After Osmosis, Wednesday [24,400 words long, gets NSFW ~15,000 words. Thread marked at change]

[brambless]

[ooc: Continued from here]

Tara is silent most of the way home, but she never lets go of Shane's hand, and she alternates between staring at Shane in amazement and closing her eyes, sight adding another sensation to process and overwhelming her completely.

For her part, Shane is the one to guide the both of them back to their apartment from the cafe. Pausing at cross-walks, she'll look over at Tara and find her with her eyes closed and there are so many things she wants to ask, so many questions trying to fight their way up into her throat to be spoken. She swallows each and every one down, along with the concern that only deepens the further they walk and the longer Tara remains silent.

At one point Tara stops Shane, cupping her face with a tender hand, a sweetly wondering smile shining in mouth and eyes. She leans in kisses Shane gently, and nods, as if it's a question asked and answered, before continuing along their path.

That kiss and Tara's expression should be reassuring, she knows, but Tara still hasn't spoken and Shane struggles against the urge to worry before she has to. She has a feeling that Tara will explain things to her once they're back home, but then she can't help but wonder if that's just her wishful thinking kicking into gear.



Finally reaching their building, Tara starts to reach for the keycard to get past the security, but her hand stills in her bag before it closes on anything. Softly she whispers, "you love me," a smile that can only be described as goofy growing as she speaks.

"Yeah, I -- I do," Shane murmurs, brows knitting together as the bottom quietly drops out of her stomach. She has no idea what exactly she said or did to cause this but Tara is genuinely starting to scare her.

Tara's hand lifts out of her bag, forgetting the keys to stroke Shane's furrowed brow, trying to physically smooth out the creases. "Shane?" she asks softly, finally shaking out of her reverie.

"Are you okay?" She asks before she can stop herself. "I mean, wha -- whatever it was that I did, I'm -- I'm sorry, okay?"

Tara shakes her head, her smile beatific. "Don't be sorry, Shane," she murmurs, leaning forward to brush another soft kiss over her wife's mouth. "I'm better than okay. I don't think my feet are even touching the ground." It feels like such a long speech, as if her throat is utterly unused to words, but it's true. She can't feel the pavement beneath her. All she can feel is the touch of Shane's hand, a solid connection in a world that is radiant but formless.

"Baby, you're scaring me," Shane whispers, her tone pleading though she does everything she can to keep it from sounding that way. She doesn't understand and Tara's not making any sense at all and that's just it - she's broken. Tara's broken again and it's her fault and she doesn't even know how the fuck she did it.

"Shhhh," Tara whispers, brushing her fingers over Shane's mouth to quiet her. "It's okay. What's scared you, love?" She hears the pleading tone in Shane's voice, but doesn't even begin to understand it.

"You -- you're... it doesn't make any sense. You're not making any sense and I don't know what the fuck is going on, Tara," she replies, tears welling in her eyes.

The smile finally fades from Tara's face, leaving a calm, serene expression. Gently, she takes Shane's bag from her shoulder, and rests it by their feet, her own purse falling to join it. She pulls Shane into her arms, holding her tightly, crooning to her. "It's okay," she says again. "Everything's okay, Shane. You love me. I'm wonderful. And we're going to go upstairs, and we're going to talk until you believe me, and then you are going to make love to me, and worship every inch of my body." Her voice is calm, stating a series of facts, no hint of embarrassment or self consciousness about her.

Taking a deep, hitching breath, Shane slips her arms around Tara's waist, burying her face in the crook of her wife's shoulder and hanging on for dear life. Listening to Tara's explanation does very little to help ease her concerns because Tara just doesn't say things like that, or in that way... so openly, without even so much as a hint of shyness in her voice. If she does, it's usually during or after they've made love, when Tara has finally let her guard down enough to speak her mind and even then, she often needed encouragement. Things are changing, she realizes that - but they're changing very quickly and she's having difficulty adjusting to this new rhythm.

Tara hums softly, stroking gentle hands over Shane's hair, nuzzling her cheek with her nose. "Hey," she whispers. "I'm okay. I'm wonderful. I'm the best I've ever been. Don't be scared, Shane." Her hand drifts down, skating over Shane's breast and the dip of her waist to rest her thumb on Shane's hipbone. "It's this."

"Wh-- what? What do you mean? You... you mean the -- the tattoo?" Shane asks, her voice hoarse and muffled but her confusion is unmistakeable.

"Yeah," Tara murmurs. "I just... got it." The smile in her voice is unmistakeable, even though Shane can't see her face.

"What? What? What did you get?" She asks, still sounding befuddled.

"You love me," Tara replies, trying to figure out how to put this feeling into words. "I believed it before, but... now I know it. Not believe. Know. And it... gods, Shane. I could fly." Her voice trails off into an awed, wondering whisper.

"You mean you... you really know?" Shane asks softly, hesitantly. "You really know, now?"

"I really know," Tara whispers, drawing back to meet Shane's eyes, her own shining. "And I want you to show me. I want you to touch every inch of me, love every part, while I know it."

"But... what will that do?" She murmurs, brows creasing as she shakes her head, giving Tara a confused look.

Tara shakes her head, too, laughing silently. "I don't understand, love."

"I -- I mean... is it... supposed to be... different, somehow? Do you... I don't know, do you think it's not gonna last? Feeling like this?" Shane asks, worrying on her bottom lip.

Laughing again, Tara lifts their joined hands to her mouth, kissing each of Shane's fingers. "Well, I imagine I'll come back down to earth eventually... but Shane, it's like... it's like seeing a god, face to face. I don't believe now, I know. I don't think that's going to change."

Shane looks a bit less worried but still looks just as confused as she had a few moments ago. "Not going to change," she echoes quietly. "Okay."

Tara's brow creases a little. "Shane? Did you... want it to change?"

"No... no, I just... no," she says, her eyes almost appearing to cross as she closes her eyes and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, as though she's trying to stop her brain in its spinning externally.

Too much, all at once. She's had the whole trip home to process, to work through her feelings in stunned silence and bring her to this place of giddy calm - and the oxymoron doesn't have to make sense, not when she's floating with joy and worried about Shane at the same time. "Come upstairs," she murmurs. "I'll make you some coffee, and we'll talk. Okay?"

Shane keeps her hand pressed to her forehead for a moment longer and, when it seems as though her brain isn't going to stop twirling about in her skull any time soon, she very carefully nods. "Okay," she replies.

It's Tara's turn to lead Shane, now, fishing out the keycard, guiding her to the elevator, soothing her with gentle touches on the short trip to their floor. She unlocks the door of the apartment, kissing Shane outside the threshhold and then again once they're inside, mouth soft and undemanding. Kissing Shane fills her with joy, brings the giddy smile back to her face. She loves me. Such a simple thought, and so incredibly powerful. "I'll put on the kettle," she murmurs, finally letting go of Shane's hand. She loves me, she loves me!

