Chapter 3: The Corollary of One Step Up

She was sound and life. Sweat and breath. Coming hard and leaving slow. Taking that irrational heartbeat and making sense of it somehow. Gathering the disparate pieces of her shattered existence and offering her some of cohesion, some sort of tenderness amid the desolation of the wasteland that was now her soul. The mouth between her legs wasn't taking from her, but offering to her...sustaining, nurturing... not seeking absolution or integration...just granting solace and peace of a sort she hadn't really ever known.

"Kim, honey... you left the front door unlocked."

Auburn hair shown russet in the violent moonlight, filtering points of green-gray light as it shone down upon her. A lazy smile creased Kim's features--she felt it split her skin, hew her skull open and send all the tumult and pain tumbling to the feet of the woman who claimed her heart. "I knew you were coming."

"Really?" A gentle chuckle and slender limbs came to stand between her sprawled legs. "Because I'm off shift two hours early."

"Let me guess. Abby called you and told you it'd be best if you came and checked on me."

Kerry's concerned frown came into focus as she slipped to her knees and tilted Kim's chin towards her. "Abby...? Have you talked to her tonight?"

Kim blinked twice and looked around for the receiver that had just been in her hands. She didn't see it resting darkly in the grass where it had slipped soundlessly. "Apparently not."

Her lover's eyes flickered towards the bottle resting at the foot of Kim's chair. "Do I want to ask how big a dent you put into that?"

The psychiatrist took one look at Kerry's stern features and shook her head, a bemused smile drifting over her mouth. "But to answer your question-- in spite of your not wanting to ask-- not a big enough one."

"And you're so certain?"

"Because I can still feel my nose."

"Ah... there's a good sign."

"Not to mention other things."

Kerry paused, and Kim watched the light flicker off her eyes as they surveyed the slumped collapse of her spine, the graceful skin-and-muscle bevel of her abdomen, the curl of her fingers around the heavy weight of her now-empty glass.She heard the muted intake of her lover's breath, knew that Kerry was moved in spite of herself, felt the gentle press of tiny hands against her tensed thighs.

Waited for a touch that didn't come.

She opened her eyes-- only mildly surprised to discover she had closed them-- and was disappointed to see Kerry standing over her once more. Looming far taller than her sixty-few inches would seem to entitle her. "Come inside, Kim."

"But it's so nice out here."

"It's nicer in there."

"Says who?"

She captured one of Kim's hands in her own and tugged loosely. "Trust me."

"Famous last words," Kim muttered, but nontheless obediently allowed herself to be led inside. She had a sneaking suspicion she was being humored in the time-honored tradition that demanded long-suffering wives put their sodden husbands to bed with nary a complaint and only a quiet sigh. Only thing was... she wasn't anybody's husband and Kerry Weaver damn well wasn't a long-suffering anything.

Through the door she stopped, her hand in Kerry's pulling the other woman up short. "I don't want to do this, Kerry."

"What's that, Kim?"

"This..." She gestured loosely with her other hand. "This... civilized thing... until whatever lunacy that's got holdofme passes."

"I think you're drunk, Kim, not crazy."

"I fucked Abby Lockhart on the roof of the hospital." She felt the hand in hers turn icy just before it released its grip.

"Don't recall that being a crit in the DSM-IV either."

"Kerry..."

"When?"

"Last week."

Pale skin paled even further, followed by a darkened flush. Wordlessly, Kerry brushed by her to the enclosed backyard and returned with the bottle with which Kim had spent the evening bonding extensively. "Obviously I have some catching up to do," she said dryly, reaching up and pulling down one ofthe dozen-odd mismatched antique crystal glasses Kim had collected over the years. The one in Kerry's hand was a particularly lovely Waterford highball glass; and the psychiatrist watched in fascination as her lover poured a hefty shot, drank it down and then hurled the glass in her direction--all in one smooth movement whose wind-up would have done El Duque proud.

A shocked silence, broken only by the tinkling rain of falling shards of glass, echoed between them. It was the kind grand cinematic gesture that Kim hadn't ever thought Kerry capable of; and she wasn't quite sure what to think of it. On the one hand it was damn funny, on the other...Kim didn't want to begin to contemplate what had moved Kerry to that extreme action.

"You channeling Vivien Leigh or Katherine Hepburn right now?" she asked, in spite of herself.

Kerry narrowed her eyes and pulled another glass down from the shelf.

It was out of her mouth before she had time to stop it. "I just want to know if I should worry about my head or my golf clubs."

"Bad answer, Legaspi." Another drink. Another shot to the wall. A third glass in hand.

"I'm going to run out of glasses, Kerry."

"Not before I end up as drunk as you are."

"And this will solve...?"

"Absolutely nothing, Kim. But maybe it will get me to the place you are right now that found it provident to mention that you were fucking Abby Lockhart on the roof of my hospital last week."