Kerry bravely approached the desk, putting her hands on it and giving him a faint smile. "Well, I was thinking about it," she said. "I wanted something sort of personal."

"You mean you don't want a flaming skull with born to die on your bicep?" The artist grinned at her. "Damn."

"Not exactly." Kerry felt her mouth go a little dry. "Let me tell you what I had in mind, and maybe you can suggest something."

The man smiled broadly. "Now that's what I like to hear." He pulled a stool up behind him, and motioned for her to sit down. "Rod, go get a coke." He eyed his friend. "And get one for the lady."

Rod gave him a long-suffering grin. "You want a soda, Kerry?"

"See if they have a milkshake." Kerry felt a nervous clenching in her guts. "I have a feeling I might need it."

He patted her on the shoulder. "You got it. Be right back."

KERRY STUDIED THE piece of paper in front of her, her heart beating a little fast. She was aware of shakiness in her belly, and the air conditioning of the shop seemed a little too cold at the moment.

"Do you like it?"

She traced the outlines of the design with her eyes, all smooth and sinuous. "I do like it. Very much." She looked up at the artist. "I'm just trying to psych myself into doing it."

The artist sat down next to her. They were on the other side of the shop, in a small, almost cozy seating pit with a comfortable couch and two plush chairs. "You know, I hear that a lot."

Kerry laughed faintly. "I'm sure you do," she murmured.

"Take your time," the artist said. "But if you really want to do this don't go home and think it over. You won't do it."

He was right. She could feel it in her heart. If she walked out now, she wouldn't come back. This was one of those 'in the moment' things Dar was always talking to her about.

Did she want to do this, though? Kerry ran her fingertip over the design. She'd been thinking of getting a tattoo for a few months, spurred on maybe by the body art she saw in the gym.

Maybe driven by the need she still had to rebel against her family. The thought of her family's faces if she told them made her lips twitch into a fierce grin. This was something different than everything she shared with Dar, too.

This was just her.

"It is forever," the artist said. "Well, unless you're stupidly rich and love pain. The laser hurts more than the tat itself does. So if the design there isn't something you want on your skin for a long time, give it a pass."

Kerry looked up at him, studying his interesting, angular face. She handed back the piece of paper, and managed a shaky grin. "I want it," she said. "Let's do it."

He didn't seem surprised. He got up and patted her shoulder. "Okay, you sit here and finish your shake, while I get this ready and set my station up." He hesitated. "Did you want to hear the price first?"

"No." Kerry shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

He nodded. "Want to know if it's going to hurt?"

Kerry gave him a wry look. "I assumed it would," she said. "I nick myself shaving and it hurts. Can you stick needles into your body and have it not hurt?"

"It'll hurt," he confirmed. "Especially where you're getting it. But if you get to where you can't take it, just kick me in the kneecap and I'll give you a break. Fair?"

"Fair." Kerry knotted her hands together and took a deep breath as he moved away. "Whooof," she muttered. "Here we go."

DAR TRUDGED INTO her hotel room, tossing her jacket over the nearby chair and kicking out of her formal shoes even before she had the door properly closed. "Know what?" she addressed the empty room. "I'm about ready to go work someplace I can wear jeans every damn day."

She was tired, and aggravated, and here she was near midnight after a very long, stressful day. "Stupid sons of bitches," she cursed, giving her room a glare. "I come all the way up here and the entire pack of jackasses don't have the start of their act together. Pain in my ass, and a waste of my time."

Their client's team had fallen apart trying to answer her questions. Everything she asked was either deferred to their VP Ops who was out of town, or met with an anxious, wide-eyed stare of incomprehension.

Their CIO had been pretty much mortified, and offered to take Dar out to dinner to make up for the chaos. He'd turned out to be a vegetarian.

Dar had forced him into a steakhouse, sending a brief mental apology to her mother as she ordered hers rare and spent a desultory couple of hours making polite conversation about nothing significant at all while a pounding ache in her head slowly grew into what she suspected was the beginning of a migraine.

Aggravated wasn't the word for what she was. Disgusted, hurting, sick to her stomach, and just hellfire damned annoyed didn't even come close either.

