Late Friday afternoon, SKT's apartment

[brambless]

Kate drives with a moderate speed - not fast enough to be frantic, not slow enough to be reluctant. When she turns onto Jaffe and their apartment comes into view, a smile brightens her rather grim face. Every afternoon she looks forward to coming home, and every afternoon she's just as happy to arrive. She parks her car in the usual spot, out and walking to the door in moments. In one more, she's through that and into the welcome warmth of the hallway. Pulling her keys from the pocket of her coat, she unlocks the door and pushes it open.

Tara sits on the couch, feel drawn up underneath her, the black and white mottled cover of her 'classes' notebook in her lap. She's been working on her lesson plan - and usually she'd do that in her office so she can focus. Today, though... today she doesn't really want to focus. She spent the early afternoon with Jonathan Crane, working through the first stage of the desensitization, and now she just wants Kate and Shane to come home, wants to wrap herself around them, warm them with the heat that's absorbed into her skin from the fire and be warmed by their love. She looks up when Kate walks in, tossing her notebook mid-word onto the couch beside her and bounding up to meet Kate for a hug.

Kate's smile widens immediately when she sees Tara, eye glinting with more than reflected fire. She steps into the earnest embrace and returns it, still pleasantly surprised by such enthusiastic greetings. Tara's warm and bright and soft in her arms, a complete contrast to the world outside, and Kate treasures this touch as she does every other.

Tara's arms slide underneath Kate's jacket for a hug as she tilts her head down to Kate's for a kiss... and then stops, a fingersbreadth left between their lips, as her arm brushes against something hard and firm on Kate's hip. Whole body stilled except for her faint trembling, she whispers, "um... I don't mean to sound corny, but... please, please tell me you're just happy to see me." A gun. Kate's gun. In their house, on her hip. Touching Tara's skin. Oh god. No. Please, please, please no.


Kate's brow furrows, hand reaching out to take Tara's even as she steps back. "Tara-" She pauses in mid sentence, eyes going wide as she glances down at Tara's arm. She…of course she would… I'm so fucking stupid… God, Tara… The thoughts take hold of her throat, choking down words with fear and guilt. Her hand falls uselessly to her side.

"I..." Tara's arms fall lax at her side, as she takes a stumbling step away. Her arm burns, and she wants desperately to plunge it into the flickering fire, searing the flesh with a more honest fire, real pain that would overshadow the pain of mind and heart. "Kate, I..." she keeps backing up until the backs of her legs hit the end of the couch. "I'm sorry, I... I have to go." Her eyes dart towards the stairs, the climb that has always meant safety and comfort, that she's never performed in fear or anger. She doesn't move. How can she turn her back on that deadly metal? Not that Kate would ever draw it on her, ever aim, ever fire... but still she can't force her body to flee for that safety.

Kate backs up further, closing the distance between herself and the cold world she'd left behind. She looks so scared, panicked and cornered and trembling and it's because of her. Her mouth works but nothing comes out. She drops her gaze down to the floor, glaring at the rug until it blurs with hot flickering light, and then finally forcing phrases through her lips, smothered with bitter water. "No. You don't…I can go." Never looking up, she turns around and pulls open the door, wishing the harsh, silent cold would greet her instead of the peaceful warmth of home. Her keys have fallen beside her, and she doesn't bend to pick them up. When she speaks again it's hushed and tightly controlled. "Tell Shane I went for a walk?"

"I'm sorry," Tara chokes out. That she's hurt Kate so, seeing, hearing, feeling her anguish at Tara's pain, but she can't stop it, can't stop the panic welling up in her breast. How long? How long has Kate been bringing her gun home for? Did she forget to lock it up at the station, or... or has it been here, every night, while Tara slept, while they made love, a harsh cold presence, gleaming barrel promising death to unseeing eyes. Her palm covers the old bullet scar over her breast protectively, as if that thin scrap of flesh could protect her from the burn of death, the hole that pierces body and shatters mind. She can't look at Kate, eyes transfixed at her hip. If it's going to happen again, she'll see it coming. Whatever happens, it won't be like last time. Oh, god... Harsh tears fill her eyes, and she blinks them impatiently away. She can't afford to have her vision clouded, not now, not until the gun is safely gone - and she knows each tear is a spear to Kate's heart, and so she won't let Kate see her cry. She has control to spare her that much, even as the terror wells up inside of her.

Hand on the doorframe, strong fingers pressing against unfeeling wood hard enough to bruise chilled skin. "Don't be." Short and empty like a wasted life. She should say more but she can't, it's easier to just go. It always has been. She takes a step through the door and realises she's still holding on.

Tara's eyes stay fixed at Kate's hip, her breathing tortured and shallow. Inside her mind is broken glass, fragments piercing and rending her to the poin that she wants to cry out in physical pain, and she sinks her teeth into her lip so hard she tastes blood. She will not let Kate see her fall apart. Shane saw that - and the shadows of it still haunt her eyes whenever Tara's in any kind of pain. Like she's afraid of how bad this can get, like Tara's spun glass that could be broken just by a careless breath. She won't do that to Katie. She can't. She can't. Her breath hitches into a barely controlled sob, redness welling at her mouth as the blood begins to flow. Hold on. Hold on.

She can hear the sobs caught in Tara's throat, pricking her eyes like dull pins as she stares into empty lustre. God, she wants to help, to take this woman into her arms and just hold her until she's okay again but she can't because she's the reason for all of it… so all she can do is go. At least she's good at that. Her fingers scrape against the polished wood as she leaves their home in silence, steps never faltering, so much steadier than her breathing. Please help her, Shane.

As soon as the door closes behind Kate, Tara's knees go weak. Leaning for support on the back of the couch for the moment, she gathers her strength, and then fumbles for the stairs. The gun is gone, the threat is over. How many nights. How long? While I slept, while we made love... Again and again the thought runs through her head, as she trips up the stairs, catching herself on her hands, making her way to her bedroom. The room she hardly ever sleeps in, but the only place she can guarantee Kate's gun has never been. The only place where the memories won't be tainted by that cold, deadly presence. She needs Shane to come home. In Shane's arms, in Shane's love, she is safe. For the first time they haven't been skin to skin at the time, she plucks the cord of the geis. It binds her to Shane, not the other way around, and Shane shouldn't feel the overwhelming need to be with Tara that she would feel if Shane touched the cord - but she'll feel that it has been plucked. She'll know Tara needs her.