"Okay," Shane says, giving her fingertips one last squeeze as she wanders into the living room. It feels, for a moment, almost like it's the first time she's ever been in the place, the first time she's ever set foot inside it, and has no idea where anything is or what she might find around the next corner. Placing her backpack at the end of the couch, she toes off her sneakers and sits down on the oversized ottoman-cum-coffeetable and buries her head in her hands. Even though it seems as though Tara's found whatever it was she's been looking for, Shane feels more lost, now, than she's ever felt.

Tara flips on the kettle, her euphoria fading as her concern for Shane grows. She watches Shane as much as possible, retrieving the cups from their cupboard home without looking - although she does pay attention to what she's doing when it comes time to pour the boiling water. She takes an extra few moments to make plunger coffee rather than instant, almost certain that Shane needs the extra evidence that she is loved and cared for, that nothing has changed even though everything has, and she knows that's another oxymoron but it still makes sense to her right now. She pours the coffee into Shane's favourite mug, and brings it over to her wife, sitting on the ottoman next to her and offering it silently.

Feeling the shift on the cushion next to her and smelling the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee, Shane scrubs her hands over her face before she lets her hands drop. Glancing over at Tara, she offers her a half-hearted smile as she takes the mug. "Thank you," she says softly, cradling the mug in both of her hands between her knees, just needing the heat of the coffee in the ceramic of the mug against her palms. Something concrete, something tangible, something ... predictable. If she threw this mug at the wall, it would break. She knows that much. Not that she would - and she knows that her father would most probably have something to say about it from a quantum physics perspective - but right now that feels like all she knows.

"Nothing's changed, Shane," Tara offers, after a long moment. She can't figure out what has Shane so disturbed, but whatever it is it's nothing that wasn't there an hour ago. "Just a relevation, and a little healing." Pressing her lips together for a moment she asks, "can you tell me what's upset you?"

"I got scared," Shane whispers, hushed voice breaking as tears fill her eyes. Looking down at the mug in her hands, she seems almost to shrink, to transform into a child right before Tara's eyes. Her bottom lip quivers and she sniffles softly as she ducks her head, rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

Tara climbs further up onto the ottoman, slipping one leg around Shane so that her wife is nestled between both of them. She wraps her arms around Shane's waist, laying her cheek on Shane's shoulder so that Shane can feel Tara's warm, steady presence against her back. "I'm here, Shane. I love you. I love you so much." She places a soft, delicate kiss on Shane's shoulder and then asks, "what scared you, baby?"

"That ... I... I thought you were... gone again and... that it was m... my fault," she replies, tears coursing down her face. Her hand is shaking and she has to put the mug down or else she'll drop it, so she leans down, carefully setting the mug down on the floor between her feet. Once her hands are empty, she rests her elbows on her thighs and covers her face with her hands, shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

"Oh, god..." Tara says, stricken. She wraps her arms around Shane, holding her tightly, unwilling to let go even for the short amount of time it would take to move around to the floor by Shane's feet so she can look into her wife's crying face. "I'm here. I'm here, Shane. Happy and whole and safe and so in love with you. I'm not broken, I'm better than I've ever been. You put back a piece, Shane, you healed a piece that's been broken for so long, and I just had to get a sense of myself again. I'm sorry I scared you, baby. God, I'm so sorry. Not your fault, never your fault. Good, wonderful, kind, precious." She kisses Shane's shoulders with every word of praise. "Trust you with everything. You'll never hurt me, never break me. I promise. I promise."

Reaching up, Shane grasps each of Tara's arms, holding onto them as tightly as she can - the best hug she can manage from this awkward angle - body still shaking with sobs, only the tears that are being shed are tears of relief rather than fear. "Sorry, I ... didn't know what to think, you... you wouldn't talk to me and -- and when you did it wasn't making any sense," she manages, lifting a shaking hand to wipe at her eyes.

"Come here, love," Tara says, drawing Shane's slight weight onto her lap and cradling her, much as she would a frightened child. "I'm so sorry. My heart was so full I couldn't find words. I... I know now, Shane. I know how much you love me. I... that's so big, it was just overwhelming. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to shut you out, baby, because you're right in here, in my heart, in me, and you were with me every moment. But I wasn't with you, and I'm so sorry."

Even as Tara draws her onto her lap, Shane entwines her arms with Tara's, embracing her as she's being embraced and holding on as tightly as she can. "I just -- I... I didn't know what to think," she whispers, breath hitching. "You just... ever since... I just kept thinking that... it was gonna happen again and... there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop it this time, either, and I... it scares me so much, Tara. It scares me so fucking much." She feels exhausted but yet the tears keep coming - even when she closes her eyes, they keep slipping from beneath her lowered lids and she just stops wiping them away, instead just burying her face in Tara's shoulder.

"Shane? Baby, I need you to do something for me, okay?" Tara's voice is soft, but firm. "I need you to pluck the geis cord. Like you did before, remember? Can you do that for me?"

Drawing back just a little, Shane sniffles softly as she nods. She's not even sure that she can concentrate enough to feel it or find it, much less do what Tara's asking. Still, she takes as deep a breath as her lungs will allow and closes her eyes to try to focus. She searches down along her body, to the chakra over her heart and finds the strand connecting the two of them. Reaching up, she wipes almost impatiently at her face though her eyes remain closed as she reaches along the connection.

Tara feels the tug, a soundless musical chime through her bones, like standing in the middle of a bell tower when they're all ringing. The overwhelming need to be with Shane is quickly sated by her beloved in her arms, and she's more prepared this time for the overwhelming feeling of rightness that follows. "That's my girl," she praises Shane. "Do you remember what that means? The vow I swore?"

Shane nods slowly and carefully. "Yeah," she says softly.

"I'll never leave you," Tara says softly. "But baby, the cord doesn't bind our base chakras - our bodies. It binds our hearts, our souls. Shane, you can call me back. Wherever I go, wherever I am. It's not going to happen again, but Shane, even if it did... you could stop it. There's nowhere I can go that you can't call me back from, even the shadows in my own head."

"I... I could?" Shane asks, voice still thick with tears and a fair amount of disbelief. "I could do that? I could stop it?"

Tara pauses, brow furrowing as she thinks. She doesn't want to offer Shane false hope. "You couldn't stop me from getting lost," she says slowly. "But you could show me the way back. I mean... I might break again. I wish I could promise I won't, but I won't make a promise I'm not sure I can keep. But if I do break, you can put me back together again. You can reach me. I... yeah. I am sure of that."

"Again..." Shane whispers, her voice sounding haunted and hollow as she turns her head, pressing her face into the crook of Tara's throat and only just barely suppressing a shudder. More than anything else - anything that could ever conceivably happen to herself, her body, her mind - the thing she fears most is watching Tara tumble into the abyss again. That and having her not come out again... or having her come out again, but be changed - not be the woman that she knows and has come to love so very dearly.

