Holtzmann is an eternal optimist. She finds joy in the dark, the light, the confusing, the complicated, and the mundane. Her yellow tinted goggles might as well be rose, and if you spend enough time around her, incessant sunshine will creep into your worldview.

Which is why it's so hard for Erin to see her like this.

Her blue eyes look gray set against the dark circles that have formed around them.

Her hair is flattened against her skull, without its typical flourish.

She is thinner, the result of not eating for five days straight.

She is Holtzmann-shaped, but she is missing the vital, unclouded radiance that makes Holtzmann Holtzmann.

Erin isn't privy to the inner workings of her girlfriend's mind, but she does know that Holtzmann is determined to design a failure-backup for their proton packs. Patty's had malfunctioned during a bust, and she was pretty banged up after the ghost got the upper hand. Holtzmann shut herself in her lab that night, and over the last five days, she has left only to use the bathroom.

Patty isn't mad at her; she explains this every time she brings Holtzmann something to drink.

Abby has taken to bringing her Pringles and other snacks that crunch.

Erin brings her actual meals, prepared by her own hands three times a day, even though she finds that Holtz does little more than nibble on them.

Her patience is wearing thin today. She'd be pissed at anyone who dared to hurt her girlfriend, but it's hard to know what to do with that anger when her girlfriend is hurting herself.

Holtzmann doesn't see it that way.

"I'm fine," those words sit so easily on her tongue—one of the few lies that she can pull off.

"I just want you to lie down for a little while," Erin tries to keep her voice neutral, devoid of scolding, because Holtz will revolt if she thinks she is being scolded, "Two hours."

"I'm really close," Holtz waves her hand dismissively.

"You've been saying that for five days," Erin places a hand on Holtzmann's shoulder, but Holtzmann shrugs it off immediately.

"Thanks for bringing that up, sweetheart," Holtz keeps her eyes focused on the proton pack, "it's comforting to know just how long it has taken me to figure this out."

Erin takes a deep breath, trying not to choke on the tension curdling in the air.

"That isn't what I meant," she says quietly, "and I think you know that."

"I know that I'd like you to leave, because the sound of your voice is like nails on a chalkboard right now."

Holtzmann regrets the words the second that they leave her mouth. She rarely snaps at anyone—let alone Erin. She drops the wrench that she has been tinkering with. It lands on the table in front of her with a thud. Holtzmann places her head in her shaky hands.

"I didn't mean that, Erin."

Erin knows this. She tries to let the comment roll off of her narrow shoulders without scraping the skin. She takes yet another a deep breath as she silently studies the blonde in front of her; Holtz looks utterly miserable.

"You need to sleep, Jillian." Erin gently takes Holtzmann's hands, massaging her palms.

"I can't," Holtzmann can't keep her voice from cracking, "my brain won't turn off until I finish this."

"You haven't tried," Erin chides gently.

"I know myself," Holtz finally meets Erin's eyes, "this happens. It's my own fault; I used to deprive myself of food and sleep in order to heighten my focus in grad school. It was the only way I could get everything done."

"You aren't on a deadline, Holtz," Erin continues rubbing small circles on Holtzmann's hands.

"Rest is for the weak," Holtzmann grumbles.

Erin pinches the bridge of her nose, marveling at just how intensely infuriating the woman sitting before her is. There is no formula or equation for solving Holtzmann. No chemical combination that will dissolve her stubbornness and make her more pliable.

But Holtzmann is malleable. Erin has hammered and applied pressure to her form, utilizing her hands, fingers, and tongue to mold her into something boneless—something that relinquishes without losing its shape.

Erin thinks that some of the recklessness that the blonde radiates has taken up residence in her, because she doesn't feel any trepidation when she grasps Holtzmann left hand, pulling her up onto her feet. She guides her over to the long table that sits against the wall of the lab, which is, remarkably, not covered in anything dangerous or explosive. She carefully lifts her girlfriend onto the relatively clean surface.

"Let's try this conversation from a different angle," Erin purrs as she undoes the button on Holtzmann's baggy wide-legged trousers.

"But—" Holtzmann tries to sit up, still concerned with her project, but Erin pushes her back down firmly.

The taller woman makes a grab for a piece of discarded rope on the tool shelf above them.

"Well," Erin says airily, as she secures her girlfriend's hands above her head "you've proven that you cannot stay still."

"I'm not done," Holtz protests weakly, still trying to wiggle her way off of the table.

"I'll gag you too," Erin tugs on the rope for emphasis, igniting heat between the twine and the delicate skin on the engineer's wrists.

Holtzmann looks as though she wants to protest, but the determination on Erin's face indicates that she is not fucking around , and the blonde's stomach flutters at the idea of challenging her. She'd like to try that sometime, she thinks, but the lack of sleep has made her bleary-eyed and too vulnerable. Surrender is familiar and comforting when she is with Erin.

Erin has been watching Holtzmann's internal struggle carefully, waiting until the blonde relaxes against the restraints before she continues undressing her.

She is in her bra and underwear now, and Erin growls lowly when she catches sight of the way Holtzmann's ribs are poking through her skin. She runs the tips of her fingers over the protrusion.

"You're going to think twice before you let this happen again," the physicist accents her steely tone by digging her finger nails into Holtzmann's side.