The moment she'd felt it, Shane had almost leapt out of her skin. Sitting in class, bent over her Quantum Physics textbook, her mind had been focused on principles and theories and cats in boxes, but she felt it, like a fist in the center of her chest, enough to almost knock the breath out of her from the suddenness of it. Looking up from her book, she gave her father an apologetic look and mumbled her apologies as she shoved her things into her backpack and bolted out of the class and headed straight for the el station. She was lucky enough to arrive on the platform just in time to catch the next train out to Babylon and she squeezed her way through the doors as they were opening, desperate to make it back home. Slinging her backpack up onto both shoulders, she runs, full-tilt and blindly, eyes trained on the right side of the street. Of the gray building that is their home. She pulls her keys from her pocket, sneakers slapping on stone, as she slides her card through the security reader, by-passing the elevator entirely to take the stairs three at a time, long legs carrying her up the three flights with surprising speed. Her mind and her heart pound out the same rhythm... Tarataratara... and her lungs burn, but she can't feel it. And even if she did, it wouldn't matter. Hands shaking, she fits her key into the lock and shoulders the door open. "TARA!"

"SHANE!" She could feel Shane getting closer, and it was that thought that she held onto, a lifeline through her consciousness. She's up and out of her room as soon as she hears Shane's cry, flying down the stairs, eyes blinded by her own tears. Her foot catches on one step, hand clutching the railing to prevent her from falling as she sobs. She slides down two steps, twisting her ankle as she tries to stop her fall, and finally lands on her bottom, head pressed against the wooden slats. "Shane..."

"Fuck! Baby..." Shane slips her bookbag off, laying it by the door as she quickly moves to help her wife, kneeling beside her on the stairs. "Baby -- Tara.. fuck, are you all right?"

"Shane," Tara says again. "Shane, Shane..." Her hands rise, trembling by Shane's face for barely a moment before she wraps her arms around her wife, burying her face in the hollow of Shane's shoulder. "Shane..."

"Tara..." She whispers, deeply concerned by the fact that her wife has yet to say anything else besides her name over and over again. Still, she can't help Tara if she's panicking, herself, so she takes a very deep breath and slips her left arm around Tara's waist, carefully hooking her right arm beneath both of her legs and gathering her up into her arms. "Come on, baby, let's get you up off the stairs and you can tell me what happened..."

Tara feels like a child in Shane's arms, both her arms still around Shane's neck. She wants to just say Shane's name, again and again, filling her mind with Shane's presence, security, safety. Shane would never, never, never let anyone hurt her. Accident or not, somehow Shane would throw herself into the path of the bullet, and oh gods that's not any better, Shane's blood splattered over her throat, into her mouth, swallowing Shane's life... She fights back the image, pressing close enough that she can hear Shane's heart beating. "Katie. She... oh, god, Shane, her gun," but she's gone, the gun is gone - gone for now, and she's safe. Safe with Shane. For how long?

Those words and especially the way that Tara says them makes her blood run cold in her veins. Had something happened to Katie while she was at work? Something involving her gun? Oh, fuck, just the thought of it makes the bottom drop out of her stomach. Calm. Keep calm. Keepcalm, she reminds herself. Breathe. Breathe and stay calm. "Wh-what happened, Tara?" She asks and her voice is choked as she carries her wife into the living room and sits down on the couch with her, holding Tara on her lap. They'd probably need to get some ice on that ankle before too much longer - still, she wanted to take a look at it, first, just to be sure.

"She... I... I hugged her, and it was..." she swallows heavily, fingers rubbing compulsively over her arm where the gun brushed against her. She remembers the previous week, when she got incoherent, and how it frightened Shane, and she tries hard to find words, to make sense. Katie's words come back to her, and she says them almost numbly. "She's gone for a walk..."

Carefully arranging Tara's legs so that they're laying along the couch cushions, Shane reaches over and snags a throw pillow, making sure Tara is settled back against the arm of the couch, first, before reaching to gingerly lift Tara's twisted ankle and place it on the pillow. Once that's done, she gathers Tara back up into her arms. "So she came home..." she murmurs to herself, putting the pieces together for herself. Tara had hugged Kate and she'd still been wearing her gun. That's the only thing that she could think of that would have Tara in such a state, was a gun. She'd honestly never even thought about what Kate did with her gun when she wasn't working... and she should have. Goddamnit, she should have. Especially with Tara. So fucking stupid and careless. Reaching up, she gently smooths her hand over her wife's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay. I'm here, now," she whispers. "You called me and I'm here, see?"

Tara bites back a sob, letting it out in a shuddering breath. "Here. Mine. Safe with you." Her sentences are short, interrupted by her heaving breath, and she's trying hard to calm herself, but she meets Shane's eyes desperately, pressing her head against Shane's hand. "You came... Thank you, thank you..."

"I'm here," Shane says softly, her voice even and soothing as she tenderly strokes Tara's cheek. "Just breathe, my love. Breathe for me."

Locking her eyes onto Shane's, Tara tries. She gives herself over to Shane, breathing in as Shane breathes in, breathing out as Shane breathes out. She is safe inside of Shane, in her eyes, in her heart. Gradually she calms and slows as she finds that rhythm, her hand floating up to press gently over Shane's heart, feeling the beating there and willing her own heart to slow to match.

"Yeah... that's it," she whispers, placing her free hand over Tara's, thumb stroking over her wife's skin, her eyes shining with warmth and love and reassurance and pride. "That's my girl. I'm so proud of you, baby. That's good."

Proud. Good. She hates this, hates the fear that wells up inside her, and the pain in her bottom lip where she bit into it rivals that of her ankle, both a steady throbbing. "I scared Katie," she whispers, but her own eyes are still filled with fear of her own.

"You probably did," Shane agrees, though there are no traces of accusation or hurt in her words or expression, just concern, for both of them. "But ... she's never -- she's never seen you when you're..." When you're like this. She doesn't want to say it, but her mind finishes the thought for her all the same and she can't help but curse herself a million times over. It's not Tara's fault. A gun was what had taken her life - it only made sense that she would be scared of them once the Powers had sent her back. Logical, but at the same time so fucking unfair. She knows they're eavesdropping on her - or, at the very least, on her emotions - and for just a brief instant she lets the rage build and bloom inside her, full enough that they can't help but pick it up. Yeah... that's anger. Hope you fuckers choke on it. "When you get scared," she finishes quietly.

Tara's hand shifts from Shane's chest to her own, fingers pressing hard through the slightly nubbled longsleeved shirt to her bullet scar. She never really felt the pain of it entering her body, and she pushes now, pushes hard. "While we slept," she moans, trying to make Shane understand. "So many nights, so long..."

Shane's brows furrow as she watches Tara and she reaches up, gently pulling her hand away. "Baby, don't, you'll hurt yourself," she whispers, curling her fingers around Tara's palm and holding on tightly.

Her hand clenches, clutching onto Shane. Shane won't let her fall. "I can't," she whispers. She can't be okay with this. Her left arm still burns where the gun brushed her, that cold, heartless metal. "Shane, I need to be clean. Please. Please."

Shane stares at Tara for several moments and the desperation in her wife's eyes tears her heart to shreds. She can't be angry with Kate, never could be, so instead she's angry at the Powers. At the bastard who shot her. At herself. But not Kate. Never Kate. "Okay," she says softly, giving Tara's hand a squeeze. "What can we do to fix it? Can you tell me?"

