Page 16 of Taken from Her
"You've convinced yourself that distance equals strength. But what if caring more deeply actually makes you better at protecting people?"
Diana's laugh held only exhaustion and fear. "And what if letting myself feel everything means I can't function when it matters most?"
"Then you learn to balance," Lavender said simply. "You learn that strength isn't the absence of feeling. It's feeling everything and still showing up anyway."
The words hung between them, loaded with possibility and challenge and something that felt dangerously like hope.
"I don't know how," Diana whispered.
Lavender smiled, small and understanding. "That's why we work together. That's why you don't have to carry it all alone."
Diana felt herself balanced on the edge of something that terrified and attracted her—the possibility of connection, of being known, of trusting someone else with the crushing responsibility she'd carried alone.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything Diana had just revealed. She stood frozen near the counter, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, looking like she might bolt at any sudden movement. But Lavender didn't move. She just watched her with those knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through every wall Diana had ever built.
"I can't—" Diana started, then stopped, her voice breaking on words she couldn't finish. The professional mask had cracked completely, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable that terrified her more than any crime scene ever had.
"Diana." Lavender's voice was soft, but it cut through Diana's panic like a lifeline. "Look at me."
Diana's eyes found hers, and she saw something there that made her breath catch—not pity or triumph, but understandingand recognition, as if Lavender could see all the pieces Diana kept hidden and wasn't afraid of any of them.
"Come here," Lavender said, taking a step toward the back room. Not commanding, just offering. "Away from the windows. Away from everything else."
Diana's feet moved before her mind could object, following Lavender through the doorway into the inner sanctum she'd been in that morning. But the space felt different now, more intimate.
Lavender turned to face her, and Diana felt the last of her control begin to slip. Three weeks of failure, fifteen years of isolation, a lifetime of carrying everyone else's burdens—all of it pressing against her ribs like a weight she couldn't bear alone anymore.
"I don't know how to do this," Diana whispered, the admission catching in her throat. "I don't know how to be anything other than what I am."
"What you are is enough." Lavender moved closer, close enough that Diana could see the silver threading through her hair and smell the herbal scent that clung to her skin. "What you are is remarkable."
Diana's laugh came out as a squeak. "I'm a mess. I'm falling apart over a case I can't solve, standing in your café at midnight, admitting things I've never told anyone?—"
"You're human," Lavender interrupted gently. "You're finally letting yourself be human."
Diana felt something fundamental shift inside her chest. She was human. She was allowed to feel. She was allowed to need.
"Lavender," Diana breathed.
Lavender stepped closer, close enough that Diana could feel the warmth radiating from her skin and see the concern and something deeper in her eyes. "I'm right here."
Diana's hand lifted without conscious thought, fingers trembling as they traced the curve of Lavender's cheek. Soft skin, real warmth, acceptance that Diana had never thought she deserved.
"I shouldn't—" Diana started, but Lavender's hand covered hers, holding it against her face.
"Stop thinking," Lavender whispered. "Just for tonight, stop thinking and let yourself feel."
The permission Diana had never given herself, offered freely by someone who saw her completely and wasn't afraid. Something inside her chest snapped like a dam breaking, and suddenly she was moving, closing the distance between them with desperate urgency.
Their lips met in a kiss that was nothing like the careful, controlled interactions Diana was used to. This was desperate, hungry, three weeks of tension and a lifetime of loneliness pouring out in a single moment of connection. Lavender's mouth was warm and welcoming, tasting like chamomile tea and something uniquely her.
Diana's hands found Lavender's waist, pulling her closer, needing more contact, more proof that this was real. Lavender's arms came up around her shoulders, fingers tangling in Diana's hair, and Diana made a sound she didn't recognize—need and relief and something that might have been a sob.
"Diana," Lavender murmured against her lips, and the sound of her name sent fire through Diana's veins.
They broke apart just long enough to stare at each other in the candlelit dimness, both breathing hard. Diana could see her own desperation reflected in Lavender's eyes, along with something that looked like wonder.
"Are you sure?" Lavender asked as her hands slipped to the buttons of Diana's uniform shirt.
