A knock on the door interrupted Bree as she was cleaning up after her lunch. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Bree went to the door, opening it to find a very uncomfortable Lynette standing there.

"Can I come in?" Lynette asked quietly.

Bree silently opened the door, and the two women went into the living room, sitting on the couch.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Lynette blurted out. "It was… stupid, and I wasn't thinking."

Placing one hand over Lynette's, Bree used the other to lift her chin, encouraging the blonde to look at her.

"Lynette, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're grieving for someone you loved. I know the feeling."

Eyes filling with tears against her will, Lynette asked, "Did you love her like I did?"

Bree was silent for a long moment. She hated to lie to her friend, but to admit imperfection was something she could rarely face. Finally Bree closed her eyes and said a quick prayer that the right, if perhaps not truthful, answer be spoken. "Yes." Opening her eyes, which started to fill with tears of her own, Bree continued with the truth. "I loved Mary Alice very much, Lynette."

"Was she your lover?" Lynette asked quietly.

Bree was silent.

"Please, Bree," Lynette pleaded. "I need to know I'm not the only one feeling this pain."

Meeting Lynette's gaze again, Bree said softly, "Yes. She was my lover."

Lynette dissolved into tears, and Bree wrapped her arms around her, feeling her own sobs rising, and this time doing nothing to suppress them.

After an indeterminate amount of time, both women quieted and Lynette slowly lifted her head. She was silent as she took in Bree's tear-streaked cheeks, reddened eyes and slightly disheveled hair. Tucking a strand behind Bree's ear, Lynette allowed her fingers to linger against the redhead's jaw. Permission asked and granted without words, Lynette leaned forward slightly, pressing her lips to Bree's and tasting the salt of their tears and something reminiscent of Mary Alice.

Need.

Desperation fueled passion, and it was only moments until they were holding each other close and trembling for a different reason. Once their bodies calmed, Lynette ran her fingers through Bree's hair.

"You're like her," she whispered. "In so many ways. But you still needed her."

"She made me feel warm," Bree said simply, and Lynette immediately understood, thinking that maybe Bree and herself weren't so different after all. Bree may wear her coldness on the outside, and Lynette may hide hers behind so many walls that she can barely find it herself, but both women missed the warmth in their lives.

"You're not her," Lynette said suddenly. She began to gather her clothing. "I'm sorry, this was… wrong."

Bree placed a hand on Lynette's arm, causing her to stop and meet her gaze. "No," she agreed, "I'm not her. And you're not her. And maybe we've gone a little too far, but I think Mary Alice would have wanted this for us."

Lynette looked unsure, but didn't say anything, so Bree continued. "We can comfort each other, Lynette. We're both grieving over the loss of a friend and lover, is it so wrong to connect like this?"

Still silent for a moment, Lynette dropped her clothes. "No… it's not," she whispered, at the same time relaxing into the redhead's arms and kissing her softly.

They stayed like that together for a long time.