"Take it away," Tara pleads. "Make me feel something else. Anything else. Her eyes flick briefly towards the fireplace. Fire, water, she doesn't care what it is, she just needs something to take that sensation away. She lifts her forearm so Shane can see, although she knows there isn't anything to see.

Seeing Tara glance in the direction of the fireplace makes the leaden weight in the pit of her stomach turn into a block of ice, freezing her from the inside out and it takes every bit of self-control she has not to shiver. She can't let that happen. She's relieved, though, when Tara holds out her arm, and she gently grasps Tara's wrist, eyes searching for any signs of anything. Finding none, she surmises that Tara had probably only brushed against the weapon somehow, but that still doesn't tell her what she needs to know. "Where?" She asks, her voice steady and calming as she runs the fingertips of her free hand over the back of her wife's hand.

Freeing her hand from Shane's, Tara ghosts her fingers over her forearm. She can still feel it, pressing there, an insistent burning, and she's careful not to let her fingers touch. It feels like a creeping plague - already covering more of her arm than actually contacted the weapon, and she's irrationally afraid that if she touches it will spread faster, clinging to her hands so that death hovers over everything she touches. "Here," she whispers, her voice trembling. Her fingers float back to her heart, as her voice drops, softer, ashamed. "And here." Always there, the scar that Jonathan pointed out should never have healed, shouldn't even exist.

Taking a deep breath, Shane slowly nods as she takes note of each spot and the way that Tara hesitates to touch them. A thought occurs to her and... the very idea of it is so ridiculous, she hesitates to try it on the off-chance that it might actually make things worse, but... it's in her gut and she can't just push it aside. Reaching out, she gently catches hold of Tara's wrist, stretching her arm out and steadying her elbow in the cup of her free hand. Ducking her head, she presses a firm kiss to the spot that Tara had indicated on the back of her forearm.

Tara's breath leaves her in a rush, and her hand flies to the back of Shane's head. She whimpers softly, ducking her chin to her chest, but doesn't snatch her arm away. The spot that Shane kissed tingles for a moment, as her skin remembers how to feel something else, and then fades from her consciousness, soothing the burn. Half a square inch over a handspan of flesh that aches so badly she wants to scratch it from her bones, but... better.

Glancing up, Shane studies Tara for a moment and she can still sense the tension in her hasn't eased, but she didn't pull away and that's something. So she starts at Tara's wrist and very carefully, very methodically, kisses every inch of skin, lips never leaving Tara's skin, kisses overlapping each other in a strange parody of a wooer's passionate love-making as she works her way up along Tara's forearm.

The tension eases out of Tara as the fierce burning subsides, and Shane is water, soothing and cleansing and washing away the sensation and the pain, and with it the edge of Tara's fear. The tears flow as Shane works, cooling on Tara's cheeks, but although her breathing is hitched, she's mostly silent. If Shane looks at her face, though, still bowed, she'll see Tara's lips forming Shane's name, over and over, like a mantra or a prayer.

When her nose brushes the edge of Tara's sleeve, just covering Tara's elbow, that's when Shane stops, gently turning Tara's arm so that she can press another kiss, softer, tender, reverent, into the inside crook of her wife's elbow. Lifting her head, she reaches up and gently wipes the tears from Tara's left cheek with the pad of her thumb and leans in to kiss away the others, the tip of her tongue brushing over the chilly traceries and chasing the cold away. "Does that help?" She asks very softly.

Tara nods, letting out a shuddering sigh. Her free hand still cups the back of Shane's neck, and now it weaves into her hair. "Thank you," she whispers. "I... I'm so sorry, Shane." But so grateful. She needed Shane, she called, and Shane came. Would always come? Yes. Always. Whenever Tara needed her. Would drop anything and everything. "Thank you," she whispers again, her body slumping tiredly as she rests her head against Shane's shoulder.

"It's okay," Shane whispers back, slipping her left arm around Tara's shoulders, holding her close, as she tenderly smooths Tara's hair out of her eyes, placing another soft kiss on her forehead. "I love you, baby."

"I love you," Tara replies, and her gratitude turns the words almost desperate. "Shane, I love you. I love you so much." She presses her face into Shane's neck, breathing her smell as deeply as she can. Shane's run from the station made her perspire, and her scent fills Tara's world. Her breathing is finally slow and calm as she takes those deep, controlled breaths, but it follows her own rhythm this time, not Shane's.

"I know... I know, baby," she murmurs, rocking her back and forth gently so as not to disturb her injured ankle. She's relieved that she's managed to calm Tara down but her concern for Kate still churns in her stomach, an insistent tugging much like the geis, but simply in a different spot. There's no way she can leave Tara right now, but as soon as she can, she'll call Kate and tell her she can come home... but that from now on, it's best if she leaves her sidearm at the police station.

"Katie," Tara whispers. "I... Shane, I love Katie." And hurt her, so badly... but she did the best she could, and she winces, shoulders tensing in pain as she prods the cut inside her mouth with her tongue. She did the best she could. Didn't let Kate see her cry. "But I... I can't... I can't live with a gun. I'm sorry, I... I can't." How? How can she? How can she sleep, eat, dance, laugh, bathe, sing, make love to her wife... with that fear running through the back of her mind?

"I know, Tara," Shane whispers back, broad palm still smoothing over her wife's hair. "I'll talk to her about it. She won't bring it home again." She knows that Kate loves Tara just as much as Tara loves her and the last thing that Kate would ever want to do is upset or hurt Tara. What the two women in her life share with each other is still so new, so fragile... she can only hope that this won't make things too hard on the both of them or ruin any of the progress they'd made. But Kate can't bring that gun home again. She probably won't even get a chance to ask, though - most likely Kate will promise her that she won't bring it home again because this place, this home that they all have together - and it is a home, in her mind and heart and all the other little ways that matter so much - can't be a safe place for Tara if she does.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, face crumpling as she struggles not to cry again. Her throat burns, the muscles tightening, her jaw aching with the effort of keeping back that which upsets Shane so much. Selfish, to give in to her own pain, to hurt the women she loves so. Selfish and weak, driving Kate from her own home, and she's been afraid since they first invited Kate to join them in Metropolis that Kate would feel like a third wheel, even though she and Shane had been together for longer. But Kate left her whole life for them, moved in with them where she had always had her own space before, and now Tara has driven her back into the cold, made her feel unwelcome here, putting conditions upon her love. No, not her love. Never that. She loves Katie. Nothing has changed that. She just can't, can't live with Kate's gun. Can't touch her or hold her, with it on her hip, hidden beneath her clothes as a deadly secret that Tara never, never, never wants to be trusted with. Never thought there was anything she wouldn't want to share with Kate, but there is, now.

"Shh, shh... it's gonna be all right, love, I promise," she murmurs, ducking her head to feather soft kisses over Tara's cheek. "We'll fix it. Katie knows that you still love her. Sweet, beautiful, brave girl... you're my goddess, you know that?"