With a sigh she started unbuttoning the sleeves on her shirt, slowing as she spotted a basket on top of a small table in the reasonably elegant room. She didn't remember it being there earlier when she'd thrown her luggage into the room before heading for the client, but then the bottle of champagne resting with distinguished chilliness nearby hadn't been either. "Hm. What have we here?"

She glanced at the tag on the champagne. "Forget it, Stewie. You'll be lucky if I leave you an extra set of tin cans tomorrow." Her lip curled slightly at the sight of her erstwhile dining companion's name. "You can keep your damn fake French bubbly."

She tossed the card on to the table and watched it slide off the polished surface and waft toward the carpet with a supremely disinterested shrug.

Now, the basket. Gift from the management? Dar circled the table and cautiously investigated the unexpected offering. The basket was a nice wicker one with a lid. She opened the top and peered inside, a smile appearing on her face when the first thing she saw was a packet of good hot chocolate. "So." She sat down and upturned the basket, spilling out its contents.

Brownies. Cookies. The hot chocolate. Truffles. Dar poked her finger among them and stopped at the last item--a frilly little gauze bag filled with Hersey's kisses. She picked it up and cupped it in her hand, gazing at the silver wrapped treats with eyes that suddenly, unexpectedly, stung.

There was a card attached to the wicker. Dar opened it, already knowing what she'd find inside.

Hope you're looking at this as you finish up business early and are watching the sun set over Manhattan. But I bet you ain't. Love, Kerry

"Bet you're right," Dar answered in a husky voice. "Wish to hell you were in that basket."

The quiet of the room settled around her as she sat there, her head resting on one hand and a bag of kisses cradled in the other. Finally she sighed and straightened up, opening the net and retrieving one of the candies. "C'mon, Dar. Get a grip. She can use a vacation from you with all this insecurity crap you've been pulling the last week." With a morose look, she popped a kiss into her mouth and chewed it.

Here, alone in her hotel room, she could lean back and be as depressed as she wanted to.

Her eyes shifted to the table.

But it was hard to do that, when she was practically up to her earlobes in thoughtful presents from her beloved partner whose warm smile seemed to reflect off the packaging scattered over the surface in front of her.

Even if it was midnight, and she had a migraine.

Dar pulled the other chair over and put her feet up on it, leaning back as she consumed more of the kisses. Lacking milk, she reached over and snagged the bottle of champagne, untwisting its top and popping the cork in a smooth motion. She poured herself a glass and took a sip, letting her head rest against the back of the chair as she thought about Kerry.

Slowly, the tension eased from her shoulders. She knew Kerry was trying her hardest to be supportive, she only had to unfold the piece of paper in her wallet and reread yesterday's poem to see that. Chocolate chip cookies, her stuff all taken care of...this...Dar exhaled, acknowledging the deep emotion in her guts the thought triggered.

Kerry cared so much about her. It was almost like she could feel her partner's presence, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost sense a pair of ghostly hands on her shoulders and the faint brush of Kerry's lips on the top of her head.

Tears came again, and Dar rested her head on her hand, letting her fingers slide forward to cover her eyes. "God damn it," she cursed at herself softly. "Would you fucking snap out of this already?"

It was ludicrous. It was frustrating. Dar wanted to slap herself for feeling the way she did, for what she considered such a stupid reason.

For no reason, really. So what if she'd had to tangle with Shari? She'd gotten exactly what she wanted from the trade show, and they'd won, damn it! So what the hell was wrong with her?

I need to kick myself in the ass.

Disgusted, she shoved herself to her feet and went to her window, brushing aside the curtains to lean against the glass and stare out at the city. Behind the thick glass, the sounds were muted, and the garish lights and looming buildings seemed alien beyond their usual to her.

She'd never liked New York. The city seemed big, impersonal, nasty and dirty to her, without any of the exciting energy and pulse she'd heard its residents boast of. The streets were narrow, the buildings were overbearing and in some places dirty, and in the heat of the summer, the place stunk to high heaven.

Exciting? Dar had driven past the financial district earlier, as the cabby proudly pointed out Wall Street to her. Peering down the rows of buildings, it had appeared like nothing more than a huge, impersonal canyon about as picturesque as a bunch of shoeboxes set on end.