Previously

Tina's silence was powerful, to Bette and to her. They were standing amid a room full of people, and they stood out. Tina's own anger had flared, and partly she reveled in the idea of making a scene, which seemed less mentally taxing than holding it all in. But she could tell Bette would not appreciate this tactic, would perhaps see it as self-indulgent, even cheap. So she held her tongue and let her face do the talking. It said how dare you. It said god I love you.

But when words did come, Tina said, "Go sit down. I'll be back."

Bette immediately turned and strode off, looking pretty fucking sexy in the process, and Tina almost smiled despite her checked anger. If Dean had been there, they would have laughed together in mutual acknowledgment of the most glaring of facts: She is so hot!

But Dean wasn't there, was rather one of the calls she must return, so she made her way towards the back door, into the muted sunlight, and looked down at the call she had to make first. Her heart felt heavy, and her nerves jangly. But she swallowed the panic, noting with sorrow the familiar taste, and waited anxiously for the voice on the other end.

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Time is a ticking feeling.

Not that time is actually ticking in some objective way, apart from the idea of it. Time is not ticking. Time is Ticking. The wait. The expectation. For something to return, like a story.

Bette was determined not to tick. She had the thought as she glanced at her watch. As she noted the time, and the wait, the something she waited for, the something she feared. Not that she feared one thing in particular. Something was fragmented by its vagueness, crystallized into millions of distinct surfaces, reflecting want, hope, loss. What is she doing? Bette wondered.

Finally a shaft of light broke across the back hallway and within seconds Tina was walking towards her-ashen-faced, unsmiling, and seeming to gather herself as she approached.

"What's wrong?" Bette asked immediately.

"Nothing's wrong," Tina said. She forced a smile.

"Tina" Bette said, cautiously.

"What?" Tina focused dimly on the woman in front of her.

"You're pale" Bette frowned. "Who did you call?"

The question was direct enough to catch Tina off guard, but not enough to trip her up. "A few people," she said dismissively, hesitating only when Bette's look of concern did not dissipate. "What? Do I look like hell?" She feigned offense but Bette wasn't buying it.

"Do you have to work?" Bette cringed at the thought.

"No, nothing like that," Tina said, waving off the question. "Do you want another drink? This one's had it." Tina pushed hers away.

"I probably shouldn't," Bette said, looking down at her empty glass. "I'm already one up on you."

Tina managed a small laugh. "We were arguing, weren't we? Before I left. I forgot."

Bette nodded. "Yeah, a bit." She managed her own small laugh. "It's a dance we do, I think. We love, we hate"

The words, however carelessly thrown out, hit Tina hard. She stared at Bette before speaking. "No, we don't love and hate," she said. The words came out evenly spaced. "You could never love me, and I could never hate you." Her face broke into a wan smile.

Bette's forehead creased slightly in response. She stared at the crooked line of Tina's mouth. "Can I tell you something?" she asked.

"Yes," Tina said.

"I know I don't know you well," Bette began, then stopped, already hating the qualifiers she was preparing to list. She sat back in her chair, allowing her eyes to blink heavily shut and then open again. She sighed. "It's not true that I could never love you."

Tina didn't respond, nor did her face reveal any sign of what she was feeling, and Bette continued. "Just for the record, y'know. I'm sure that's not true."

Tina continued to look at her before nodding finally, thinking it unjustifiably stubborn not to take Bette at her word. But her insecurities were stubborn, and keeping them in wasn't easy. Stall doors are for kicking. "Let's talk about something less serious," Tina said flatly, and felt buoyed by Bette's look of confusion. "Keep it light, right?"

Confusion turned immediately to exasperation as Bette looked back at her with the same irritation that had cowed Tina earlier. Her voice overflowed with sarcasm. "Tina," she said, emphasizing the name and, for the first time, speaking it with contempt, "I don't know what your problem is with me." She paused for effect. "But do not make it my problem with you. This push-pull routine is yours, not mine. I'm just the object." She stared hard at Tina before looking away. In disgust.

But the disgust was writ large in her expression, whichever way she looked, and Tina focused on it. Bette's manner was haughty, knowing, intimidating. Not quite disdainful, but getting there. Tina felt like rolling over in the face of it. Or screaming. She did neither. "I'm sorry I irritate you," she said, all emotion absent from her voice.

"Then stop," Bette hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.