Shane's goddess? How can she be, broken and weak as she is? The sob comes out, but it's half laugh, now. Shane will fix it. Shane will fix her. "I'm okay," she murmurs, words from the very first time they ever met. "It's alright, and I'm okay."

"Right, yeah... you are," Shane agrees, nuzzling Tara's cheek even as she gives her a careful squeeze. "I love you so much."

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I, um... I'm not... not good. With guns." An understatement, if there ever was one.

"I know," she whispers, her tone calm but sober, arms anchored firmly but gently around her wife.

"I should... I should call her." Her arms tighten as she remembers the look on Kate's face. The look she put there.

"No," Shane murmurs, shaking her head. "Not right now. We're gonna put some ice on your ankle and you're gonna lay down and rest and I'll call her."

"I don't need ice," Tara protests. "I'm okay, Shane. It's just twisted, it's not... it's not sprained." Lying down and resting sounds good - but not if it means Shane will leave her.

"Either way, you need to rest," she says, her tone brooking no argument. "And... I don't want you getting upset again."

"Stay?" Tara whispers, her voice breaking a little, and she presses her lips together before trying again. "Stay with me? Shane? Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," Shane promises, her arms still wrapped around Tara as securely as they had been a moment ago.

"My therapist," Tara murmurs. "He, um... he's going to work on this with me. Desensitization. I... it'll get better, Shane." I promise goes unsaid. She can't promise something she's not sure of, but she wants to badly to be sure. To not be this person.

"Okay," she replies evenly, nodding. She knows that Tara needs therapy and she's glad that she's getting the help that she needs, still... "I -- I'm just sorry ... I'm just sorry that... that -- that I'm... not enough."

"Oh, gods," Tara whispers, "Shane. You're everything." She presses a kiss to the underside of Shane's jaw. "I... it hurts you so. When I'm..." like this "I... I don't want... I don't want you to have to see that. I don't want to hurt you... any more." Any more, because she's already hurt Shane so very much - and she can only hope that what she's brought to Shane's life is worth more than what she's taken away.

"It hurts me because I -- I love you, Tara," Shane says, drawing in a slow, unsteady breath, doing her best to keep her cool. If she loses control of herself right now, all of it will come pouring out of her and Tara can't handle that, not right now. "I just... I just wish I could do more to... do something more to help you."

"You came," Tara says, and the gravity of her voice implies that's the biggest thing she can think of. "I needed you, and I called, and... and you came. I... I need to be better, Shane. You deserve... gods, you deserve so much more than me. I need... to be better."

"Tara, you're... you're ... you're everything, to me," Shane whispers, voice husky and hushed as tears well in her eyes, throat stubbornly trying to close around the words and keep them in, but she has to say this, has to. "Baby, you don't need to be more for me... you don't need to be... better, not for me. For you, because you need it, yeah. But... never for me. You're already everything I... everything I could ever..."

"Wish I could crawl inside you," Tara whispers. "So safe, in your arms." She struggles to find words, to explain the convoluted threads of her emotions. So much, so big. She doesn't want to be Shane, but she needs to be... stronger. Better. She knows Shane doesn't think so, but... "For us?"

"Us... yeah," she murmurs, nodding. Sniffling, she tries to swallow down the stubborn knot in her throat. "I -- I just... I just mean... I mean, I know... I know you don't... you don't like being this way and... I know that you're gonna get better. I'm just saying that... if -- even if you didn't... you're still the love of my life, so..."


"Shane," Tara breathes. She doesn't know how she can get any closer, hold Shane any tighter, but if she could she would. Shane loves her. Loves her. Broken as she is, Shane would love her forever. "Shane. Shane..." Even if you didn't... you're still the love of my life. "Shane..."

"I love you, Tara," Shane whispers, tears sliding down her face as she squeezes her eyes closed. "Always... alwaysalways..."

"Always," Tara says with her. "Love you. God, Shane, love you so much." She lifts her chin, licking away each tear with a tender touch of her tongue. "Your girl." Your goddess?

Nodding, Shane sniffs. "Mine," she murmurs, leaning forward to rest her forehead against her wife's. "My goddess. My Tara."

"Yours. And you are mine. My wife." Her voice is soft, reverent, the fear gone, erased by Shane's love. She's light, now, so light she might float away were it not for Shane's arms holding her down to earth.

"Your wife," she whispers, echoing in heartfelt agreement, nodding carefully. "I... can I -- can we... I -- I need to be... closer to you... than this..." She knows it's probably asking for a lot, especially right now, but sex is actually the furthest thing from her mind...

"Yes," Tara says immediately. She unwinds her arms from Shane's neck, stripping off her shirt without a moment's hesitation. "Closer. Please, yes, closer. Shane, closer..."

"Wait, wait -- Tara, wait, baby... let me take you upstairs, first, okay?" Shane murmurs, a faint chuckle winding through her words at her wife's insistence. "I... I just wanna... lay down with you and cast a circle and ... just be with you... you know?"

"Yes. Yes, Shane..." Cast a circle. Be with her wife, be inside her wife, part of her, entwined with her. "Upstairs? My room?" Her room, where she knows the gun has never been, where they're safe from the shadows of that threat.

"Okay..." Brushing one last kiss to Tara's forehead, Shane carefully slips her right arm beneath Tara's knees, left arm hooking around her waist. Gathering her precious armful to her, she stands and makes sure that Tara is settled into her arms securely before she heads out of the living room and starts up the stairs.

"I can walk," Tara protests, laughing a little, but she settles her arms back around Shane's neck, not wanting to unbalance her wife. "Shane...!"

Pausing on the landing between the first floor and the second, she looks at Tara, arching her eyebrow. "What?"

"You don't have to carry me!" Nevertheless, Tara lays her head down on Shane's shoulder, snuggling into her. "My knight," she whispers. "My love. Shane."

"Yes, I do," Shane whispers back, her voice warm, tone unflinchingly adoring as she starts up the flight that takes them up to the second floor of their apartment. "You're my goddess."

"Does that make you my priestess?" Tara asks softly. Shane's tone twines through her, threading through all the cold, dark places in her soul, and releasing them in her next breath, turning her mouth away from Shane to breathe out the poison.

Shane opens her mouth, drawing in a breath of her own to reply but hesitates for a moment. "I... I don't know," she murmurs as she turns the corner. "Is that what I am? Reach down and get the door, baby."

Obediently, Tara reaches down for the knob, nudging the door open with the tips of her fingers. "You're my knight," Tara replies, musing softly. "But when you worship me... when you drew down the moon... yeah. You were my priestess. Are, maybe."

"Drew down the moon? Wh-what does that mean?" Shane asks, sounding befuddled as she toes the door the rest of the way open and slips into Tara's room, crossing over to the bed and carefully depositing her wife on it.

"Called the Goddess into me," Tara explains. "The other day. Um.... yeah. That's... that's what it's called." Her hands release from Shane's neck, sliding down her arms, lingering at her wrists.

"I... I did that? I -- what?" Shane stammers, blinking down at Tara, stunned.