"Feel me, Shane," Tara says, lifting one of Shane's hands to her face, then her heart. "I'm right here. Happy and whole. It's not happening again. And things are different, now. What happened, today... I'm stronger, now. I know now, Shane. I don't have to hide if I'm afraid, because you're in here with me. I don't have to run, because I know you'll protect me." She's only just beginning to understand the depth of the injury her brush with insanity did Shane, and the revelation makes her feel as deeply ashamed as the earlier revelation made her feel worthy. She hurt Shane, bred this fear in her, and she can't forgive herself for that.

Shane nestles more closely to Tara, that touch of her warm skin and the steady thrum of her heartbeat reassuring and familiar on an almost visceral level. Tipping her head up a little, Shane rests her lips against Tara's throat, feeling her pulse there, strong and sure. "Always," she whispers, her voice thick with tears.

"I know," Tara replies, an unshakeable strength to her voice. "And because I know, because you make me feel safe, I'm not going to run and hide inside my head like I did before." It's just restating what she's already said, but she wants to make sure Shane actually hears her. She twines her fingers through Shane's hair, cradling her head, protecting her from the demons of Tara's own past.

"Good," Shane murmurs, resting her forehead against Tara's cheek. "Good, because... I like having you out here. I love you so fucking much, Tara."

"I love you, too, Shane. And I want to be wherever you are," Tara replies fervently. "Whenever, wherever, remember?"

Nodding, Shane finally opens her eyes and looks down at her hand resting over Tara's heart, the ring that her wife had given her still gleaming like new on her finger. Curling up against Tara's chest, she lowers her left hand, bringing her right hand up to gently smooth the pad of her thumb over the moonstone. "I'm sorry ... if I... fuck, I'm so selfish," she whispers, shaking her head to herself.

Pursing her lips, Shane pressed a kiss to the same spot, almost chaste, were they not in the states they were in. Reaching up with her left hand, she strokes Tara's cheek with the backs of her fingers, admiring the silken drag of it against her own skin as she lightly nibbles at the underside of Tara's jaw.

"Selfish?" Tara shakes her head, arms tightening around Shane. "No, baby. Never that, never you. You have every right to be scared. Because you love me." She still can't help but smile as she says those words, and really, truly believes them. Shane's not upset because she went through hell when Tara fell apart, or because she might have to do it again. Her fear is for Tara, not for herself. It's not something Tara understands, yet... but she knows it, and that's enough.

"I do," Shane whispers, her answer just the same as it had been at Osmosis. Taking a slow, hitching breath, she lets it out in a ragged sigh and rests her head on Tara's shoulder, fingers still fiddling with her ring, stroking it as though it were some sort of talisman. "I just... you were just so happy and then I freak the fuck out on you. That wasn't cool."

"Still happy," Tara assures her. "You're here, in my arms. What's not to be happy about? Just not floating anymore. Which is good, because that was freaking you out, and I don't want to be the person that hurts you that way. Not again." Her hand slides out of Shane's hair and over her back, stroking in wide circles between her shoulderblades.

"Do I -- do ... do you think that I'm too protective of you?" Shane asks softly, a faintly distant, thoughtful tone to her voice. "I-I just... I mean, do you -- do you ever feel like... like it's too much? Like I'm crowding you? Because I don't wanna be that person, either, Tara."

"Never," Tara replies, furrowing her brow. The thought had never even occured to her. "Shane, you make me feel... safe. Treasured. Cherished. I... I don't see how you could ever be too much. I could be drowning in you, and I'd still want more."

"I just don't want the flowers to die because I never let them get any sun... that's all," Shane says softly, thumb stroking over the band of her ring.

Tara nods, her hand never ceasing in its slow movements. "I know. That's not going to happen. I promise. But if I ever feel like I'm... not getting enough sun... I promise I'll tell you."

"Kay," she murmurs, nodding. "I... I've never... done this before, I... I don't know when it's too much."

"Shane?" Tara whispers. "I want more."

Tearing her eyes away from her ring, finally, Shane blinks as she looks up at her wife. "What?" She asks.

"I want more. Of you." Tara wets her lips, meeting Shane's eyes. "It's not too much. I want more. I want it all. All there is of you. I want to know every thought you've ever had, I want to know the taste of every inch of your skin, I want to stay up all night and watch you sleep."

"... watch me sleep...?" Shane echoes softly, faint creases forming between her eyebrows. "I-I don't... I don't understand..."

"I've never managed it," Tara tries to explain. "I always fall asleep before morning. But when you sleep, your face..." she strokes soft fingers over the corners of Shane's eyes, the lower parts of her cheeks. "You relax," she murmurs. "It changes. And it's like... it's like a secret, that I get to share. Except I always fall asleep before you finish telling it to me." It made more sense in her head than it does out loud.

Shane's eyes flutter closed at those delicate touches and her lips curl just a tiny fraction at the corners. For as long as she's been alive, no one has ever treated her as a fragile thing. Her mother never did, children's services and all of her foster families never did, people in West Hollywood would have laughed at the thought. Still... Tara does... treats her like she's breakable and worth protecting so that she never gets broken. It's something she's still not used to, but she won't ever not love Tara for it. Because by seeing that vulnerability in her, by not mocking it or exploiting it, Tara only makes her feel stronger and yet more... human at the same time. "You need your sleep," she murmurs quietly, eyes still closed. "You have classes."

"Not every day," Tara replies. "And I don't want to do it every night. Just... I just want to make it, once. All the way through til morning. Hold vigil over you, while you sleep, like the garden of Gesthemane." And in the morning, when the dawn light gives birth to sight, she'll know something she doesn't know now. She doesn't know what it is... but she knows it's there, lurking just beyond her reach.

Opening her eyes a tiny fraction, Shane reaches down and takes Tara's hand, curling her fingers around her wife's palm as she draws their clasped hands to her chest, resting them there, the back of Tara's hand settled over her heart. "I... I-I'd like that... if you could," she whispers.

"I'll keep trying," Tara says softly, thumb separating out to stroke the back over the swell of Shane's breast. "I'll make it, one of these nights. A night somebody doesn't tire me out..."

"Yeah," Shane says, letting out a ragged chuckle. "Maybe one of these nights, you'll tire me out, instead..."

"My life's ambition," Tara murmurs, soft and low. "I'm in training, you know."

"Really," she replies, her voice matching Tara's for volume and pitch, though fine notes of humor wind through her reponse.

"Really," Tara replies, squeezing Shane's hand gently. "Trying to build up my stamina. I've got a wonderful trainer, too. She's the best in her field. I think she's got an Olympic medal. She deserves one, anyway."

