A/N: glowing from my first review on my previous story I figured I would jump right in to this one. It picks up a few months from where Transparent Curtain ends. The idea for the story is mine. The characters are not.

Building Pressure

The soft material of the baby blue dress tickled her legs in the warm afternoon breeze. The skin of her back lay mostly exposed and goosebumps rose to its otherwise smooth surface. To someone on the outside it would look like a leisurely afternoon. To Clarice it held only the tension of another failed attempt.

For 3 months she had held her tongue, content she alone had made the choice to walk along beside him. If the boys at the bureau saw her now they would jump at the chance to blame him for her choice. She had no doubt it had been one only she alone had made. For that she felt pride, something she had not felt for way too long.

Over the weeks it's glow slowly diminished and now here she stood. Holding her tongue had been easy at first. One didn't have to try hard to get lost in his world of constant finery for almost every sense. Too bad the emotional one was so greatly lacking, she thought.

She had gone to his operas, ate his fine meals, wore all the fancy clothes he provided her with, and yet she saw it only for what it was. The knowledge it was meant to keep her from looking too deeply at him sucked any enjoyment she could have gained from it. For those ninety days she had allowed herself to be his ghost. When she woke up this morning she had decided enough was enough.

Like any other day she had made her way downstairs for breakfast. They did not share a room. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they shared was the air they took in to their lungs. How many mornings in the past months had she woken up in different places? No matter the location she always wanted the same thing, to see his eyes again, so close to her face and clear for her to get lost in. All her wanting never changed her reality of only the walls every morning and she could no longer hold on to this emptiness.

As always he was seated at the breakfast nook, a coffee in his hand. Like every other morning her orange juice and a cup of her own coffee sat across from him. Had this been his idea of domesticity? A blur of shows, wine, and time shared by two people who had really shared nothing? She couldn't do it any more and she felt close to bursting from the weight of it.

Had he seen the change in her? Of course he had, to him she always felt like a open book. What he had seen in her had to be the cause of the tension she felt rolling off him in waves. His hands, normally so still made instruments of his cup and the counter.

"Did you sleep well my dear?" Always the same question. Always the same answer. Not today she reminded herself and set her now empty juice glass on the counter with a soft clink. If she had paid it any mind she would have realized the sound had really been his defences clicking in to place.

"No." Her response had tumbled out of her unpolished and raw. Perhaps he would look up now and remove his eyes from the contents of his mug. Of course not, it was too telling of a response. She did catch a glimpse of a tightening jaw. Was he angry she wasn't willing to play house any longer?

"Are the lambs screaming again Clarice?" He had drawn out her name as if to taunt. She felt her face grow hot with anger and shame. Why did he toss her pain at her just to protect himself?

"No Doctor they are not, are yours?" She could do a challenge; the thrill of it had to be better then the emptiness she felt. Eagerly she waited for him to take the bait. He did not.

When his cup slammed down on the counter she jumped as if he had struck her. She trembled under the cold she felt directed at her from his eyes. Guilt made her stomach turn. Was she like him now? Was she the type to throw his vulnerability in his face to amuse herself? Tears slid down her cheeks as she stumbled for words to fix her mistake.

"I got angry. Please, I'm so tired of this..."

When he jumped up from the chair she choked on her words. Here he wasn't graceful, here he was hurt and she hated herself in that moment for causing it. Opening her mouth to try again she sucked in a shuddering breath. He didn't allow her any time to respond however.

"Tired are we now?" Was it possible for someone to hurt you with their eyes? In this moment she thought it so. "Far be it for me to bore you my dear. Perhaps leaving is for the best hmm? Wounds must not be allowed to fester, or we risk having to amputate."

Was he kicking her out? Blood swelled from the indents her nails had left in her palm. Could he smell the blood? Did he even care? The sound of a piano was her only answer. She wished her body could be the keys he touched so gently. If only his hands would seek her skin for comfort, instead of the cold ivory. The music suffocated her and she went outside for some air. Hours later it was here she remained.

Why did she ask about Mischa? She should have known better but she had stupidly let her anger control her. Resting her forehead against the cool of the railing she let go of the pain. She sobbed so hard her frame shook from the force of it. The now silent piano went unnoticed as Clarice cried her heart out.