"You called the Goddess into me. Drew down the moon. You... you didn't feel that? I... You... you invoked the Goddess in me." Shane hadn't meant to, she knew that, but... she didn't realise?

"I -- I felt something, but... fuck, I -- I didn't mean..." She shakes her head, eyes wide, and she takes a deep breath.

"No, Shane... what? You didn't... it was... it was... gods, Shane, it was freaking amazing!" She meets Shane's eyes, her fingers tightening around Shane's wrists, refusing to let her go.

"I-it's a good thing?" Shane asks, brows furrowed as she shoots an inquiring look at Tara. "Like, she... she won't... mind?"

"Why...? Shane? I... I don't understand, baby... Mind?" She tugs gently, encouraging Shane to lie down atop her.

"I don't know what the fuck I did, Tara," she says, notes of distress winding into her voice. "And I don't know how I did it and -- and you're telling me it was amazing and I'm freaking out because I don't know what the hell is going on."

"Shane." Tara's voice is soft but firm. "It's okay. It's... on your hip, remember? Maiden, Mother, Crone. The Goddess in every woman. It's... like Plato. You know Plato? Life is shadows on the wall, reflections of what's true? You called the Goddess into me. For a moment I was... I wasn't a shadow. I was the Goddess. My truest face. Whole. It's..." as she talks, as she tries to explain, she begins to understand. "It's not like a possession, Shane. It's not... not separate, like that. That's what that symbol says. That every woman is a goddess, at her heart. You... you invoked her in me. You saw the goddess within me, the best and brightest I can ever be, and you drew her forth. You worshipped me, and for a moment, I was worthy of that worship. It's... it's drawing down the moon, love. I'd never done it before. But it was me, Shane. Just you and me, nobody else."

"So that... that was you? It was still you?" Shane asks, biting her lip as she looks at Tara uncertainly, trying to make sense of what her wife is saying.

"Still me," Tara nods. "But the best me. Me without the fears and the doubts and... the strongest me. The goddess within me. I... I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well at all, but Shane, it was... oh, gods, I've never felt so loved in all my life."

Taking another breath, Shane nods... even though Tara might feel as though she's not explaining it well, it still makes sense to her on a very fundamental level. Reaching up, she gently brushes the backs of her fingers over Tara's cheek. "That's how I feel for you... every minute, every second..." she whispers.

"You are my priestess," Tara whispers. "You call her from within me. You make me the best of myself. I... Shane, I'm more real, more myself with you than... than I've ever been." She turns her head, pressing a gentle kiss against those fingers. "You make me feel like a goddess. And I... I want to be her, but it's you that calls her. Invokes her, within me. Me, within me."

"You will be... I see her," Shane murmurs, tenderly brushing her fingertips over Tara's forehead, smoothing her hair back, eyes gleaming.

"I see her, too," Tara whispers. "In your eyes. And I think, maybe... maybe I'm getting closer. Every day, just a little bit closer." But never closer than when Shane looks at her like this, this unconditional love and total adoration, this belief that not only is Tara good and worthy, she is precious and beloved and something holy.

Shane gently traces the graceful arch of Tara's eyebrow, stroking there for a moment, before she reaches down and catches the hem of her long-sleeve t-shirt in her hands and tugs it up, pulling her shirt off over her head. Glancing down along her body, she can see the curve of the moon peeking out from the waistband of her jeans and she runs her fingertips lightly over the spot. It's only marker, for right now, but soon it will be ink... proper ink, pressed into her skin, burying that mark there under it forever. "I can't wait for this to be the real thing," she says softly.

Tara lets out a soft sigh of pleasure, ghosting her fingers down Shane's torso and down to rest over Shane's. "Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?" She doesn't want to sound desperate - but she doesn't feel that she can wait, either. She'd suggest they go now, this very moment, if she didn't think they were about to close. It's nearly five, after all...

Nodding, Shane lifts her head up to meet Tara's eyes. "Yeah... tomorrow," she murmurs. "I checked in the phone book. There's a place in East Eden. I'll call tomorrow morning and see what time they're open until."

"Tomorrow," Tara repeats. "I want it to be real, Shane. I want to be part of you. And I... Shane, I... I want you to be part of me." She ducks her head a little, but keeps eye contact, willing Shane to hear what she's not-quite-saying.

"You..." Shane begins, only to trail off faintly, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she realizes what Tara is saying. "You... really?"

"I, um... I don't know where?" Tara says, stroking her thumb over the back of Shane's hand. "But I... yeah. I, um... I really."

Turning her hand at the wrist, Shane gently clasps Tara's fingers and holds onto her hand as she takes a seat on the bed beside her. "Are you sure? You don't have any. You don't -- you don't have to," she says softly, even though, deep down, there's a part of her that's doing gleeful somersaults.

"I don't have any because... because I've never had something I wanted forever before. I... this... I want this forever." Twisting her body, she lays her head against Shane's thigh, nuzzling gently.

"Oh... baby, I --" Shane whispers, scarcely able to get the words out as she reaches out and runs her hand over Tara's hair. "Oh, Tara..."

"If that's... that's okay?" She kind of just assumed Shane would want to be etched onto her skin, into her body the way she's etched into her soul. Neither does she want to steal Shane's thunder, to overshadow in any way the gesture she's making, and part of her wishes she could take back the words. It leaves her so bare, but... she's always bare, with Shane. And Shane has never laughed at her, never used her vulnerability and openness as an opportunity or excuse to hurt her.

"I... yeah -- yes... yes, it's okay," Shane murmurs, nodding. Tara must have thought that she was upset by the idea, but the truth of the matter is, she couldn't be more honored. That Tara would want to do this - would choose for this to be her first tattoo - strikes a powerful chord inside her. She can recall Tara saying that she'd had a great many firsts with her and... this would be no different. "I -- you want to get your tomorrow, too?"

"I... yeah. With you. Both of us. I want... I want to do it together. With... with the same ink. Your skin, and my skin, and... I want you to... I want you to choose where, Shane. Where it should go. Where you want to... to be..." She lifts her head, scooting closer to slide it onto Shane's lap, encouraging Shane to play with her hair. To touch her, in any and every way she might want to.

Shane lightly strokes the soft hair along Tara's hairline as she considers that thought. There's a whole canvas of flawless, creamy skin - Tara's a tattoo artist's wet dream - and Tara had said she could choose. But having five tattoos, herself, Shane knows where some of the most painful spots are and she wants to spare Tara anything too intense for her first time. Her first instinct is to reach down and place her hand flat over Tara's heart, but it doesn't take her long to cast that idea off. Tara should have something that she can easily hide or reveal as she wishes... and a tattoo on her chest, peeking out from the bodice of her blouses, regardless of its symbolism, would probably give her students the wrong impression. Biting her lip, she slowly runs her fingers through Tara's hair, following the line of her throat... stopping on her shoulder. Glancing down, she gently smooths Tara's hair back from her neck, letting her fingertips lightly trace the veins pulsing there. Somewhere easily hidden... and Tara's hair is precious to her... "The nape of your neck?" She asks, reaching beneath the thick fall of Tara's hair to brush against the spot, along her hairline.