Closing her eyes, Shane's shoulders shake with silent laughter as she ducks her head and presses a kiss to the backs of Tara's fingers. "An Olympic medal for fucking," she murmurs, hints of laughter creeping into her words. "That would be something else."

"I'd vote for you," Tara responds wryly, not caring in the least that she's mixing her metaphors. "Some days I wish I could write a thank you letter to every lover you've ever had, who've taught you what you know. And I get the benefit of all that... training. Which makes me about the luckiest, um... athlete... there's ever been."

"Believe me," Shane murmurs, her tone matching Tara's again as her lips curl into a grin, "I thanked all of them very much for their generosity at the time, so..."

"I believe you," Tara replies, her grin growing and tone brimming with humour. "You can be... very appreciative. When you want to be."

"Am I... not... always?" She asks, brows knitting together as she looks up at Tara, eyes dark and shining.

"Well, sometimes you have to take breaks for food and sleep," Tara murmurs, her own eyes dancing.

"Oh," Shane replies quietly, ducking her head as she lets out a soft huff of laughter. "I -- I do... you know. Appreciate it. You."

"Believe me," Tara says, consciously echoing Shane's words, "I have never doubted your... appreciation."

Shane tenderly smooths her thumb over the side of Tara's index finger, deliberately back and forth, almost like a bow gliding over a violin's strings. "Okay," she whispers, nodding her bowed head.

"Do you..." Tara stops, pressing a kiss to the top of Shane's head before she continues. "Do you know that I appreciate you?"

"Yeah," Shane replies immediately as she nods, though there's a faintness to her voice, a quality of uncertainty there. She knows that Tara appreciates her, but she still hasn't been able to work out why or how.

"Not quite sure?" Tara whispers. She nuzzles into Shane's hair, turning her face and rubbing her cheek over the soft strands. "I guess I have to try harder, to show you."

"No, I -- I know... I do, I..." Shane's lips purse into a small frown. "I... I'm sure. I just... I just still don't know ... why..."

"Why I appreciate you?" Tara asks, brow furrowing in confusion. "Well... you said part of it, just a minute ago. You protect me. Everywhere we go, I feel... safe. I start to get nervous, or feel like I'm... like I'm wasting oxygen, just by speaking, and you touch me. In the small of my back, or on my shoulder, or around my waist, and I know it's okay, and the fear goes away. I mean, there are a hundred thousand things, but... that's one."

"I can't see it," she says very softly, her tone sad and apologetic and reluctant all at once, shaking her head. "I don't know why... I just... can't."

"It's okay," Tara murmurs, her arms tightening around Shane for a brief moment, a hug within a hug. "I'm going to keep saying it, every day of my life, in as many ways as I can. And one day you'll see it, like I saw today." She can't help but let one hand fall to Shane's hip, fingers gently stroking the spot where Shane's tattoo - where her tattoo - will be.

Shane settles her head back down onto Tara's shoulder, unspeakably grateful for the closeness, for every touch and reassuring word. "What do you think I should get?" She asks softly, acknowledging that touch and what it means and what that place symbolizes.

"I'm not sure yet," Tara replies, resting her cheek on Shane's head. "I've been thinking, though. Maybe... maybe the triple goddess?" Softly she inscribes the symbol with her index finger, a full moon over the nodule of Shane's hipbone, and a crescent moon on either side. Shane had said it was a symbol to honour a goddess, which was what started her thinking - and in their trilogy, she and Shane and Kate, the triple goddess struck a chord in her.

Shane opens her eyes and looks down as Tara's fingertip sketches the symbol on her hip. "What does it mean...? I mean, I know it's something to do with magic, but..." she trails off uncertainly as she closes her eyes again, just this far away from purring at the warmth and closeness.

Tara traces the symbol again, slowly. "Maiden, Mother and Crone. Woman in all of her forms, through the changing moon. The Maiden is innocence, hope, trust. The Crone is knowledge, understanding, the scars of life that make us more beautiful. The Mother... nurturing, compassion, acceptance." Her voice drops, shyer and more personal now. "Past and present and future, my whole life on your skin. All I am, all I've ever been, all... all I might be. Always. And it's... it's kind of the three of us too, you know...? You and me and Katie, completing each other."

With her eyes closed, Shane can listen with the entirety of the rest of her body and she does, completely hypnotized by Tara's deliberate touch and her soft-spoken explanation. "I like it," she says quietly. "I like that. What it means."

"You, um... I know you were joking, but... you said it was to, um... to honour your goddess. Which was... yeah, what started me thinking." Her fingers still trace that symbol, over and over and over again, fascinated by the texture of Shane's pants on her fingertips, which seem to grow more sensitive with every pass.

"I want it," Shane murmurs decisively, nodding to herself. It's hard to feel each touch through the rough denim of her jeans, but she can hear Tara's fingers brushing against it, feel the movement of her arm against her back as she moves it, and she could fall asleep like this, so easily.

"I want you," Tara whispers, nuzzling Shane's hair. "You... what this means, Shane, I..." She's not making any sense, and she doesn't care, her heart too full to speak. To be written on Shane's skin, to be a part of her that can't be rubbed off or removed, etched into her life and body...

"You have me," Shane whispers back, gently placing her hand over Tara's where it traces that sigil over and over again, stilling her fingers. Taking Tara's hand, she lays it on the spot and smooths her own hand over the back of her wife's hand.

"I do," Tara murmurs, a soft smile curving her lips. "My girl. Mine." Utterly possessive, and she doesn't care. She is Shane's, and Shane is hers, and that's the way the world is supposed to be. The scent of Shane's hair fills her lungs, Shane's own unique scent underlaying the sweeter tang of her shampoo, and Tara buries her face deeper, wishing she could bury past that foreign scent and fill her entire world with pure Shane.

"Yours," Shane replies softly, hand still stroking slowly back and forth over the top of Tara's, though never lifting away from it, so that it's basically one long, continuous touch. "If there was any other way I could think of to show it... to show you... and everyone... I would do that, too."

"I know," Tara whispers, voice light with joy. "I know." The feeling still surprises her, that core-deep certainty. It's not something to be questioned or doubted, any more than her own love for Shane could be. With a long level and a firm enough to stand, Archimedes claimed you could move the world. She could stand on Shane's love, and her world is, indeed, moving.

Nodding slowly, Shane laces her fingers together with Tara's, her thumb stroking a similar path as it had before along the side of her wife's index finger. Nothing else needs to be said... there's nothing else she needs to say. Besides, how can you say 'I'd sleep on the ground at your feet every night for the rest of my life, if that's what you wanted' and not sound ridiculous? She feels it, though... that and so much more, so much deeper than words really can ever express. She can only hope that Tara is right and that, someday, she'll finally be able to know and understand...

