Not like before, all clash and conflict. This was gentle, careful, tasting of regret and something that might have been apology. I should have bitten him. Should have pulled away.
Instead, I kissed him back, salt and shame mingling between us.
"I know," he murmured against my lips. "I know you hate it. But you're becoming something extraordinary, Bunny. Something neither of us expected."
"I'm becoming broken."
"You're becoming real." He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. "The girl who signed that contract was all surface. All armor. This? This messy, furious, brilliant creature who pushes until I forget my own protocols? She's real."
"Is that why you cleared your whole day? To break your own rules?"
A smile ghosted across his lips. "I cleared my day because I knew you'd do something that required my full attention. You never disappoint."
"Fuck you."
"Later." He helped me stand, gentle despite everything. "For now, let's get you cleaned up. The tail stays until bedtime—consequence for spitting—but you've more than earned some aftercare."
"I don't want—"
"I know." He led me to the bathroom, which unlocked at our approach. "You don't want gentleness. Don't want care. Don't want to admit that sometimes you need both. But I'm going to give them to you anyway."
He ran a bath, adding salts that smelled like lavender and something medicinal. Helped me out of the dress with clinical efficiency. The tail stayed, as promised, making me hyperaware of every movement.
"In," he instructed.
The water was perfect, hot enough to sting the welts but not enough to truly hurt. I sank into it with a sigh I couldn't suppress.
"Good girl."
The praise made me shiver despite the heat. "Don't."
"Don't what? Acknowledge when you do well? Notice that you're trying despite hating every second?" He knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I asked."
I did, too tired to fight anymore. Felt him wet a cloth, then gentle pressure as he cleaned my face. Washing away mascara and tears and the evidence of what I'd done.
"You terrify me," he said quietly.
My eyes flew open. "What?"
"You heard me." He focused on his task, not meeting my gaze. "Three years of research. Dozens of subjects. I've never lost control like that. Never forgotten that this is science, not... whatever this is becoming."
"Then let me go."
"No." Simple, immediate. "You're too important now. To the research. To understanding how trauma shapes behavior. To..."
"To what?"
He finally looked at me, and something in his expression made my chest tight. "I don't know yet. That terrifies me too."
We sat in silence while he finished washing my face, then worked conditioner through my tangled hair. His hands were gentle but sure, like everything else he did. Even unraveled, he couldn't help but be competent.
"The door really was unlocked?"
"For three days." He rinsed my hair, careful to keep soap from my eyes. "You never tried it."
