A quiet breath shudders through her at that kiss, and yes, she does cling to him in that one brief moment. But then he's pulling away, leaving her hanging, trying to remember how to breathe. His hand feels like a lifeline in the darkness.

She's glad of the shadows, not wanting him to see her face. She's exhausted, emotionally reeling still, and this dance is almost too much to bear. She knows she's squeezing his hand tight, but she doesn't care.

It's only a few steps, but she hesitates, not sure where he wants her. In her own bed again, or back in his.

'Gene?'