Tara closes her eyes as Shane's fingers touch her. The caress feels wonderful, her skin tingling under the touch. She licks her lips, reluctant to gainsay Shane, but... "but I... Shane, I won't be able to see it, there."

"I was... just trying to think of someplace that wouldn't be too obvious," Shane murmurs, lightly stroking Tara's cheek with her thumb. "So you can cover it up when you're teaching, but... I mean, you could get it on your hip... here..." Trailing off, she draws her hand away from Tara's face and reaches along her wife's body, palm sliding along her side to rest on the outer curve of her hip.

Tara lifts herself up onto her forearms, bringing her body down against Shane's, lining up the outer curve of her hip against Shane's hipbone. The position leaves her legs between Shane's, Shane's thigh nestling between both of hers. "Yeah," she murmurs at last. "That... that could be good."

"You could see it, that way," Shane points out, a small smile curling her lips. "Or ... you could get it in the same spot I'm getting mine, if you want... but... umm..."

"But... but what?" Seeing is good. Better. Right. She wants to be able to see it, touch it, trace it with eyes and fingers, and she lowers herself to kiss the corner of Shane's mouth.

"But... if you get... pregnant, it causes your skin to stretch and... it'd basically destroy the design," Shane finishes, ducking her head when she realizes just how awful that sounds.

"Oh," Tara murmurs, ducking her head as well to nudge Shane's cheek, urging her cheek back up. "Well then, probably not there. I want your mark and your baby."

"Sorry, I... that was... a fucking shitty thing for me to say, I'm sorry," she replies, brows pinched as she looks up at Tara. How can she explain it? How can she say the words and not sound selfish and greedy? I want you to have my children but I don't want my mark to be ruined by it... The greatest possible gift Tara could ever give her and she's worried about a stupid tattoo.

"What? Shane..." Sometimes the twists Shane's mind makes loses her, and she can only hope her gentle smile belies Shane's concern. "Shane, I want both. I want your baby, and I want your mark. So we just have to choose a place that works, right?" If they can find a place that she can see it, and that won't be destroyed by age or pregnancy. "I don't need to cover it, though. I mean, I... I don't mind who sees it."

Immediately, Shane's eyes stray down to the inside of her left wrist, where the bold, black letter K sits just beneath the bend of her wrist, off-set just slightly from the median of her arm. Biting her lip, she looks up at Tara and holds her wrist out. "You -- you could get it on your right wrist," she suggests, both brows lifting just slightly. The left side, the tattoo artist had told her, was the side closest to her heart... which is why she had opted for that spot for the tattoo in honor of her birth mother, but for her it also symbolized a great deal of pain and loss and that's not what this is about, that's not what this is meant to represent.

"Around my wrist?" Tara murmurs. "LIke a bracelet?" Her fingers stroke over Shane's tattoo. In the flow of energy, the left side is ingoing and the right side is outgoing. That... works. The goddess symbol, outgoing. The face, the self she wants to learn to wear, to present to the world. A reminder in her interactions with the world of how she should touch them, her presence, her words, her life and intentions, the path she walks.

"Yeah... what do you think?" Shane asks quietly, worrying on her bottom lip as she looks at Tara.

Tara slides off of Shane, settling herself on the bed next to her. The fingers of her left hand stroke the inside of her right wrist, over her pulsepoint. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Your ring on my left, and your mark on my right. I like that. I... I want that, Shane. If... if you're sure...?"

"It's your body, love...so... are you sure?" She asks evenly, reaching up to gently tuck a lock of her wife's hair behind her ear.

She looks down at her wrist, and then down at Shane's hipbone. "Would... um, what... what symbol? What mark?"

Following Tara's gaze, she touches the spot lightly. "I... this is... this is yours," she murmurs, her tone pensive as she tries to think of something. After a moment her eyes widen just slightly. "What am I the knight of?"

"Well, you're... you're my knight, but... in the tarot deck, cups represent water. I, um... I can't remember whether it was that one you came up with in the reading, but... yeah. Um." She can't help but raise her wrist against Shane's fingers, urging her to touch more firmly.

Feeling that gentle pressure, Shane takes Tara's hand, cradling it in both of her own, her thumb stroking slowly back and forth over the inside of Tara's wrist. "You could... you could get my initial here... or maybe ... I don't know, a cup... you know, like on the card? It's up to you, baby."

"I chose yours," Tara demurs. "I want you to choose mine." Her fingers hover near Shane's, making tiny traceries in the air, wondering if there's a way to do both. Perhaps if one curve of the S formed the round of the cup? "Do we still have the marker up here? Do you... would you like to play?" Shane knew, when she saw it. Maybe she'll feel the same way?

Pursing her lips, Shane looks around for a moment. The last time she'd seen the marker was... "Ah, hang on a sec," she murmurs, ducking her head to place a kiss on the spot she'd been stroking. She scoots to the edge of the bed and leans over to dig into the nightstand where she'd tossed the marker after that one really intense afternoon a few days before and, sure enough, it's there. Grabbing it, she shuts the drawer again, toeing her sneakers off as she crawls back up onto the bed. "I... I don't know how to draw," she warns with a weak chuckle.

Tara takes the opportunity to shuck the last of her own clothing, wanting to feel her wife's skin along her own. "That's okay," Tara replies, a much warmer chuckle of her own answering Shane's. "We won't make it permanent until you like it. And... it's be your mark. From your own hand."

Shane can't help but watch Tara as she divests herself of the last of her clothes and slips off of the bed to follow suit, stripping off her jeans as well as her socks and briefs, leaving them in a puddle by the bed. Climbing back up onto the bed, she slips beneath the covers. "C'mere, beautiful," she says, crooking her right index finger at Tara, the marker still held in that hand as she takes the cap off and grins.

Tara slides under the covers on Shane's left, brushing a soft kiss to Shane's cheek before she offers her right wrist. "Do you want to draw here, first? Or do you want to practice... elsewhere?" Truthfully, she'd be quite happy for Shane to draw all over her, to be covered from head to toe in the trailings of Shane's fingers, a visible remnant of her touch.

"Mmm... I don't know... 'cause I'm seriously not shitting you here, Tara, I can't draw," Shane says again, chuckling.

"Practice elsewhere, then," Tara nods. She flips back the sheet, slinging one leg over Shane's lap. "Just... just play. Okay?"

Shane's brows furrow a bit as she glances over at Tara... she's not entirely sure why this means so much to her wife, but she's determined to at least try. Frowning to herself a little, she looks down at Tara's leg settled in her lap and tilts her head. Tara's skin is so beautiful - the thought of black staining it feels wrong, but... it's what Tara wants. She fits the cap of the marker into the corner of her mouth, biting down on it determinedly as she fans the fingers of her left hand out and rests her hand on Tara's thigh. Tilting her head to the other side, she leans forward just slightly as she carefully traces an outline of her hand.