"My love," Tara whispers, just for the simple pleasure of the words. "My wife." And the 'yours' is implicit in both those phrases, mine is yours and yours is mine and we are ours and us. Every day the boundaries and barriers between her and Shane seem to break down a little further, so that Shane's excitement is her own, Shane's accomplishments bring her an unprecedented pride.

"I'm... I'm sorry I fucked things up," Shane says softly, lilts of regret evident in her words. "I... I didn't mean to make you stop floating."

"I have a theory," Tara says, her tone conversational. "Would you like to hear it?"

There's about half a beat of hesitation, but then Shane answers. "O-okay," she murmurs quietly.

"My theory is that everything you do is right," Tara replies, bemusement threading through her voice. "See, there's two ways to look at this afternoon. One is that you, um... screwed up. The other is that you're so in love with me that when I'm not acting like myself, you worry, and you want me back. But Shane, you've got to know... when I see that on your hip, my mark engraved on your skin... my feet aren't going to leave the ground for hours. Days, maybe."

"Well... maybe you could... I don't know... try to make a little more sense when you talk, then?" Shane suggests hesitantly, worrying on her bottom lip. "That's... sort of, umm... what ... what made me start to worry." She's ashamed to admit it, to confess just how much that had scared her, how much it did still scare her - the thought of Tara going mad again - but she knows that she can't bear feeling that sinking weight in the pit of her stomach again.

"I was..." Tara frowns. "I'm sorry. I, um... I didn't realise." She tries to think back on what she said, but that whole walk home is just a blur in her memory. "Coherency and me. We'll, um..." she crosses her fingers, holding them up in front of Shane. "We'll be like this. Okay?"

"I... I'm -- I'm sorry, I -- just... just forget I said anything," Shane murmurs, shaking her head. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she sits up and moves to climb off of Tara's lap and off of the ottoman as well. Selfish... so fucking selfish... asking her not to be happy... where the fuck do you get off?

Shane manages to stand, but no further, before Tara catches her about the waist, pulling her abruptly down next to her. She lays a hand on Shane's shoulder, pushing her back against the deep brown leather, and slings a leg over her. Straddling her wife, perfect posture in this unconventional position, Tara raises one eyebrow, and softly murmurs, "where you going, love?"

Letting out a low yelp of surprise as she's tugged back down, Shane sits down hard on the ottoman, though it's more from the surprise and having not fully regained her balance before being grabbed by her wife than Tara using any strength against her. Blinking at Tara bewilderedly for a moment, she draws both of her hands up to get them out of the way as Tara straddles her lap, hands sort of half-hovering in mid-air. Letting out a short, tense breath that causes the dark fringe of hair over her eyes to flutter, she looks up at the ceiling and shakes her head. "I don't know," she murmurs.

Tara laces both hands through Shane's, lowering them to rest on her thighs. Shane's explanation less than descriptive, Tara purses her lips for a moment, and decides to tell, not ask. "You're feeling guilty," she says. "Thinking you've done something wrong." She lifts one hand, leaning downwards to kiss the back softly. "You heard the second part, but not the first. Everything you do is right, Shane. You're allowed to let me know what scares you. Do you think I would want to be happy in a way that made you worry? How could I? Do you think I would blame you for wanting me healthy and whole and yours? Something is happening in your head, love... but that's all it is. It's not in mine. I love you. You've done nothing wrong."

Shane's dark eyes cast about along the ceiling, going in quick but aimless circles even as they grow painfully brighter with tears. Not welling, but threatening to, her hands twitching uncertainly where they rest on Tara's thighs. "I blame me," she says softly, voice sounding hoarse and choked. Lips thinning, she tries to draw one of her feet up to rest her heel on the edge of the ottoman, but she's still in her stocking feet and cotton and leather don't tend to agree with each other about these kinds of things and so her foot slips, leaving her feeling as though she's adrift.

"I know, baby," Tara whispers, lowering her torso to lay her forehead against Shane's, filling her vision. Her hair falls down around Shane's face, forming a curtain that brackets them off from the rest of the world. "I know you do. But I don't. I love you so much, and you take such good care of me. I hate that I scared you. That was my fault, not yours. Never yours. If you hadn't been there on the way home, I might have gotten hurt. You were right to be scared. Happy is good, but... if I don't know what's happening around me, I could get hurt. And it's happened before - last week at Callahan's, some time. It's a pattern, and we know now. That's a good thing, okay? We know because you're watching, and because you said something, and you've made me think about it."

She's still not entirely convinced but there's no way that she can fault Tara's logic, so she just simply nods, lips pursing as she closes her eyes, lashes brushing Tara's cheek.

"My bright, my beautiful, my knight protector," Tara whispers, feathering kisses over Shane's face. "Love you so much." Somehow, and she's not quite sure how it happened, she frightened Shane, and then drove her to this place of guilt. The other night Duce and Jonathan ran after her as she left Callahan's, walking her home as she forgot herself (and her coat) in that moment of joy at Mr. Crowley's return, and overwhelming desire for Shane. Today was the same thing - joy and desire, lifting her out of herself, and she doesn't know why it's happening, but there's a pattern forming. She'll be watching for it, now.

"Love you, too," Shane whispers back haltingly, eyes squeezing shut a bit more tightly, almost as though she wants to tip her head up, wants nothing more than to accept those kisses, but still won't allow herself to.

Tara brushes a kiss over each closed eye, and then drops her head a fraction of an inch to lay a line of openmouthed kisses over Shane's left cheekbone and up to her temple, where Tara's tongue darts out to taste. Barely a moment and she's moving again, rubbing her cheek against Shane's, the soft peach-fuzz feeling bringing an almost inaudible sigh of contentment. Her nose brushes the corner of Shane's jaw and she turns her head, beginning to lay a similar trail of kisses along that line, her tongue flickering out with every kiss now, as if comparing each inch of skin by taste.

Shane's breath is shallow and growing quicker by the minute, each breath more uneven than the last in anticipation of where the next kiss, the next touch will be. Her head lolls ever so slightly from one side to the other but she still doesn't tip it up into those kisses. It's still too close, too soon... the fear still roughly wedged inside her and refusing to move, her mind still not fully, completely able to grasp that Tara is still completely with her and well.

When she reaches Shane's chin she drifts upwards a tiny fraction, a soft kiss to Shane's bottom lip, a slow sweep of her tongue, gathering the lingering taste of bitter coffee and the far more wonderful taste of Shane behind it into her mouth, as if a promise to herself when her self-appointed task is done. Then she continues upwards, a kiss to Shane's upper lip, then one to the tip of her nose and a whole series up the bridge. She tilts her head as she reaches the space between Shane's eyes, flickering out her tongue again to glide over Shane's third eye, humming softly.