Holtzmann shivers. She is surprised when Erin's next move is to run her thumb over the already soaked fabric of her cotton briefs. Her touch is gentle, teasing, and consistent. The contact is so tame that it takes a while for the warm waves to build in Holtzmann's muscles. She moves her hips, trying to increase the intensity of the taction.

"Not your job," Erin sharply slaps the front of Holtzmann's thigh with her free hand. Holtzmann groans in response, but she stills immediately.

Erin stops stroking just as Holtzmann begins to feel the encouraging creeping sensation at the top of her thighs. She slides Holtzmann's underwear off slowly, letting them fall to the floor.

"Let's talk about food," the physicist says abruptly.

Holtzmann's mouth will not form words; she can only sputter in response.

"I'm going to cook tonight," Erin explains simply, "something with protein, and vegetables, and complex carbohydrates, and you are going to sit down, at the dining room table, and eat everything that I put in front of you."

Holtzmann can feel herself dripping onto the table. "Kay," she answers, not wanting to prolong the throbbing.

The engineer doesn't sound as compliant as Erin would like, but she'll take it. She lowers herself between Holtzmann's thighs, letting the tip of her tongue meet Holtzmann's clit. As Holtzmann arches her back in response, the taller woman stiffens her tongue and traces circles on the intended target.

Her touch is still light, so Holtzmann settles in, prepared to wait for the heat to build.

After a minute or so, she is sweating and restless.

"I know I'm not really in a position to make demands, but…"

Erin complies and applies her tongue faster and harder. Holtzmann feels the familiar volcanic pressure building in her abdomen, and just when she thinks it is ready to erupt—

"Our discussion isn't over," Erin stands up and folds her arms, looking as stern as Holtzmann has ever seen her.

The blonde makes a noise that sounds more animal than human. She suddenly finds herself flipped over onto her stomach, with her legs dangling off of the table.

"My vag feels like it weighs three hundred pounds," she says pitifully.

Erin is glad that Holtz can't see her face, because she can't help smiling.

"Tired?" She asks pointedly.

"Yeah," Holtz mumbles.

"Hungry?" Erin grabs a small wooden ruler from the shelf.

"I could eat," Holtz admits, well-aware that she is sealing her own undoing.

"You should have come to me," Erin runs her fingers down Holtzmann's back, not wanting her girlfriend to feel uncherished as she chastises her, "I would have helped you work through your compulsion to keep working. We could have gotten you eating and sleeping before your health starting deteriorating."

"You're right," Holtz sounds small and raw.

"I know it's hard for you to ask for things," Erin says with sympathy, "but this cannot happen again—I'm not going to watch you turn yourself into someone I barely recognize every time you come up against a busting hurdle."

"Okay," Holtz concedes quietly.

With that, Erin brings the ruler down across Holtzmann's ass.

Holtz gasps as the sting registers on her skin. It sends shockwaves directly to her clit, adding another hundred pounds to the weight she is holding there.

When Erin strikes again, she loses control of her legs. They are kicking now. She can feel herself inching closer to coming, even as Erin isn't touching her.

Erin has a simple goal in mind for the spanking: paint a row of red lines across her girlfriend's ass—a souvenir from this experience that will remind Holtzmann of the way she felt on this table, which she will encounter when she sits or shifts.

Erin works toward that goal diligently.

Holtzmann goes boneless.

It only takes eight strokes before Erin is satisfied. She sets the ruler on the table before flipping her girlfriend onto her back. Holtz hisses when her striped backside hits the hard metal.

Once again, Erin situates herself so that she can work Holtzmann over with her tongue.

Holtzmann whimpers, trying not to get her hopes up. She can feel electricity coiling in her stomach as Erin's tongue enters her.

But like clockwork, just as she is about to explode, Erin stops.

"Erin Gilbert," she moans in agony.

"We're almost there, darling," Erin's voice is silky, "Hang in there. When we are done here, you are going to rest—for at least three hours. Then you are going to eat. Then you are going to turn in for the night. Tomorrow, we'll decide how much time you can devote to the proton packs without sacrificing your health, and we'll take it from there."

"Yep, that all sounds great," Holtzmann will agree to just about anything at this juncture.

"If you refuse to do any of the aforementioned things," Erin's grips Holtzmann's chin, "I will drag you back here, and we will repeat this performance. But when we get to this point, I'm going to walk away. I'll leave you tied to this table, utterly unsatisfied, until I am convinced that you've learned something."

Holtzmann shudders. That image is horrifying, but also completely intoxicating. She pictures Abby or Patty happening upon her, restrained, frustrated, and completely helpless. Fuck.

But she doesn't have time to contemplate that scenario further, because in one quick motion, Erin has taken Holtzmann's clit into her mouth. There is sucking, and teeth, and the coiling, volcanic energy that had been brewing in Holtzmann's stomach finally ruptures into the rest of her body. Erin keeps her tongue and teeth steady as Holtzmann rides the waves, squirming and writhing beneath her.

When she finishes, Erin gently unties Holtzmann's wrists. She sits down on the table, wrapping her arms around the blond and pulling her into her lap.

"I love you," she whispers softly.

"I love you too," Holtzmann rasps.

When the blonde yawns, Erin can't help but look smugly victorious. "Let's get you into bed," she says, helping her girlfriend stand on her wobbly legs.

"Will you lay with me while I sleep?"

"Yep," Erin ruffles Holtzmann's unruly hair, "I've got to make sure you don't sneak back up here."