern look. "Have you told anyone? This is obviously tearing you up."

Martin's slight shake of the head made Timballisto fervently wish Windred had survived whatever the duo had gone through. She had always seemed to get through Martin's stubborn exterior better than he could.

"Martin…"

"I. Can't."

"I know. Just…you can talk to me if you ever feel you have to. I wouldn't tell anyone else." He quirked a smile at Martin's blinking expression. "Tell me what you've told the woodlanders, at least? I don't want to contradict your background story anymore than I might already have."

Martin's smile was grim. "Thanks."

And what good had it been? Martin's background and what he had and hadn't told the woodlanders wouldn't matter if he died tonight. Timballisto could feel the tears starting again and blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

"I'm so sorry…I'm sorry, Luke," he whispered, shaking. "You entrusted me with the tribe and I failed. They're all dead…I couldn't save them." His shaking was only getting worse. "I don't even know what happened to Martin after that day. I failed. They all died."

"Hey, Martin's not dead yet, and none of us are going to let it happen if we can help it."

Timballisto's head shot up, and he nearly overbalanced on his chair. Gonff's quick grab at his shoulder was the only reason he didn't crash to the floor. "Gonff! I-I didn't hear you come in…"

Gonff smiled tightly at him. "I figured as much. You were pretty wrapped up in your own thoughts."

Timballisto managed a strained smile in return, wondering just how much of his thoughts Gonff had overheard. He was the most likely one of the woodlanders to have spotted the holes in Martin's background.

Gonff's voice drew him back from his thoughts. "So…what happened, Timballisto?"

"What?"

Gonff's mouth twisted into something that might have been called a grin if he hadn't been so serious. "You were an oar slave on Ripred's ship long enough for every other member of your tribe that wasn't killed in the initial attack to die of malnutrition and exposure. You probably weren't far behind them, when we liberated you." Gonff's head jerked in Martin's direction. "I'm not stupid. Where was Martin? He wouldn't have stood by while his family and friends were enslaved."

"I…" Well, that didn't take him long, did it? he thought with a bit of panic. How was he supposed to answer that?

While he thought, Gonff snagged another chair and dragged it over quietly. Straddling the back of it, he continued to speak quietly.

"Did you think no one would notice the discrepancies?" The quiet snort was only just loud enough to reach Timballisto's ears. "I didn't figure he'd told me everything about his past when I first met him. I didn't expect him to. We'd only just met, and his only experience with any creature in Mossflower that far had been with Verdauga and then Tsarmina snapping his father's sword. I had expected the truth out of him though, even if he only told me a part of it."

"Gonff, he didn't…exactly lie to you." Timballisto would have to tell him something, that was evident.

Gonff waved a paw vaguely in the air. "That's not why I'm frustrated…I'm…just…" The other mouse's head shook, as if attempting to rattle his thoughts free of his brain. "I was mad at him, a bit, when I figured it out, but…he's my friend. He's put everything he has into saving Mossflower. And I'm worried about him now." A wave of the paw took in Martin's current condition. "I just want to understand why he felt he couldn't trust us."

Timballisto studied Gonff's earnest features for a few moments before he nodded. "It's not you he doesn't trust. He doesn't trust himself."

"Oh?" Gonff blinked. He obviously hadn't expected Timballisto to give in so quickly.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't let him know I've told you this, alright?" Timballisto wasn't looking at Gonff as he spoke, but the Prince of Mousethieves nodded anyway. "You're right that Martin wasn't there when our tribe was attacked. He'd been missing for…maybe four seasons by that point." Timballisto reached out a hand and smoothed the fur at Martin's forehead. "However, he did tell you the truth about the circumstances surrounding his father's departure. Just not all of them."

Gonff blinked, confused. "More than just fighting off the sea rats to get a peaceful place to live?" Timballisto nodded.

"Yes. And it's not my place to tell you. It's Luke's story, and Martin's, if he ever feels able to speak of it. Well," Timballisto blinked. "I suppose it's solely Martin's story now. Luke and the other warriors hadn't returned by the time Ripred attacked. I can only assume…well." Timballisto shook his head. "Luke gave Martin the sword before he left. That's true as well. Luke left me in charge of the tribe." The freed oar slave smiled at Gonff with bitter irony. "Martin was barely a season out of infancy when Luke left. He was far from ready to lead a tribe. And he understood that, for a few seasons. But as he got older, he got more and more stubborn about following in his father's footsteps."

"He tried to take the leadership from you?" Gonff asked, skeptical. Timballisto laughed quietly.

