Disclaimer: Not mine. Also, I'm posting this chapter before my Beta, the wonderful DelilahKelley, has had a chance to go over it. It's been screaming at me for the last two weeks. *grin* Eternal gratitude, hugs, and kudos to Delilah; she's currently looking over all my previous chapters, for both of my stories, so I'll repost the revised versions soon.

The Wine of Life

Chapter 4: Baby Steps

Severus remained sitting on the floor, watching as Cara poured them both another shot of tequila. They had not talked much; the occasional scathing comment had been passed between them, but nothing deep or noteworthy. He was still confused about her appearance in the dungeons. Besides the fact that she obviously sought to annoy the life out of him, he wondered what she could possibly want… coming down here, on a Friday night no less. Surely she had better places to be?

The amber liquid shimmered in the firelight, as he watched her pick up the now full glass and hand it to him. He reached out to take it, his fingers brushing hers. Their gazes met and she smirked at him. 'Insolent chit!' he hissed to himself. "What, pray tell, is so humorous, Miss Benoit?" he asked, tossing back his drink without taking his eyes from her.

She tossed hers back as well, and grimaced as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Well," she began, sitting her glass carefully on the table and filling it once again, "I was just wondering how you'll feel when I drink you under the table, Professor." She held the mouth of the bottle out towards him, ready to refill his glass as well.

His eyebrow rose, and he held out his empty glass. With that one simple gesture, he let her know that there was no way in the nine Hells that she, a woman, was going to out-drink him. He was a fully grown wizard, an ex-Death Eater and spy… bane of the Wizarding world (second in line behind the former Dark Lord, of course); there was no way this stupid chit would…

Her shot was gone and another was being poured. "You had better get a move on Professor… I'm one up on you already." He glared at her. She simply smiled back. "I think that makes five for me and," she sat the bottle down and proceeded to think out loud, counting on her fingers, "one, two, three… four for you."

Infuriated that he had not even noticed her down the drink, Snape raised his glass to his lips for a fifth time, swallowed quickly, and slammed it back down on the table. "Another," he ground out.

"There's the spirit!" she laughed.

"Indeed," he said, as he watched her gleefully pour him another round. "And you are not 'one up' on me, Miss Benoit. I had already finished over half a bottle before you had even thought about ruining my evening."

"Aahh," she said, gesturing at him with the hand that now held her sixth shot, "but that doesn't count. This," she indicated the two of them and the bottle in between, "is our game. Anything else is forfeit."

He picked his sixth shot up as well, examining it closely before looking back to her, moving only his eyes. "I do not play games, Miss Benoit." He paused, contemplating something, and scrutinized her closely for a few moments. "Are you sure you weren't a Slytherin?" he said finally. "That is a very devious tactic, using my prior indulgences against me."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Slytherin?" When she looked back at him, she realized that he wasn't joking. Her free hand went to her chest. " Me?" She downed her shot, shaking her head as she swallowed. "Mmm… no, I don't think so, Professor." She sat the glass down again. "I'm American."

"American?" His lip curled as he said the word, as if he had just smelled something particularly unpleasant.

"Yes, American; you know… sex, drugs, and rock n' roll?" She held her hands up in front of her face, index and pinky fingers extended, thumbs and both sets of middle fingers curled into her palm.

Both eyebrows rose this time, indicating that, no, he had supposedly never seen the 'fist of rock'. Her hands fell to her lap, as she exclaimed, "Oh please, don't try and be thick… it doesn't suit you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said evasively, as he cast his gaze back towards his glass. He squinted at it before throwing back the shot. As soon as the liquid fire finished its journey down his throat, he realized that his fingers had started to tingle a bit, and he felt… light. Yes… he was definitely starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. If he was a Muggle, he'd have passed out ages ago. Thank God for magically increased alcohol tolerance.

Despite himself, Snape suddenly felt the need for a bit of support. He set down his glass and slid away from the table to lean against the raised hearth. He closed his eyes for a moment to ward off the sudden lightheadedness. He let his head fall back slightly, and his long hair brushed against the warm stone.