Tara purrs softly, feeling the soft scratch of the nib, the coolness as the moisture evaporates. Her eyes grow wider, her smile softer as Shane's hand, the hand that bears Tara's ring and the coiled lock of hair within, that proclaims their relationship to the world. "Mmm. Shanehand."

Lifting her hand away, Shane frowns at the results. She's not an artist, not like this. Give her a comb and a pair of scissors and she can have even the most hostile customer walking out of the shop with a smile on their face and a suitably handsome haircut, but with a pen and paper... or even a marker and Tara's beautiful skin... she's hardly Picasso. The lines that make up the handprint are wobbly and it appears as though her ring finger is long than her middle finger thanks to having to lean over in order to see what she was doing. And are her fingers really that skinny? Biting back a sigh, she keeps at it, knowing that Tara will be grateful that she's at least trying, and carefully draws a wedding ring on the outline of her ring finger.

Tara smiles softly as she watches Shane add the ring, and looks up into Shane's face. Slowly, her smile falls, and she reaches for the marker, stilling Shane's hand. "You really don't want to do this," she whispers, and it's a statement, not a question. "Come on, baby. Lie down with me."

Pulling the cap from her mouth, Shane places it back on the marker, doing everything she can to resist the urge to toss the thing across the room. Tara's disappointed in her and that's the last thing she wanted. "I... I-I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down.

"Shane," Tara whispers, raising her hand to lift Shane's chin, urging her to meet Tara's eyes. "I want only what you want to give, my love. And I'd rather it was your fingers touching me than a pen, any day. It's not making you happy."

"It's just... I'm not -- good at it and... your skin is too beautiful to fuck up with stupid doodles because I can't even draw," Shane murmurs, brows creasing.

Tara takes the pen from Shane's fingers and drops it onto the nightstand, her eyes shadowed. "Just touch me? Please?" She hurts Shane so effortlessly, as though her words were knives. Like she hurt Katie. Not enough, not good enough or strong enough or sensitive enough to keep from hurting the people she loves most. Her father told her she was a demon, that she would destroy the people she loved if he didn't keep her locked up and under control. He was wrong about the demon part... but not about the rest. She does destroy them, slicing away with her clumsy words, and each cut hurts her just as much as them. Destroys them both, all, until there's nothing left of any of them but pain and tears that drop like blood.

Scooting down under the covers, Shane rolls over onto her side, head settling onto the pillow as she looks at Tara. She can see the shadows and know that it's her that put them there and it was the last thing she'd wanted... last thing she ever wants. "Please...? I'm sorry," she whispers, tone imploring, breath catching as she reaches for Tara's hand. "You just.... you don't need any of that shit. You're just so beautiful, Tara, but... I'll try again, okay? Please?"

"Make me feel beautiful, Shane?" Tara's throat is closed, the words choked. "Forget the marker, I don't care about that." She links her fingers through Shane's, drawing Shane's hand up against her cheek to rest against its back. Her eyes slide shut, her mouth twisting sadly. "Just... make me feel beautiful?"

"You are beautiful, baby... you are..." Shane insists softly, gently drawing Tara down to lay beside her. Slipping her arms around her wife, she presses a soft kiss to Tara's cheek and another to her throat, broad palm smoothing over her back in soothing passes. "I can't draw and I don't know enough words, but... I wish I could draw... I wish I could... write poetry like Geoff does. I wish I could..."

"You do write poetry," Tara whispers. "Not with words, but... with your hands, and your eyes, and..." She shakes her head slowly, her hand slipping around Shane's waist, to trace the sillhouette of the violin she knows is tattooed there with a trembling hand. "That's why this is empty. You're not the violin, Shane, you're... you're the player. I... I'm the instrument, and you make me sing. You make me into poetry."

Tipping her head to one side, Shane rubs her cheek against Tara's, feeling the soft, tiny hairs on her skin brush against her cheek as she runs her hand along Tara's arm. "You're already poetry, baby," she whispers.

"I'm music," Tara corrects softly, her breath feathering over Shane's cheek. "But music on its own is nothing. Music has to be played. And you play me, Shane. It's your gift. You make me sing."

Nestling her face in the hollow of Tara's shoulder, Shane breathes in the scent of her wife's skin, her hair, losing herself in it for just a moment even though she could easily spend hours - days - just like this, holding her close. "So maybe I'm an artist after all," she murmurs, nuzzling Tara's throat.

"You are," Tara replies, quiet and confident, her fingers playing up Shane's spine, petting the space between each vertebrae. "You're an artist. A player. And I want you to play me, Shane. Teach me to be beautiful? Make me feel it? I'm... Shane, I hurt."

Dotting tender kisses along Tara's throat, Shane reaches up, fingers carding gently through her wife's hair. "I'm so sorry you hurt, love," she whispers, nuzzling a delicate patch of skin behind Tara's ear. "So sorry... I love you so much, Tara..."

Eyes still closed, Tara lays her head back into the pillow, lifting her chin to give Shane access to her throat, a gesture of trust and vulnerability she's not unconscious of. You could rip out my throat, or my heart... and you never will.

Shane trails soft, open-mouthed kisses down the length of Tara's throat, nuzzling warm skin when she reaches the base, carefully kissing her way back up and following the graceful structure of her jawline. Her right hand slides down over Tara's side, soft, fine hairs tickling the palm of her hand, and gently grasps Tara's hip, kneading it even as she works her way back down Tara's throat and further, nibbling lightly along her wife's collarbone.

Tara presses the pads of her fingers over the ridges of Shane's spine, splaying her fingers so that each touches a different bone. Fragile strength, like Shane's, the spine. Too much pressure between any of those ridges could paralyse her completely... and yet, she's so very strong, able to lift all of Tara's weight - more than Shane's own - to bear the weight of her darkness, that sometimes weights down her own soul so that she can hardly breathe. She hurts Shane, despite all her best efforts... but to Shane, she's worth it.

Tara's silence is making her careful, every touch almost cautious, as though she's waiting for the moment, listening for Tara's voice to tell her to stop. Each movement measured to an almost painstaking degree, she presses herself against Tara, gently rolling her onto her back and settling her slight weight atop her wife. Ducking her head, she rubs her cheek against Tara's slowly, as though a low, vibrating purr might start rumbling in her chest at any moment, much like it might with Dexter.

Shane blankets her, shoulder to toes, shielding her from the world, and she finally lets out a hitching sob against the softness of the pillow. She is safe, here. She can't move unless Shane does, unless Shane leaves her, and within this constricted space, her options are removed. No choices, no control, and in her self imposed silence that means there's nothing she can do that can hurt Shane. She is helpless, and being helpless makes her harmless. Safe.

