A/N: This is, hands down, the shortest drabble I've written. Welcome to the rat trap that is my mind, where this was supposed to be a much longer glimpse of the difference in Cat and Faith's individual relationship with Tara.
There was a moment, Cat realized, where her mind and soul re-aligned. It started the moment Tara clipped the leash to her collar. A simple, quiet click that began a cascade effect.
Where anxiety faded, replaced by forgotten confidence.
Where Cat was surrounded in safety, wrapped with the warmth of Tara's ownership.
Where Cat didn't need to think, only feel.
Where everything that was "Cat" snapped into a seamless strand of love, support, and protection symbolized by a single strip of leather.
She knew Tara felt it, too, in the way Tara paused after hooking the leash to Cat's collar. In the way Tara's breath faltered for an instant before picking up with a hitch. In the way Tara's hands grew impossibly gentler as they caressed the skin just above the platinum links hugging Cat's neck.
Cat surrendered to those feelings. The weight of the leash, the slight tug as Tara led them toward the door. A tug which pulled not only Cat's body forward but her mind somehow in and down into a soft darkness where only Tara existed.
This was where Cat was meant to be. Where she needed to be. At Tara's heel. Under her command. Held in place not only with Tara's will but a physical embodiment of their bond.
They didn't need to speak. Not verbally. Not mentally. The leash was their only language.
It was enough.
Now.
Always.