Breath catching as she feels Tara's tongue brush over her lip, Shane can't pull back - there's no 'back' to pull back to, since her head is resting flat on the ottoman and Tara's so close and there's no room. Her fingers curl reflexively, tightening around Tara's, and something inside her is scrambling. "Tara, I can't -- I can't... I can't do this right now," she manages finally and the words sound as though they're being torn from somewhere down deep inside her, as though it physically pains her to utter them.

"I... I'm sorry," Tara murmurs, and she's off Shane almost before she can take another breath, the backs of her thighs pressed against the couch, giving Shane as much space as she can. "I'm sorry." She should have let Shane go when she should, shouldn't have imposed her will upon her wife, knowing as she knows how much it costs Shane to refuse her, and for Shane to say those simple words Tara must have hurt her terribly. "I'm so sorry..."

Tara's sudden movement, the distance is a relief but at the same time, now she's too far away, the comfort of her touch gone and her skin already cooling from where Tara's skin had been resting against hers. The kisses have stopped but now she can't feel Tara, anymore, and that's her own fault. Selfish... her mental voice mutters disgustedly and her face crumples, eyes squeezing closed tightly but not before the tears can escape, slipping from the corners of her eyes. She turns her face away and then her body soon follows suit as she rolls over, curling up into a tiny ball as she draws her legs up to her chest. Tara should never have to apologize to her like that, never have to say those words and sound so sorry, move so quickly, as though she's doing something wrong.

Tara's knees give out, and she crumples onto the couch, drawing up her knees tightly against her chest, as if mirroring Shane's movement would allow her to share whatever is happening inside Shane's head. She can't leave Shane alone, not like this, but she doesn't know what to do that won't make it worse. She wants to wrap her arms around Shane, but she won't inflict herself, not when Shane doesn't want her. There's a pack of cigarettes on the hallway table, just visible in the corner of her vision, and she's up and out of her seat in another heartbeat. Shane always lights a cigarette when she's unhappy or dealing with something. Maybe... maybe it will help. Maybe.

Shane's fingers curl into her hair, gripping hard - hard enough to cause pain - trying to balance the inward pain with something on the outside. It had taken basically everything in her to say those words, to speak up, and at the same time, she had essentially fought her very nature by denying Tara what she wanted. Wrapping her left arm around her legs, she maintains a death grip on her hair, causing pain but at the same time trying to focus, trying to get a literal grip, to ground herself, to make the room and her head stop fucking spinning. Ohh, you're so happy now, aren't you? So happy and so perfect and so special and so loved you think you can get away with telling her no when she wants something... That voice in her mind sounds so much like Clive now, it makes her shiver under her skin. Smug and vicious and knowing. You should know better than that by now, Shane. Who the fuck do you think you are? You're nothing. Shit, you're less than nothing. She calls the shots and you fucking jump - that's what you do. You don't get to have feelings. You're not allowed to say no. That's not what you do.

Tara clutches the pack of cigarettes like a lifeline - and she never thought she'd feel grateful for those, of all possible things. The lighter, tucked against the pack, digs into the palm of her hand, and she knows she's crumpling the cardboard, but she can't seem to relax. "Shane?" she whispers, laying the pack down on the ottoman next to her wife, careful not to touch her. She doesn't want that, doesn't want you, not now, don't force yourself on her, stupid, selfish, greedy... "Shane, I... here." She nudges the pack a little, bringing it up against Shane's hand. The action of smoking, of drawing a deep breath and letting it out in an arrow of smoke, is one that can't help but be calming, just by dint of controlling her breathing. She doesn't want to leave Shane, isn't allowed to touch her, so she backs away to the couch again, close enough to Shane that she could reach out an arm and touch her, but far enough that her beloved's space is her own. The distance feels like miles, and the panic rises in her chest. This was how Shane felt, when she fell prey to her own demons. This is what Shane suffered. It's only right she should suffer it too, only fair, only just, but it hurts, and her fingers claw at her throat. The fabric is too constricting, the neckline too high, and she can't breathe.

Some part of her hears Tara speak, call her name, registers the words even though they don't make sense to her. Because her eyes are close, so she can't see the pack of cigarettes laying just inches from her hand. Okay, she's here... Of course that voice in her head would have heard it. Clive never did miss anything. She's back. You better fix this and don't fuck it up. Say you're sorry, just give her whatever she wants and don't you dare say a word. You really did lose it, didn't you, Shane? This chick's pussy must have made you lose your mind, thinking you mattered. Sick, sick laughter echoing at the back of her mind. Fuck, man. That's a joke. That's a joke... She cracks her eyes open and they ache and tears trickle down, having gathered behind the dams of her eyelids, one of them sliding over the bridge of her nose to land with a soft 'pat' on the leather of the ottoman. Glancing down, she sees the cigarettes and her fingers uncurl from her hair, hand reaching for them without thinking, needing something to steady her, since nothing else seems to be working. What the fuck did I tell you, Shane? Tell her you're sorry! Just wait... I just... need this, first... please...

She's moving. She's moving. That's all that's important right now, that she's out of that tiny ball of pain. "That's my girl," Tara whispers. Shane said she couldn't deal with the kissing right now (and Tara had already asked for Shane to make love to her, and the fact that Shane didn't answer that should have been enough of a no, why did she have to push? Stupid, selfish, worthless little whore), but that didn't mean she was completely unwelcome... right? Keep talking. Keep talking, don't let her be alone. "That's my girl. So beautiful, so brave. Love you so much. Anything you need, baby, I promise. I'm here." Just tell me what to do. Please, Shane, tell me what to do. How can I help you?

She can still hear Tara speaking and as best she can tell, the words she's saying are good. She doesn't sound as though she's upset anymore and that's a relief. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Shane takes the cigarette pack, her hand shaking as she opens the top and pulls one out, the shaking seeming to even out a bit as the ritual of it, the habit, takes over. It takes her a couple of tries to get her lighter open, but once she does, she strikes the flint and brings the quavering flame to the end of her cigarette, taking hard, quick puffs to get it started. Snapping the lighter closed again, she sniffles as she rolls over onto her back and pushes herself up. Better start talkin', Clive cautions her. She's already sick of your shit. If you don't open your yap now, you might as well just kiss this happy fairy tale goodbye... "Just... gim -- gimme a minute," she says softly, breath catching in her lungs as she eases herself down onto the floor, back resting against the ottoman, knees curled against her chest.

"Yeah," Tara whispers, and then clears her throat to try again. "Anything you need, Shane." She bites the inside of her lip to keep from crying, the pain holding back the tears. Shane hates it when she cries, and she doesn't need Tara's (stupid, weak, selfish) reactions making this any worse. "I'm not going anywhere. Take all the time you need."

Nodding wordlessly, Shane takes another deep, hard drag on her cigarette, hair a rumpled mess, face streaked and pale skin shining with tears. Drawing her cigarette from her lips, she reaches up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, fine tremors still coursing through it. "Just, umm... I'll -- let me -- I'll go... I'll finish this and wash my face and ... and we can pick up where we left off," she says, her voice gravelly but perfectly, painfully reasonable.

