"That's not what I'm doing."

"That's how it feels."

Bette leaned further and reached to take Tina's hand. "I'm sorry that's how it feels."

"Then don't do it."

"Let me finish." Bette squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry that's how it feels. But it's not the truth. I'm not afraid of your grief. I'm afraid of not factoring it in."

"Oh please," Tina said and a tear welled in the corner of her eye. "Let me do my own math."

It was a plea, a heartbreaking one, and Bette hated that she had to ignore it. "You're right. I'm not trying to decide what's best for you. This is my math. That's what I'm telling you. I'm saying what's best for me. I need to not leave you in that way." She looked down at the hand she held, the pale skin and slightly raised veins beneath, green in the light from the window, like Tina's eyes. She looked back up. "The thought is too painful. I can't do it."

A disconsolate nod was Tina's only answer. She wanted to plead further. To say "but" and "what if" and even "it's no big deal." She wanted to fool Bette into feeling something other. Something less crushing to her.

"It might be healing for me?" she said. She asked.

Bette's staid look spoke volumes. "I can't answer that. I don't think you can either."

The barely hopeful glint faded from Tina's eyes and she pulled her hand back slowly to wipe away tears. "Ok," she said, sighing. She squeezed her eyes closed and instructed breath to come. It did.

"Is this because I said I might cry?"

She opened her eyes and Bette's smile was sad. "You know it's not."

"Because now I'm thinking that if I'd just been less honest, less open, you wouldn't be turning away. I feel like you're punishing me for revealing myself." Tina's voice cracked and Bette had to hold herself still so she wouldn't gather the other woman in her arms. Make it all better when she couldn't.

"Don't regret the best part of you, Tina," she said softly. "You're right, I see you. It's a testament to who you are that I can't help but see you. And if you knew me better you'd know how amazing it feels to be saying thisbecause I often don't see. I don't look. Sometimes I take without looking."

"But you weren't going to take me without looking." Tina's tone became more insistent. "At the bar you saw me. In the elevator. In the hallway just now. You saw me then and you see me now."

"You're right," Bette said. She wished Tina would stop pleading. It hurt.

"So then why? It's not repeating a past pattern. You wouldn't have to hate yourself or feel regret. I wouldn't feel exploited. I'm telling you, I want you, I want this for myself, I need this for myself. You wouldn't be doing anything wrong." Bette sat back on the bed and Tina felt her unweakening resolve. "Maybe you are selfish. Not by making love to me, but by not taking the risk. Maybe you only want to take without looking and now that you see me you can't go through with it and you're telling this story about the nobility of your actions when in fact you just don't want to deal."

"Isn't that my right? To not deal? To say what I can't handle?"

"Yeah and it's my right to think you suck because of it. And didn't you just tell me that rights have nothing to do with this?"

"I did. Prerogative then. It's my prerogative to not cause myself mental pain I can't bear." Bette felt her emotions boiling below the surface of a level countenance. "I wish I could do what you're asking, because I want you too. And I feel need too and yes it looks like you. And you're probably right that I don't know how to look and take. But that just makes my point. I'm not going to gain that skill in one day or one night or in a few fabulous hours in bed with you. I'm not. Yes, it might be healing, for both of us, to want someone so much and to follow that want. But where will be the satisfaction, Tina, when I get on a plane and leave? Because no matter how naked I get with you, no matter how beautiful it feels, no matter if I come hard and say I love you, which I might, I'll still have a life somewhere else, and you'll still be tied to your own fate here, and where will be the healing in that?" Bette sounded angry but her voice repressed a sob. "I can't. I can't hurt like that. I'm sorry."

She stood and walked to the window, turning her back to Tina, who watched her silently. There was a long pause before Bette finally spoke again. "If I were your mother," she said quietly, "I'd tell you to let this go. I'd tell you that you're beautiful and special. That your life circumstances belie that reality but don't disguise it. That you have a spirit and energy that is glaring and unmistakable and truly intoxicating to be around." She paused. "I'd tell you that you deserve so much more."