After a moment, he heard an irritated huff, and opened his eyes slightly, to find Cara staring at him expectantly, her arms crossed across her chest. 'Persistent little tart, isn't she?' he thought.

He sighed, realizing that it would probably be easier to tell her what she wanted to know, instead of being vague and having her hound him anyway. 'Self-preservation… yes, that's all it is.'

"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up in supplication as he rolled his eyes, "I will only admit to a… lingering… interest in Sabbath and Zeppelin."

"Aha!" she exclaimed, pointing at him. "I knew you weren't a total sod!"

He blew an exasperated breath through his nose, and sat up straighter in order to glare at her better. "For your information, there are many things about me that put me far outside the classification of 'sod'."

"Uh-huh." she drawled skeptically, nodding her head. "Such as?"

Snape's urge to choke someone hadn't been this strong in quite a while. He took a deep breath, and let it out, trying to control the impulse to throttle her. "For one," he began, "every single student in this school," he gestured to the ceiling, "and nearly every witch and wizard in Great Britain," he swept his arms out in a wide arch, "is absolutely terrified of me. Mothers use my name to scare their children into obedience. 'If you don't behave, Professor Snape will get you.' Pub-goers tell their two-faced, lying, cheating drinking mates, 'Don't be such a fucking Snape!' Despite what that piece of offal The Prophet, or Harry-fucking-Potter, may have claimed, I am still, and always will be, the most reviled man alive, Miss Benoit." He glared at her as he crossed his arms and returned to leaning against the hearth.

Cara stared at him, her brows bunched together. "You're proud of that, are you?" she asked.

His voice had a cold edge to it when he spoke. "As I'm sure you know, Miss Benoit, beggars are not allowed the liberty of choices."

"Bullshit," she countered, earning her a huff of disdain. "Everyone has choices. Not every beggar is a foul-tempered, cold-hearted git, whose only delight comes from scaring the life out of small children, and being the namesake of crude euphemisms."

He was getting awfully good at glaring daggers at her. "It is who I am, Miss Benoit. I am not a nice man."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm simply not, that's why!!" he bellowed, slamming his fist against the floor. He drew a deep breath before speaking. "Miss Benoit, you are either stupid, thought that seems unlikely, or you have no real notion as to who I actually am."

If he was trying to be intimidating, it was lost on Cara. Snape seethed for a moment, infuriated that he could get no reaction from her.

She raised her eyebrows at him, before leaning back into the sofa, crossing her arms petulantly, and theatrically clearing her throat. "I know the basics: your full name is Severus Tobias Snape. You attended Hogwarts from 1971 to 1978, and were a member of Slytherin House. In 1981, you became potions Professor, as well as Head of Slytherin House. You held this position until 1996, when you were given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, a post you had been after for years." Cara took a breath; Snape was still seething.

"In June of 1997," she continued slowly, lifting her chin and looking him right in the eye, "you used the Killing Curse on Headmaster Dumbledore, as per his request, after which you were on the run, a supposed fugitive from the Light. In August of that same year, with the Death Eaters in control of the Ministry, you were appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, a position which you naturally used to your advantage, protecting the students from the likes of Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Without your help and protection, Harry Potter would never have defeated the Dark Lord."

Cara was stunned when Snape actually broke their eye contact, choosing instead to look at the floor. She continued cautiously. "I assume you were wounded during the Final Battle… because I've overheard talk of how you almost died in St. Mungo's." His hand move involuntarily to rub at the ragged scar on his neck.

Snape's hand lingered on the marred flesh, as if he was deep in thought. Cara wasn't even sure if he was still listening. "Afterwards, you were cleared of all charges against you, thanks to the testimony of Harry Potter, and awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for your heroic efforts during the War. You're currently teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, while also serving as Deputy Headmaster to Headmistress McGonagall." She still watched him, chin now propped in her hand. If looks could kill, Cara would have been instantly incinerated when Snape finally raised his eyes to hers. A bit afraid that she had overstepped her bounds, she bravely ignored the obvious glint of malice in his eyes, and waved her free hand at him. "Your turn," she said.