"No. But he did insist on doing nearly everything for himself, and on taking responsibilities that he wasn't technically old enough for yet." Timballisto's smile faded. "He'd often take the sword and wander up or down the coast, searching for driftwood for our fires. He broke rules doing that." Gonff watched as the other mouse looked back down at Martin once again. "The northland coast is a dangerous place. No one was supposed to leave the caves on their own." A bitter smile crossed his face. "I don't suppose I was helping much. But I was trying to keep our tribe from starving, trying to teach Martin about responsibility and leadership without giving away I was trying to prepare him for leading the tribe one day and quietly becoming more and more certain that Martin had become an orphan by the season."

Gonff let his quick brain connect the pieces he had been given and felt some of his frustration at Martin evaporate. "Something happened on one of his trips out for driftwood, didn't it?"

"I don't know what it was. He'd left that morning before anyone was up. His grandmother must have left not long after. I only knew something was wrong when old Twoola came to me, wanting to know if I had seen Martin or Windred yet, since they hadn't joined him for breakfast like they usually did. If it hadn't been for him, we might have gone most of the day without knowing something was wrong." Timballisto's paws clenched into fists on his lap. "We were too late, anyway. Some of the elders and I followed their tracks. Martin had gotten nearly half a day's journey from the caves before Windred caught up to him. But so had a large company of vermin. Weasels, foxes, rats, at least one stoat."

Gonff felt his stomach clench. There was no good way for that scenario to end. "You never found them."

Timballisto nodded morosely in agreement. "We tried. But they were too far ahead of us, and even if we had, it's likely we only would have joined Martin and Windred in whatever fate had befallen them." He sighed gustily. "I did ask, you know, what happened."

"And?" Gonff prompted.

Timballisto shook his head. "He won't tell me. I don't know how he escaped those vermin, or what happened while he was a captive. I only know two things for certain: That time wounded him deeply, and at some point, Windred died." Serious gray eyes sought out Gonff's own. "Whatever happened, Martin made a promise to someone, maybe several creatures, to never speak of it. He seems to believe if he does, he'll bring danger down on their heads."

Gonff felt a sad smile curve his lips. "And Martin will never allow that."

"No," Timballisto shook his head, his own smile hovering. "I could only get him to say he'd survived. And that he couldn't tell me." He sighed. "Please, Gonff, don't be mad at him."

Gonff sat for a long moment in silence before he spoke. "I'm not mad. I still wish he would have told me himself, but I think I know him well enough to see why he didn't." The Prince of Mousethieves glanced sidelong at the other mouse and spoke nonchalantly. "You know, the only other person that would have enough information to pick apart his story is Dinny, and he's too polite to say anything without talking to Martin first."

Timballisto smiled gratefully at Gonff. "That's good to know. I don't need anyone else giving me a heart attack right now."

Gonff grinned back at him. "I hope I didn't actually startle you that much. Columbine wouldn't speak to me for a season if I did. She's been worried about you, you know."

Timballisto blinked. "She has?"

"Apparently," Gonff started, waving a paw carelessly through the air, "she had to force you to eat and you haven't gotten any rest at all, since before the battle began, practically."

Thinking back over the past several hours, Timballisto winced. "I…don't think she's far wrong."

"Yeah, well," Gonff glanced at Martin and shook his head. "Doesn't seem as important right now, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

They sat in companionable silence for several long moments. They might have sat there the rest of the night if they hadn't been interrupted.

"You two!" a hissed, furious whisper intruded from behind the pair. Both Gonff and Timballisto jumped to see a furious looking Columbine standing behind them with her paws braced on her hips. "Have either of you gotten any sleep? It's almost dawn!"

"Erm…uh, now Columbine, my dear," Gonff began, before quailing before her snapping blue eyes. "No, ma'am. We haven't slept," he said meekly.

"Out!" she hissed at them both. "You won't do Martin any good if the both of you drop from exhaustion. The Abbess doesn't need to deal with that on top of Martin's injuries." One furious paw stabbed in the direction of the door. "Get. Going. If I see either of you back here before you've gotten at least four hours of sleep, I'm going to drug your tea. And you won't wake up for at least eight hours. Understood?"

Timidly slinking past her, both mice hurriedly and quietly voiced their agreement. Once outside, safe from the wrath of indignant mousemaids, they shared bewildered looks and quietly broke down laughing.

"She's scarier than Tsarmina ever was!" Gonff tittered.

Timballisto snickered with him. "I think I'd rather face Ripred again than Columbine in a bad mood!"

A/N2: Columbine has very few spoken parts in any books and none of them depict her being angry. But Columbine's running on very little sleep, a lot of worry over a friend she values dearly and two very stubborn mice who don't understand that worrying until they drop about Martin will help no one. I think it's very plausible she'd lose her temper under those conditions. Of course, Gonff isn't worrying over Martin so much as he's poking at conversations that happened at the beginning of the whole mess as a way to avoid worrying over Martin, but it amounts to the same thing.

Thoughts, questions, snarky remarks? Share them in a review!

...oh geeze, I'm chanelling my Government teacher. *headdesk*