NO! Tara wants to scream, and she bites harder on the inside of her lip to stop that automatic exclaimation. No, she's not going to rape her wife, even if her wife smiles and pretends it's all okay. She doesn't want to reject Shane and send her spiralling down, but neither can she 'pick up where they left off' if she can't be sure it's what Shane wants. "Okay," she replies, her voice more choked than she'd been hoping for. "Um, I think I need a drink, can I... um, can I get you anything?" The coffee is long cold by now, but Shane probably needs something far, far stronger.

"Yeah, uhh... Ten brought some whisky, I think... you know, at Christmas?" Shane murmurs, sniffling again as she rubs at her reddened eyes. Get it together, you pathetic, motherless fuck. Don't waste her fucking time. "Please." Reaching back, she plants the heel of her free hand on the ottoman and pushes herself to her feet. She sways for just a moment as she tries to get her bearings, the intensity of the emotions coursing through her leaving her feeling almost lightheaded or as though she's gone twenty rounds with a championship-winning boxer that weighs four times as much as she does.

"Shane, can I..." Tara moves to Shane's side, hands hovering, but not daring to touch her without permission. "Can I help you?" She'll get the whiskey, that's not in doubt, anything, anything, but Shane wants to wash her face, and the bathroom is so far, and she'd bring a basin and a washcloth if she thought Shane would sit still for long enough.

"No, no, no..." Shane says immediately, sounding almost panicked for a moment. "No, I -- I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm good. I can... I can do it. I'm fine."

"Okay," Tara replies, snatching her hands away. Don't push yourself on her. Give her some space, you selfish bitch. This isn't about you. God forbid you should suffer even a moment. Just have to step in and help, but it's all to make you feel better, isn't it? People think you're such an angel. If they ever saw what's really inside you they'd spit on you. "Okay, I'll... um, I'll get us drinks." She takes a step backwards, giving Shane her space again. She doesn't want you near her. How many times do you have to be told, you stupid cow?

"Thank you," she says quietly before taking another deep drag on her cigarette, her hands seeming a bit more steady, now. That's right. Get a handle on it. She don't have time to waste taking care of you, wiping your fucking nose like some kind of spoiled rich brat. Go get yourself cleaned up and make it up to her...

"Okay," Tara says again, face taut and tense and worried. She forces herself to tear her eyes away from Shane, knowing that if she doesn't look away she'll never move from the spot she's currently rooted to. Small, simple steps. Find a glass, find the whiskey, pour whiskey in glass, wait for Shane. Every step away from Shane is progressively harder, like walking up a steep hill, and her thighs burn with the effort. This kitchen has always been her safe place, filled with love and joy, soft humming and delicious smells. She sang Christmas carols with Kate here, made love to Shane up against that counter. This is her space, her home, and she shouldn't feel lonely here. Glasses are easy, she knows where every single piece of crockery is, knows it better than her own anatomy. Whiskey is in the cupboard above the sink, with the rest of the alcohol, and she pours the glass almost full. She knows whiskey comes in shots, and she knows that a shot-glass doesn't mean to the brim... but Shane needs a double, right now. Or a triple. Or... whatever this is. Her hand shakes and some of the whiskey spills out on the counter, and that tiny failure makes her breath catch in her throat. She refuses to cry, not now. Once Shane is safe, once Kate is home, she'll go to her room and lock the door and cry until there's nothing left inside of her to cry with. Hold it together. Be strong.

Hearing Tara's footsteps on the floor, heading into the kitchen, Shane lets out a shaky exhale, smoke billowing out along with her breath. Raking a hand through her hair, she heads upstairs to the bathroom, cigarette dangling from her lips and bouncing as she walks. The sight that greets her when she looks in the mirror makes her blood run thin and cold like ice water in her veins. She looks like death. Worse. Her dark, wet eyes are rimmed with red, swollen, and that at least explains the aching. Her nose is red and her lips are swollen, too, and her hair is a fucking disaster. Taking one last drag on her cigarette, she tosses it into the commode and flushes before turning the cold tap on. Holding her cupped hands beneath the gush of water, she splashes several double-handefuls of it on her face before she finally shuts the faucet off and straightens. Not much better than before, only now her whole face is wet rather than just bits of it, the fringe of her hair framing her face now dripping with water. She avoids looking into her reflection's eyes as she turns her face away and reaches for a towel, patting her face dry as she reaches for a comb. She has to look presentable, she has to look fuckable, she has to look good. She can't make Tara ashamed of her, anymore. When she's finally satisfied, she folds the towel neatly and lays it on the counter, placing the comb atop it as she heads back downstairs.

Tara mops up the spilled whiskey, wondering if there's an equivalent to salt-over-the-shoulder that might take away any superstition that attaches to this. There's an old Irish tradition that says when you die the devil will suspend you headfirst over every drop of liquor you've ever spilled, and if you drown it's on your own head. And you're not supposed to give a friend a knife, because it'll sever the friendship, and she's never believed that, gave Faith a set of knives for Christmas, but she really can't afford to screw up any more right now. The bottle is half full, more than enough, and she dumps the entire glass into the sink, grabbing a new one and pouring it again. If there is a curse she doesn't know about, at least she won't inflict it on Shane.

Shane's a great deal steadier on her feet as she heads back downstairs and, seeing no signs of Tara, she passes through the living room and into the kitchen. Finding Tara by the sink, she smiles. Crossing over to her, she slips her arms around Tara's waist, nestling up against her back as she presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Hi," she says quietly.

Oh, gods. Shane is touching her, holding her, kissing her. And it would be so easy to relax into that, to just let everything be okay again, but it's not okay. "Hi," she replies, just as quietly. "Whiskey, right?" She doesn't want Shane to see the glass in the sink. She's not sure why, but it feels like a display of weakness, like Shane might see it as proof that Tara's losing her grip on reality and start all those fears over again. And maybe she is, she doesn't know, but she won't show that to Shane, not here, not now, not ever. Not if she can help it.

"Yeah," Shane murmurs, placing another kiss on Tara's throat, lips drawing back into a smile as she gives Tara a careful squeeze. "Thank you."

Tara drops her free hand, squeezing the arms linked around her waist gently, and then moves to turn, trusting Shane to loosen her grip enough to allow Tara that movement. "Here, love."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Feeling that touch, Shane does loosen her grip, stepping back just slightly so that Tara has enough room to move. She chuckles and if there's a faintly anxious edge to it, then she doesn't notice it.

Forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, Tara presses the shotglass into Shane's hand - filled almost to the brim. She grabs a glass from the dishdrainer for herself, pouring water directly from the tap. Anything else is too much fuss, would take her attention away from Shane and Shane's needs for far too long. There's no way Shane's going to tell her what she needs, which means Tara has to watch, analyse every movement, pick up every possible hint and piece together a plan for how she's going to fix the hurt she's caused.

Already her fingers are itching for another cigarette but it can wait at least long enough for her to have a drink. Maybe it will help to burn out the last of those foolhardy notions along with that fucking voice. Her hand is perfectly steady as she lifts the shot glass and knocks back its contents, the sting of heat and alcohol almost making her cough, but she swallows around it, the alcohol burning its way down her throat and into her.

Tara sips her water slowly, more for something to do with hands or mouth than because she actually wants to drink. Swallowing past the lump in her throat is hard, but not as hard as speaking.

Taking a step to one side, Shane reaches for the bottle of whiskey, taking it along with the empty shot glass over to an empty space at the counter, and pours herself another. You're not getting blitzed off your ass... Clive snarls at her and fuck, she'd thought the first one would do the trick, make him go away. But he never does, not really. She hasn't seen him in almost three years and he still sounds just the same as the last time she ever spoke to him. That's it. Now get to work... you have to earn your fucking keep... make it worth her while for putting up with you and your weak, busted self... Taking a deep breath, the taste and burn of the whiskey still fresh on her tongue, she sets the shot glass aside on the counter and places the cap back on the bottle before turning to Tara. Reaching out, she gently takes the glass of water, dumps it and sets it in the sink, out of the way, her other arm sliding around her wife's waist. Once that's done, she tips her head to one side, brushing a kiss to Tara's cheek, quickly working her way down her throat, placing open-mouthed kisses along the length.

She loves Shane's kisses. Always has, always will. Even now, knowing they come from a bad place, that Shane's attentions come from a place of guilt that she said no to Tara - and Shane never says no - even now, she can't help but tip her chin back, baring her neck to Shane's attentions. Her mind races, trying to think of a way to change Shane's focus without rejecting her - which would hurt her even more.

Feeling Tara tip her head back is a tiny, tiny victory, but enough of one to make her heart leap, breathing a deep, inward sigh of relief. Maybe she can fix this, after all. No, there's no 'maybe'. She has to fix it. Her mind doesn't even enteratin any other options. Reaching up, she cradles Tara's cheek, thumb tenderly smoothing over her skin. "Want you," she whispers between kisses, tongue lightly brushing over Tara's skin, teasing and tasting and coaxing, all at once.

Do you? She rubs her cheek against Shane's hand, pressing in a little, to that touch that ought to be so reassuring. Shane's gently whispered words set off a spark in her abdomen, and she feels like she's on a rollercoaster, at once excited and scared. "Yours," she whispers back, because that's the truest thing she knows. Eyes fluttering closed she reaches along the link of the geis, and plucks that cord. She doesn't feel the call to Shane when she does it - just that ringing, and a radiating warmth in her chest, but it's a reminder that she is Shane's, and that she isn't going anywhere.

When the link between them is touched, the warmth of it washes over her - too close to even feel the urgent tug of needing to be with Tara, since she's already kissing her, holding her. She can feel tears welling up behind her lowered eyelids and for just a moment, the rhythm of her measured movements and touches and kisses falters. Sucking in a hitching breath, her arm tightens around Tara's waist, gently drawing her in closer. I can fix this... I'm fixing this... please, don't be mad... please, don't be mad at me... I'll do anything you want... anything...

"Shane," Tara whispers, one hand rising to stroke through Shane's hair, separating dark, damp strands, the pads of her fingers massaging Shane's scalp. "I love you. Always. Yours, everything I am, everything I'll ever be." Perhaps what Shane needs now is that physical reassurance? ...But if it's not, if she's only going through the motions because it's what Tara wanted... she catches sight of a tear, shining on Shane's eyelash, and she sucks in a desperate breath. Ducking her head, she kisses the tear away, replacing it with the lesser wetness of a flicker of her tongue.

Turning her head, Shane tips it up just slightly, capturing Tara's lips in a firm but gentle kiss that tastes like ashes and alcohol and salt. And it almost feels... like normal, like the right thing, like what should be. Like what it should have been before you had to go and fuck it all up, just like you always do, Clive corrects her. Palm sliding over Tara's cheek, her fingers slide into her wife's hair, carding through it gently.

She needs this. She'll stop Shane in a moment, but she needs this kiss, this touch. It's reassurance for her as much as for Shane - but just as quickly the taste of cigarettes and whiskey threatens to turn her stomach. These are the tastes of Shane's pain, and she has to be stronger than this. Gently, Tara ends the kiss, pulling back to nuzzle her wife's cheek. Her eyes, slitted open, sees the shopping list on the fridge, and the pen that attaches to the tiny clip on the pad. "Shane, baby, can I draw on you?" Something physical, something that allows her to touch Shane, to write her love all over Shane's body...

Lifting her head, the look in Shane's eyes is bleary and bewildered as she shakes her head. "What?" She asks, confused.

She's not surprised that Shane's confused - the thought came out of nowhere. "Can I draw on you?" Her hand slides out of Shane's shoulder, the other drifting to Shane's hip where the tattoo will rest. "See how it'll look? Write myself on your skin, so you know I'm part of you?"

Because the thought has come from so far out of left field, there's basically nothing Shane can say, no protest or suggestion otherwise that she might make. So she stares at Tara, brows furrowed, for several moments. "I... I -- uhh... yeah... yeah, o-okay," she murmurs.

Tara smiles softly, sweetly relieved. "Thank you," she replies, stroking her thumb over Shane's jawline. "Bedr--" No. Not bedroom. Not with the mood Shane in, not if she's going to resist this, and she must be insane for wanting to resist Shane. As if anyone could resist Shane when she moves into seduction-mode... "My den," she whispers. The round room she'd seen and instantly claimed for meditation and spellwork, soft circular benches enclosing the room with a circular space in the middle perfect for castings.

But I'm supposed to fix this... how can I fix this if I can't... But maybe this is how Tara wants her to fix it, instead. Nodding, she leans her head into the touch as she bows it, eyes fluttering closed. "Okay," she says softly.

"Thank you," she says again. She holds the touch for a moment, pressing the softest kiss she can to Shane's forehead. Her hand lifts from Shane's hip, groping for her hand, wanting to maintain some form of contact as she half turns. To her left is the drawer of assorted bits and pieces, and she rummages inside, discarding the first pen she finds as having too fine a nib, settling on a simple black ballpoint.

Feeling Tara's fingers brush against hers, Shane catches her hand and clasps it, trying not to squeeze too hard, but that small point of contact suddenly just isn't enough and it's carving out her insides even as she stands there next to Tara. Reaching up with her free hand, she rubs at her eyes, trying to wipe the wetness away as Tara searches through the drawer.