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.