She could hear his teeth grind together; he hadn't expected her to know anything about him, much less his fucking life history.

His voice was neutral now. "Well, it seems you have done your homework, Miss Benoit," Snape drawled. "I, on the other hand, only know what I have garnered from our… unfortunate… encounters." He had intended to insult her, but she simply waved at him to continue. He huffed forcibly through his nose, before leaning once again against the hearth, arms stretched out to either side, elbows propped on the stone, forearms and hands hanging freely. "You are blatantly American," he began, to which Cara laughed, "and you have absolutely no sense of propriety. You have a bad habit of cursing… like a sailor… when you're frustrated or angry. You're hair is blonde, your eyes blue. You are of average build, if a bit on the tall side… I'd say 5' 9", and your age is somewhere between 29 and 34… and you obviously enjoy your drink," he finished, gesturing to the bottle and glasses between them.

She waited. He glared.

"That's it?" she asked.

"What else is there?"

"Many things."

"Such as?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"No, not really."

"Liar."

"Chit."

"Spoilsport."

"Harpy."

"Git."

He opened his mouth to send out another scathing remark, but closed it. She could go on like this indefinitely, he realized.

Noticing his lack of a comeback, Cara laughed throatily to herself. 'Score one for me!' she thought triumphantly.

Sighing irritably, Snape rolled his neck, trying to relieve some of the built up tension. He was not a social person, and such prolonged interaction was giving him a headache. Cara glanced up at the movement. In his slightly inebriated state, he had obviously forgotten that he was wearing only trousers and a shirt, and that his shirt was unbuttoned, completely exposing his stomach, chest, and neck. With his head thrown back, chest bare, and arms outstretched, Cara found herself thinking that he looked very similar to an effigy of Christ she had seen once. She also found herself thinking that she was probably going to Hell for that comparison. She chuckled darkly. 'I'm probably headed there anyway… might as well have a good time while I'm at it.'

An hour later, they had finished the bottle and were about to start on another; well, Cara was. She rummaged through Snape's cabinet, while he lay face down on the rug in front of the fire. He was humming to himself, drumming his fingers along to the tune. Cara thought to herself that it sounded like some old Zeppelin fare.

'Stairway to Heaven? Oo-kay… '

She shoved another bottle aside. "Have you nothing else of merit in this deplorable excuse for a drinks cabinet?" When he didn't answer, she looked back over her shoulder to find his arm raised, middle finger extended. It lingered for a moment, before dropping back to the floor unceremoniously; the humming continued.

Chuckling, she walked back to where he lay, and stood looking down at him with her hands on her hips. "Are you out?" she inquired, poking him in the arm with the toe of her boot.

"Mmmpphhh," came his muffled reply, as he swiped lazily at her foot.

She poked him again… another lazy swipe.

Again… swipe.

And again…

With lighting speed, his hand shot out and latched onto her ankle. In a surprising show of drunken strength, Snape proceeded to snatch her feet out from under her. "Wha-!" she exclaimed, before landing… hard… on the floor in front of him. His fingers remained around her ankle, even though his face remained pressed to the floor. She was laid out flat on her back, hands covering her head.

"For fuck's sake!" she screamed at him, slamming both hands palm down onto the floor. She kicked his hand away, grazing his forehead with the heel of her boot in the process.

"Fuck," he yelled, rolling onto his back as he clutched at his face.

"Serves you right, you mean-ass drunk!" Cara yelled right back. She sat up, rubbing the back of her own head. "Now I have a headache." When no scathing remark came forth, she glanced back to Snape, and gasped.

Blood was running from underneath the hand clutched to his forehead, and into his hair. "Shit! Are you alright?" she exclaimed, scrambling to his side.

