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She looked past Gale, wholly unaware of herself in that moment. Like someone else was in control of her body and she was just watching the ragged breaths now leaving its mouth. The action had been pointless; nothing would ever really cause a weapon pain beyond destruction of the weapon itself. But it had been something, because now finally, finally, Thane was silent.

Stormy was vaguely aware of being restrained, of her balled fists, of her nails finding the old niches they had carved out in days past. And then she let her head fall onto Gale's shoulder, her fingers easing just enough to grab at his back before becoming iron fastenings again. Her shoulders started to heave as she silently screamed into his shirt. God only knew what would have happened if she heard herself.

It was like a summer storm, powerful and quickly expended. One minute she was gripping Gale like a drowning woman, the next, she almost felt like she was going to need to lean onto him to avoid falling over. God help her. God help him.

Fingers aching from the pressure, Stormy began to smooth over the spots she had grabbed. Her face was still mostly buried into his shoulder, save for the uneven breathing in her mouth. She thought she would have been used to the sound of herself crying, but it was as ugly today as it had been in the past. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"I hate him," she murmured, breathy and raw. "More than I hate myself. I hate him. Do a-anything to get someone else."

"He naturally goes on the ring finger." Not like Gale wouldn't have noticed that by now, but the words were spilling out of her now that the dam had broken. "I move him every time, but it doesn't matter. I'm his." A pause, and then more quietly, "What does that say about me, Gale? That this is who feels a bond with me?"

She continued to smooth the back of his shirt out in idle motions. "I know," she lied, resisting moving. Stormy didn't know why exactly she locked up like that, other than it was uncomfortable to break it no matter what. But she did know that while she didn't want to lie, it was better to give some small ones instead of just devolving what was supposed to be a happy occasion into a depressing one.

She could still imagine the dracolich's response, though: That's all you're good at.

At length, when she felt she wasn't going to burst back into tears again, Stormy peeled back just enough to give Gale some breathing room and wiped at her face with her arm. She felt gross more than grateful, but that was probably the snot and headache talking. "Sorry," she mumbled and breathed a shaky, long sigh. Her gaze was somewhere between her arm and his elbow. "I messed that up horribly."

"I would've messed that up, too."

She wiped at her face some more and heard Thane's past words continue as Gale planted a kiss to her forehead. Scareling. It bothered her more than it should have, maybe because it reminded her of the short period she had been babied by Evan and Tuck, when it had all been so much easier. Just follow other people. No need to think for herself. Look at what happened when she did. Look at what had happened to Mist.

Something resolute began to fill her, quiet and quite possibly temporary. But she would worry about it later.

Taking initiative from it, Stormy stepped into Gale's space and took his head into her hands. It was the familiar blessing: once to the forehead, once to the nose, and a lingering on the lips that she didn't want to stop and thus held for longer than necessary. "You too," she whispered, her hands falling to loop around his neck.

Something in Stormy sparked awake.

She forgot for a while why she had ever been averse to the idea of kissing in the past, why she had taken things in small increments, why she had been too fragile for the human consumption that was love. There was a wonderful respite here in Gale's embrace that she had forgotten about in the intervening months, and it came back in a rush that overwhelmed her. It wasn't about keeping her head above water anymore, it was about diving and breathing it in until there was nothing left but the ocean, him, inside of her. Stormy wanted to drown. No, more than that, she wanted to forget that she was Stormy, like in those blissful moments in alternate universes where she could have been something different, something better, except this was infinitely moreso for one reason alone: she chose it.

Maybe it was triggered by throwing Thane away. Maybe she was too tired to be passive anymore. Maybe it had been building in her for a long time and had just snapped with the spectrum of emotions she had forced herself through. Whatever this sliver of defiance against herself and her restrictions was, she wanted to ride it until she was forced off or until she was exhausted. She didn't want to remember why she was who she was, only to sink into the feeling of pleasure and love and warmth that she had been denied for too long, with the one person who could give it to her.

Stormy's fingers found themselves sliding up the nape of Gale's neck, and she broke away to let their foreheads touch once more. Her reddened eyes bore into his with an intensity she wasn't wholly aware of, even as she had passed it to him with each moment of contact. Show me. She hadn't forgotten the roving gazes he had given her, the measured contact that marked Gale's reluctance to push her boundaries. Show me. Before the fear settled back in again.

She had vague personal experiences to draw on, and in the face of forgetting herself, it was so easy to erase Jack's face in that moment. What was one Hawthorn flower in the midst of an all-consuming Gale? She almost laughed as she pressed another kiss to him, this time under his jaw, and then lower. She was so stupid. She was so stupid.

Grateful that his coat was already off, she began to work on unbuttoning his shirt.

Why did he have to stop her? This was a balancing act tipped one way already. Any delay was dangerous now. Damn it, why did Gale have to be overthinking it now? Was she not being obvious enough? Was he having second thoughts? Did she? Her mind moved from idea to idea quick as silver fish, dazzled and dazzling.

She rested a hand over his chest and felt his heartbeat flying. Was her own doing similarly? She couldn't tell; everything felt like live wires as it was. His hands. His heartbeat. His eyes. She was making up for not looking into them now, needed to remember how Gale looked at her for posterity. In case she forgot again.

No, no, no...it shouldn't be like this. (There it was coming back, that pesky thinking.) The thrumming under her fingers, the silent question, her emotional and reckless abandon. She wasn't drunk, and yet she felt like it. Punchdrunk off of...she didn't know. The experience? Presence? Time and touch and terrible, terrible consciences? (She felt bad for Gale not for the first time. What was she doing? Being stupid, of course.)

He only got a warning in the shift of her hands back to his shoulders before she jumped onto him, arms and legs anchoring herself even before he reacted. She was hot to the touch for once instead of deathly cold--probably from the blushing she had various reasons to be reacting with.

"S'more than I can say," she said, throaty and low. It wasn't an answer, but when had she ever dealt with straight answers?