YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WANTED AND,
BOY,  YOU GOT HER.  BRAND NEW,
FULL THROTTLE,  YOU ALREADY
KNOW, BABE.

THE ARMS WRAPPING around Ellie-Marie's middle serve as a simple reminder: she should really,  really get her baking done before Tara gets out of class.

It's one of the only reminders that doesn't taste bitter in her mouth when she remembers it.  More of those are happening these days,  with the media frenzies beginning to disperse and a warm settlement of peace finally blanketing the pieces of their little friend group,  but you never forget the beginning of something that doesn't feel like another knife slicing through your skin.  A game of the marry,  kiss or kill turned far less serious than what it would have been eight months ago is a cause for celebration in her book at this point.

"Hi to you,  too,"  Ellie giggles in greeting,  setting aside the spoon to fold her hands over Tara's.   "You have a good day?"

"Eh.  You know philosophy,  right?"

"Are you kidding?"  While she would typically turn her head there's no way of accomplishing that with Tara propped on her shoulder,  settling on eyeing her out of her peripheral.   "Lulu had me learning Aristotle before I was in sixth grade.  My girlish whimsy isn't enough of a tell?"

"With all due respect,  Sunshine,  your son's name is Sir Purrington,"  Tara pairs this with a chaste kiss to the curve of Ellie-Marie's jaw,  still not moving her arms from around her waist.  "I never doubted your integrity.  I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to do some courses with me."

"In replacement of movie nights?"

She doesn't have to look to know that the question,  joking as it was,  absolutely made Tara roll her eyes in the way that apparently a good share of her professors hate.   "You think a bunch of hillbilly cannibals can break my focus?"

"I think Sherri Moon Zombie gets your attention in a way Socrates wouldn't,"  Ellie answers with a teasing grin.  She's conscious of how far she's going despite knowing Tara's skin is much thicker than a misspoken joke,  but she's still silently grateful when her girlfriend laughs rather than taking offense.

It's also enough of a warning for her to know what'll happen next.

In the blink of an eye she's spun around against the counter,  arms unravelled from her waist to create a necklace draped over her shoulders.  Tara,  she's noticed,  has quite the knack for physical affection.  Especially when she's the one initiating it,  which only makes Ellie lean more for her like a sunflower searching for it's life source.

"We both know I have a thing for bubbly blondes,"  Tara grins,  all crinkling eyes and glowing energy that makes a piece of the world feel a little more alive.  "For the record though,  I was talking about 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'.  Baby Firefly is cute and all,  but she's kinda beat out to me."

"Is that so?"  Ellie asks,  raising her eyebrows with exaggerated interest.  Sue her for enjoying a bit of affirmation- for the first time in what may be forever,  she doesn't feel herself doubting the truth behind it.  Tara isn't obligated to favor her over anyone or anything,  even a fictional character,  and it feels...nice.  It's nice to have no doubt that she can be adored without whatever bias being involved.

And if she can believe that with Tara,  maybe she can believe it with everyone else,  too.

A small part of her,  the part about ninety-nine percent sure that Tara knows this,  tells her that she should be embarrassed when the question is first answered by how her girlfriend's eyes flick down momentarily.  The rest of her controls how she's already flashing that "illegally adorable and like,  insanely dorky" smile in anticipation,  preening like a cat under how easily the answer seems to come to Tara.

"Obviously,"  she replies,  tightening her grip around Ellie just so.  She's swaying now,  leading a slow dance that requires no music nor audience.  Following her lead comes as easily as breathing.   "First off,  she didn't break her back to raise my step-cat, Sir Purrington the first-"

"Easily the most important thing I've ever done."

"-she doesn't have the worst puns I've ever heard,  and she's just like everyone else in terms of how small her heart is."

Shaking her head Ellie-Marie leans forward,  pressing a swift kiss to Tara's forehead.  "I have two outta three,  then?"

"Your puns are shit."

"My puns are punny!"

"They're so not,"  Tara is still giggling as she leans to her tiptoes,  making her efforts all the more obvious.  "And that's okay!  I like my women with hearts of gold,  covered in cat hair and loving stupid pun books."

"You have an insanely specific type."

"Last I checked,  so do you."

"I don't even have a type,"  Ellie corrects.  "If she's not you,  I don't want her."

The way Tara softens in the way she usually masks makes it all the easier to fall in love all over again.  Sometimes it seems like she reserves this for Ellie-Marie alone,  as egotistical as it feels to think.  There's a piece of her that only she knows,  much like there are pieces of her only Tara can navigate.  From where her arms have looped around Tara's waist she pulls her closer,  pecking at the tip of her nose in a move so sappy that it may get her killed if she dares to tell their friends about it.

The air around them smells like the first batch of cookies in the oven.  She's hyper-aware of how little time they have to stay here,  entwined like braids to an invisible string,  but for once the most danger they're in is having burnt edges to snickerdoodles.  If she explained this to herself last year,  told herself that the worst had come and gone and those who made it have each finally built a home,  there would be no belief.  Careful optimism is what Ellie-Marie has been made of since the day she was born,  after all.  Going fearlessly ahead was Tara's thing,  and for a million endless fortnights Ellie-Marie would only dream of one day joining her.

She never once dreamed of Tara grabbing her hand first.

"What're you thinking about?"  Tara asks,  breaking the silence with a question so tender that it aches a little.

"Nothing,  just wondering how long we'll be making cookies in the kitchen."

The answer is hardly the entire truth yet feels like the core of it all.  What's the similarity between making cookies and living in survival mode?

"I think we could do it forever,"  Tara answers in a hum,  bowing her head forward to rest on Ellie's chest.  "Don't you?"

If she's with Tara,  she could easily spend the rest of her life doing anything.  She doesn't have to think about it now as she runs a hand over her girl's hair.

"I do."