"Do I fucking look alright, you murderous Harridan!" he yelled at her.

"Well," she said, crossing her arms across her chest, "if that's how you're going to be, I'll just leave you here to bleed to death. It shouldn't take long with all the drink running through you."

He opened one eye and looked up at her, trying his best to scowl. The effect was more like an exaggerated blink, but for some reason, she suddenly didn't feel the need for sarcasm.

Sighing, he closed it again, and motioned off behind her to her right. "There are some cloths and dittany through there, first door on your right."

Nodding, she scrambled to her feet, paused a minute to get her balance –they had just finished off an entire bottle of tequila, after all — and then proceeded to the door, located to the right of the hearth. When she entered, she had to stop and stare for a minute. 'How lovely!' she thought, despite herself. The room, which was obviously his bedroom, if she were to judge by the enormous four-poster canopy occupying the far wall, was gorgeous. The bed itself was covered in a crisp, white comforter, with two large white pillows occupying the space against the headboard. 'Who has a bed that huge, and only two pillows?' she found herself wondering as she scanned the rest of the room.

It was paneled in the darkest cherry hardwood, with matching floors, and the wall to her left held an enormous fireplace. Situated in front of that fireplace was a beautiful, white sectional sofa. There were a few tasteful pillows, in varying shades of blue, black, and white, thrown randomly about the cushions. A plush white rug lay on the floor, in the middle of the 'U' made by the sectional. She took note of the table situated behind the sofa, also in dark cherry, upon which sat several books, some parchment, a quill, and a pair of black-framed reading glasses. Cara found herself smiling faintly at the thought of Severus Snape wearing reading glasses. 'Perhaps he is human, after all,' she thought.

Bookshelves lined every inch of wall space, separated occasionally by beautiful brushed silver wall sconces. "Who would have thought such a vile man would have such good taste in décor?" she mumbled.

"I heard that," he called snidely, from the floor behind her.

"And?" she replied, ignoring the verbal jab and continuing through the doorway, headed towards the door to her immediate right. 'This must be the bathroom.'

She opened the door and was once again astounded at the décor. The tile was a muted brown, the color of mocha, with darker veins running throughout. Off to her left was a walk-in shower, deep enough that no curtain was needed. It was tiled with what looked like real stone, 'Slate?' and its faucets and multiple showerheads were done in brushed nickel. She could see a little shelf of stone that held several small, white, glass bottles, which she assumed were his shampoo and such.

Off to the other side was a garden tub, the likes of which she had never seen. It was huge. Four, possibly five people could fit easily. There were no faucets, but she did spy a slit in the stone wall at one end of the tub. Curious, she walked towards it. When she got close enough, she waved her hand in front of the slit, and water instantly started pouring into the vast tub. 'It's like a miniature waterfall!' she said delightedly, running her fingers through the warm stream of liquid. She looked around again, and noticed that a myriad of plants and vines were placed around the edges of the bathroom. They spilled over from recesses at the top of the shower, sat on the floor in corners and niches, and there were even black Cala lilies and a few small palms arranged around the entire edge of the tub, adding to the 'rainforest effect.'

'Curiouser and curioser,' she though to herself, before swiping her hand at the running water a second time, turning it off before returning to the task at hand.

Turning to her right, she spied a set of doors set into the wall. Assuming this was the linen cabinet, she opened the doors, and found exactly what she was looking for: several large stacks of white towels and hand-cloths. She pulled out several of the smaller ones from the shelf above the large one, and quickly closed the cabinet.

She then moved to the other cabinet over the sink. Taking a moment, she leaned against the white porcelain basin, hands braced on the sides as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was thoroughly disheveled, her lipstick rubbed off, and her pupils were dilated slightly.

"If I didn't know better, dear, I'd say you had just been shagged… thoroughly," said a male voice.

"Jesus!" she squealed, dropping the towels, and nearly loosing her grip on the side of the sink as well, as the enchanted mirror's voice broke the silence of the room. "Damn this castle and its fucking mirrors!"

