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

"I don't know how to stop," Tina spat back.

"I don't believe you," Bette said, almost spitefully, absorbing the impact of Tina's words even as she refuted them. In fact, Bette thought maybe she did believe her. She motioned to the young server, who was still at the bar, still watching them, and offered her most dazzling smile, not caring whether it pissed Tina off. "Another," she mouthed to him and he smiled back, nodding.

Bette turned to face Tina again. "You know what else is not true, Tina?" It was the second time she'd spoken the name with contempt. "That you could never hate me." Her mouth tensed, making it hard to speak, and the words came out thinner than she expected. "Just for the record. I'm sure that's not true."

Silence fell between them and Bette looked away again. Tina was too numb to look away, to bother avoiding eye contact. "I hate it when you say my name like that."

Bette sighed and shook her head, still looking up and off, towards the ceiling. She felt the urge to transcend, along with the urge to stay in the middle of things and fight, for what she didn't know. The two urges warred with one another.

"And here I was thinking how incredible and amazing it was to hear you say my name," Tina said, her voice becoming breathier as the irony dropped out. "I wanted never to stop hearing it."

Bette finally looked back over, as Tina's eyes closed in front of her. "You're beautiful," Bette said quietly.

Tina smiled, genuinely, but didn't open her eyes.

"Tina" Bette's voice was softer yet.

Tina smiled again. "Yeah, say it like that."

Bette smiled back. "Tina, Tina, Tina" She trailed to a laugh. "Don't make me work so hard."

Tina laughed too, though her back was to the rest of the room. Only someone on the outside could have seen how her eyes remained shut. Inside, only Bette.

"You like me better when you can't see me," Bette asserted, not without humor.

"I like that soft voice," Tina countered.

Bette felt a flush rising. "How soft do you like it?" she asked, sitting forward in her chair, announcing her proximity. Tina's hands were in her lap, her posture protective, but she was still within reach, and Bette's eyes fell to the exposed skin of Tina's wrist, the small space between where her sleeve ended and her watch began. Space and time. That's what Bette wanted.

"Very soft," Tina said, interrupting Bette's burgeoning desire, thinking she liked the world so much better in darkness, Bette's beautiful face aside. Light and truth; they were not her friends.

Bette slid one elbow onto the table and buried her chin in her palm, staring across at Tina's face, taking the opportunity to study it in detail. She raised her head slightly to speak. "You want me to be gentle," she said.

"I need you to be gentle," Tina corrected. Her chest rose up and back down in an exaggerated sigh.

Bette had a smile in hand and it was large. Though reassurance had never been her forte, she wanted to try, this once. "I'll be gentle," she said soothingly.

Tina's eyes opened warm and wet at the tone. "I can't feel anything, Bette."

Her eyes closed again and suddenly the server was there. Bette grimaced with impatience and displeasure, all pretense gone. "Thank you," she said curtly. The boy glanced at Tina's face, and though Tina did not open her eyes to acknowledge him, she turned her whole body away, and the gesture was so pained as to enrage Bette. "Thank you," she said to the boy, stressing each word and handing him her empty glass. However clueless he was, Bette's contempt was evident. No one did contempt like Bette.

He turned away in embarrassment, and Bette picked up the drink he'd just put down, setting it aside. Her form covered the table in front of her as she reached for Tina, now in profile before her. Her fingertips grazed Tina's arm below her shoulder, the outside edge that faced Bette. Her hand moved involuntarily to Tina's face, her thumb capturing a tear at the corner of Tina's eye and brushing it away, then brushing again at the damp temple, drying it with her own skin.

"Tina" she said.

"Mmmm" Tina said, relaxing into Bette's touch.

"Who did you call?"

Tina tensed and Bette felt it in her pulse, in the fingers that traced Tina's throat, that moved up and around her ear. It was an intimate scene, and the two women were officially a spectacle in the bar. Suburban eyes turned to look.

"I called my friend Dean," Tina said, sighing as Bette's fingers wrapped gently in her hair and pulled slightly, revealing more of Tina's neck. She heard Bette sigh in return.

"Who else?" Bette said softly. "You were out there a long time."

The touch, the sound; it was all too gentle for Tina to resist. Another tear escaped, falling onto the back of Bette's hand, where it stood. "I called my father."

The tear slid to Bette's watch and disappeared.  This is the crux of it, Bette thought. "Had he called you?" she asked, in her best non-prying voice.

"Eight times since this morning." Tina tried to clear her throat and failed. "Eight times since I turned off my phone and went to your room."

Bette's hand froze, before sliding to the back of Tina's neck and taking hold, squeezing gently. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"With him?"

"Yes."

"Nothing new."

Bette watched her. "Nothing newbut something is wrong with him?" She moved her hand flat against Tina's shoulder but didn't dare apply pressure. "What is it?" she asked.

Tina hesitated before answering. "His wife is dying."

Bette frowned, staring at Tina's profile. "His wife?"