Their apartment is situated in the upper floors of a fairly tall building so not a whole lot of traffic noises - either of the human or vehicular variety - tend to reach their windows. She loves playing music whenever she's at home, but she doesn't have a stereo or television in her room. Those things she wants to share with other people... she enjoys them more when it's not just her. So her room is almost always very quiet and still... which can be a good thing, in that she can hear the way her skin whispers over Tara's when they're making love, can indulge herself and listen to Tara's breathing while her wife sleeps. When she hears the tiny sob, Shane slowly ducks her head, cheek gliding over Tara's on its journey, resting her forehead on her wife's chest.

"Please don't leave me," Tara whispers, her voice tight and pleading. I'll kill you eventually, like I killed her, I'll break apart and take you with me, but I'm not strong enough to stop it. All she can do is hold on for as long as she can, be the best and brightest she can. They say that the only way to survive a long fall is if your body is totally relaxed - if you see the ground coming, you tense, and break. Maybe not knowing when it will hit is a good thing. Maybe she can survive it. Somehow.

"Never, Tara... I'm never leaving you," Shane whispers, words slightly muffled as her head still rests on Tara's chest. It's the only truth she knows, the only thing she's certain of.

Tara lets out a long, shuddering breath, wrapping those words around her, using them to tie herself fast to this place and space and time. Shane is not Willow, to leave her in spirit long before Tara walked physically away, to stretch and cut her to fit like Procrustes in the greek myth. Shane loves all of her. "Thank you," she whispers.

Shifting down a bit, Shane settles between Tara's legs, pillowing her head on her wife's breast. It's her fault that Tara's upset. Her fault, because she can't be young. Doesn't know how. Doesn't know how to draw. Thinks her own mother's crazy for trying to teach her how to play tag. CJ should never have had to teach her. It's something all kids know. She knew it, once... but that's all she does know about it, is that she remembers that she once knew how. "I'm sorry I'm so fucked up," she whispers. "I know I am, I -- I've been... trying to fix it and ... I don't even know if it's working... but... every broken piece loves you..."

"All my broken pieces love all your broken pieces," Tara whispers. "So we... we can be broken, together?" She knows the battle to fix oneself, to constant fight to improve, to be more than a worthless shell of a person. She cradles Shane's head to her chest, fingers twining through Shane's hair. "Why are you, um... why are you screwed up, baby?" Her own head is so full at the moment, she's having great difficulties following Shane's.

"You... before, you... you said 'play' and... I don't -- I don't know how," Shane whispers very softly, eyes sliding closed at the touch of Tara's hand on her hair. At least, now, she's talking again... touching her... maybe she can start to fix things, now...

"I don't know," Tara replies softly. "You started a game with me last week, remember? And you won, too. I think I still owe you a prize for that." She rubs gently at Shane's scalp with the pads over her fingers, an idle massage. "It was a good game. It made me laugh. And... oh, Shane, I love playing with you. Even if, um, connect the dots kind of... failed. A lot."

"I don't need a prize," she murmurs. "I just like seeing you smile... that's my prize... and I get it almost every day..."

"Almost?" Tara repeats. "I'll have to work on that, then. If that's the best I can give you, you ought to be getting a lot more of it. You deserve a lot more of it." Oh, gods, she loves this woman. Shane doesn't know how to play? Shane, who makes her heart so light? But their play always turns more serious, and... maybe that's what she means? And then again, is that a bad thing? Laughter is a gateway to pass through, not a destination.

"No, no, no... I -- I didn't mean it that way," Shane says, shaking her head. "I just mean... I -- I don't ... expect that. You don't have to be happy everyday... or even smile everyday... I'll -- that doesn't mean I won't try, but... you can have bad days, Tara... you will and that's all right."

"And you know the same is true for you, right? You don't... Shane, I don't expect you to be perfect. I don't want you to be perfect. I already feel like I don't deserve you, and... I know you feel the same way. Um, that you don't deserve me, not that I don't... yeah. But I... I'll try too. To make you happy, or to... to give you what I can. I just... Shane, I don't want to break you."

"You don't," she says softly, eyes still closed. "You're... not. You wouldn't -- you wouldn't do that. You don't... you don't break me. You make me better."

"When I'm... when I'm good I make you better. When I'm broken... I break you, too. I... when I died, Willow... she..." Tara stops. Maybe this isn't such a good story to tell.

"I know..." Shane whispers, biting her lip to stifle the shiver. Her memories of what she'd seen when she and Tara had been meditating together were faint, now... vague, but that was one that she would never be able to forget. It had been hazy, even from Tara's point of view... but... it was still difficult, almost impossible, to reconcile the sweet-natured geeky redhead that Tara had been so head-over-heels for with the vengeful, black-haired wraith she'd seen hints of in Tara's memories. She'd... killed the man who killed Tara. Tied him up and skinned him like a rabbit and all with a few flicks of her hands. With magic... And that's the thought that makes her blood run coldest. "I'd... Tara, I'd... I'd never... never..."

"When I was... lost... you went after Crowley. With a baseball bat. And it was to save me, to help me, I know that - and I love you for it, Shane. I just... I worry that if... if I were to... if I were to break, you might... I might take you with me. And I don't... Shane, I don't want to hurt you. And I know that when I get cut, you bleed. So I just... I can't break." That simple. Except for the bullet that drives through flesh and fragments life and sanity. Unexpected, impossible to prepare for, and now a symbol of everything else, anything that might break or destroy her.

"If you go... Tara, I go with you... and that's anywhere," Shane says softly. "I promised you that."

"Even if that's..." Tara presses her lips together, grateful her eyes are closed. "Even if that means insanity? Or... death?" Her voice drops to a bare whisper as she lays her fears open, raw nerve endings of pain.

"Even if," she whispers. "If... if I ever lost you again, like -- like I did back in Fandom... and ... there was no way to get you back... I would lose my mind. And if you ... died... again... then I'd want to be with you. I... there's nowhere you could go that I wouldn't follow, Tara..."

Tara's arms tighten around Shane and she turns her head, pressing the side of her face against the pillow as the tears flow silently. "Anywhere and everywhere," she whispers. "As long as we're together."

Shane gently smooths her hand back and forth along the length of Tara's arm, shifting her head a bit to press a kiss to her wife's skin. "You've got me... for always," she says softly, her tone steady and calm and sure.

With a soft whimper, Tara wraps both legs around Shane's lower back, pressing her tear-streaked face into Shane's hair. "Never letting you go," she vows. "Never, never, never."

"Good... 'cause this is the only place I wanna be," Shane murmurs. "Love you, Tara..."

"My Shane," Tara whispers back. "I love you." She's clinging to Shane with arms and legs and dreams and heart, wrapping herself in Shane for all that it looks like she's wrapping Shane in her. Never alone. Never again. Never have to cry and wonder if someone will come, because all she has to do is tug on that cord and Shane will be there. No matter what. Knowing it, but wanting to hear it, she asks softly, "Shane? If I called you, like I did today... you'd come, right? I mean... it wouldn't matter what I was interrupting, you'd... you'd drop it, to come to me?"