"Such language!" the mirror replied. "Really… you could give Severus a run for his money with that mouth of yours… and I don't mean only in the verbal sense." She stood there aghast, wondering why she felt like the mirror had just wiggled it's eyebrows at her…

"Whatever," she said, shaking her head as she snatched up the towels from the floor. She flung the cabinet open, revealing several small bottles, one of them full of the dittany she was looking for. Grabbing the bottle, she slammed the mirror shut, giving her opinion of its statement, and turned back towards the sitting room and Snape.

He was lying just as she'd left him, hand clutching his forehead, long trickles of blood running from underneath.

She actually felt bad that she had caused him pain, but it was his fault! "Here," she said, kneeling next to him with her supplies. She reached out to pull his hand away from his forehead, but he jerked away from her, rolling slightly to the side. "Really?" she chided, reaching out again.

He remained still for a moment, as if trying to gauge the extent of her medical skills, and whether or not it was worth it to let her 'help' him, before sighing loudly and rolling back towards her. This time he let her remove his hand, setting it to rest on his chest. His shirt had fallen open as he lay on his back, and she could see that his chest was covered in scars, some small, thin, and cleanly made, others large and jagged.

She felt her face heat up as she looked him over. He wasn't an overly muscled man, but he was strongly built, and lean… like a swimmer. The black hair that she had spied earlier ran in a fine line down from his chest, and disappeared beneath the loosened waist band of his trousers. He took a deep breathe and let it out, and for an instant, Cara caught a glimpse of pale skin and dark hair underneath that waistband. A thought flitted across her mind, wondering what that skin would feel like underneath her fingers…

"Miss Benoit?" he called, bringing her back to the situation at hand.

She jerked her head back towards his face, flushing.

He either hadn't noticed her staring, or chose not to mention it. "My disfigurement, Miss Benoit?" he reminded her, one corner of his mouth twisted in a small smirk.

'Oh, he definitely knows you were looking him over, girlie,' her inner voice said in a matter of fact tone.

"Shut up," she said under her breathe, not knowing whether she was talking to her conscious or to Snape. She took one of the towels, applied a bit of dittany, and placed it over the gash on his forehead. The cut was rather small, barely an inch long, but being on his head, it bleed profusely. Cara pressed down, gently but firmly, trying to stop the flow of blood.

"Let me know if I'm hurting you," she told him.

He huffed. "I've been through much worse than this, I assure you, Miss Benoit."

A pause, and then: "Cara."

"What?" he asked as his brow furrowed.

"Cara. My name is Cara."

"I realize that," he said snidely.

"Then why don't you use it?"

"Why would I?"

"You call Minerva and every other teacher at this school by their given names, so why not me?"

He closed his eyes. "I have not known you for nearly thirty years, as I have the others, therefore, such familiarity would be rude."

She let loose a bark of laughter. "Rude?! You're telling me that you won't call me by my first name because you don't wish to be rude?!"

She poked him in the ribs with her free index finger. "You, *poke* have barely *poke* spoken to me, since I've *poke* been here!"

His body jerked away from her with each poke, so much that she almost lost her grip on the cloth at his head.

"Stop that, woman!"

"Stop what?" She raised her finger again, in a mock poke. He jerked away again, pulling his arms in to protect his ribs.

A slow, sly smile spread across her face. The look on his own was murderous. "Oh my God," she laughed, "Severus Snape is ticklish!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said dismissively, quickly taking the cloth from her and sitting up. If she didn't know better, she would have said that he suddenly seemed uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "I believe I can handle things from here, thank you, Miss Benoit," he stated, bracing his free hand on the table as he attempted to stand.

"Cara," she repeated, standing at the same time. He wobbled a bit, and she reached out to steady him. Her hand grasped his left forearm… his Dark Mark.

He froze, cloth still pressed to his head, and looked down at her hand. Her eyes followed his, but she did not jerk away when she realized where her hand lay. Instead, after a pregnant pause, in which she could feel his tension level rise considerably, she took a step forward, turning his arm over in her hand.

She was emboldened when he did not pull away. Slowly, she reached out with her other hand, and paused, her fingers poised just above the tattooed skin. "May I?" she asked softly, looking up at him.

His brow came together, and she heard his jaw crack. She knew he was debating whether to acquiesce, or scream. In the end, he sighed wearily, and turned his face away as he thrust his arm towards her. 'Self preservation, that's all it is…' he assured himself.

She gave him a small smile before letting the tips of her fingers touch his skin, brushing lightly over the fading mark. His face was still turned away, so she did not see how his eyes closed, or how his lips parted slightly, at the feather-light caress.

"Is it the same now?" she asked, tracing the graying serpent with her index finger. She saw goosebumps rise along his pale skin, and felt a small tremor go through him. She found herself wondering how long had it been since the man had felt a kind touch… one lacking ulterior motive.

He turned his face back to her, his brow still bunched with indecision. "Is what… the same?" he asked quietly.

She turned her gaze to his, and there was an entirely new emotion in her eyes.

'No, not pity,' he thought, slightly taken aback, 'something else entirely…'

She continued slowly. "Does it… cause you pain… now that he's gone?"

She could see him consider something for a long moment, before finally speaking. "No… but some marks never fade, no matter how long their makers have been dead." He gave her a tight-lipped, yet genuine, smile before pulling his arm away gently. He then walked towards the main door, opened it wide, and stood patiently.

Her humor returned quickly, and she smirked at him. "So… you're kicking me out?"

"Not technically… but I could… if you wish."

"Oooh… kinky…" she drawled, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Cara, and for a moment she saw something there, behind the emotional repression and the bitterness. Whatever it was, something… something in the sudden, blazing heat of his gaze left Cara momentarily speechless.

Before she had a chance to react, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Snape seemed oblivious as he made a sweeping gesture towards the corridor.

Slightly bewildered, she walked towards the open door, coming to a stop in front of him. His head had stopped bleeding, and he was now holding the bloody cloth in his left hand, while he held the door open with his right. His forehead and chest were smeared with his own blood, as was his shirt. She had a feeling that it wasn't the first time.

She looked up at him again, and this time was met with an unmistakable look of impatience.

She knew she was pushing her limits, but regardless, she reached out a hand and ran the backs of her middle and index finger down his tattooed forearm once again. His fist clenched, but he was otherwise motionless. "You know," she said, startling him when she reached up with the same hand to cup his cheek, "the thing about marks like that… is that you must simply make new ones to cover them up."

His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but wasn't quite sure what to say. If he had been startled when she touched his face, he was absolutely floored when she leaned up quickly, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

She grinned broadly at the shock on his face, knowing what a rare sight it must be. Knowing that she had just reached her limit, she gave the same cheek a quick, good-natured pat, and quickly took her leave, before he could hex her. "Goodnight, Severus… until next time," she said as she walked quickly down the corridor. She removed her wand from her pocket, and lit it with a flick of her wrist.

She left him standing there in his doorway, and was gone so quickly that she never saw him raise a hand to his cheek, where she had graced him with a friendly kiss. Her quick departure also meant that she didn't hear him say softly, with a pensieve look on his face as he closed the door, "Goodnight… Cara."

~TBC

A/N: Damn! Why is it so hard to write humor? I hope this wasn't too far off the beaten path. It could turn dark so quickly, but I won't let it! However, Cara has things in her past that have made her who she is, and some of them are not very happy. I'm trying my best to keep this "mostly humor, with just a dab of darkness for flavor."

Endless thanks to those of you who have read and reviewed! My life is going to be pretty hectic for the next few weeks (I'm a very stressed out Nursing student, about to start my Psych and Medical/Surgical clinicals!!), so I can't promise regular updates, but I do promise that I'll try my best to update every two weeks, at the least!