The moment their lips touched it was like an electric shock, and suddenly Molly wasn't aware of anything but Irene- one hand on Molly's neck, the other on her hip, the way she kissed her, soft and sweetly, the feel of her long brown hair between Molly's fingers, and oh God her lips on Molly's. Molly wanted to stay here forever, kissing Irene like nothing else in the world mattered, letting Irene explore her mouth and just relishing the moment.

But Molly gradually became aware of the world outside of her little bubble of happiness. She remembered that she was dripping wet, that Irene was entirely naked, that there was a cockroach crawling up the wall across from them.

This wasn't okay.

Suddenly everything was wrong. Molly Hooper was standing in a puddle of rainwater in a cheap motel room kissing a dominatrix- a femaledominatrix- and that wasn't okay at all. The room began to spin slightly and Molly felt dizzy and even Irene's soft lips were too wet and too wrong and Irene's right hand was slipping lower and no no no no no-

"No!" Molly gasped out, and tumbled backward, out of Irene's reach. She landed on her back on the bed and Irene stared down at her, baffled.

"What-"

"I don't want this," Molly blurted out, and a voice in her head was screaming and she was absolutely miserable and Irene was still staring at her with something in her eyes that Molly didn't want to identify and the room felt claustrophobic and stifling. Molly pushed herself off the bed and practically ran to the door, wrenching it open and dashing out into the rain.

It was only when she closed the door behind herself that she recognized the expression on Irene's face.

It was almost like heartbreak.

Luckily, however, within the next two hours that Molly spent sitting in the driver's seat of her car, she came to the conclusion that it couldn't possibly have been that, because Irene was Irene and besides, didn't she have feelings for Sherlock or something? Yes, of course.

So why had she kissed Molly?

It was a game, Molly decided. Irene used sex to get what she wanted and she must have wanted something from Molly, and then she was upset that she didn't get it. That was all.

It was, to be honest, a bit unsatisfying, but Molly repeated it to herself over and over so that she wouldn't develop any silly ideas or hopes.

Hopes?

Molly had no hopes. Especially none that had anything to do with Irene. Molly was straight, so why could she possibly want anything from Irene? She was straight and she hadn't enjoyed that kiss in the least and she certainly wasn't having a major sexual identity crisis in the front seat of her car.

She was also terrible at lying to herself.

Raindrops pattered on the windshield, forming a dull drone in the background of her increasingly confusing thoughts. It was gentle though, like the sound of Toby's padded footsteps on the bare wood of her bedroom floor. Molly was seized by a sudden homesickness, a crippling desire to be home and warm and safe and have everything make sense.

This fantasy was quickly shattered when her phone buzzed next to her. Molly didn't even have to look at it to know it was Irene texting her. Irene, who had kissed her. Naked.

And when she got down to it, that was what bothered her the most. Not that it was Irene, not that she might be gay, but the fear that she was just another girl Irene had snogged. Lord knows Irene must have kissed so many girls, Molly mused, especially with her work. Hell, Irene made a living out of sex. It was silly and irrational, but Molly wanted to mean more than that. She wanted their kisses to be special. Not in the middle of a gross motel room while Molly was soaking wet.

Because yes, Molly wanted to kiss Irene again. But she wanted it to be memorable, magical even. Because Irene laughed at her stupid morgue jokes and Irene liked her even though she was awkward and Irene knew what it felt like to be used. But Irene was fire and Molly was water, and Irene burned so brightly that she blinded those who crossed her path, and Molly kind of drizzled faintly like the rain falling down the window of her car. Some part of Molly needed her, needed Irene to balance her out and teach her how to burn without flickering or sputtering out.

And so Molly checked her phone.

Come inside. I promise I won't kiss you.

And she could so picture Irene saying that, pouting flirtatiously, and it just hurt to think about. She'd been stupid but the kiss had been wrong and she didn't know what to say, how to explain that she wanted her but she wanted something deeper that Irene probably didn't even care about.

But Molly felt herself moving anyway, opening the door and stepping out into the night where the rain and the stars twinkled above her. She looked up and remembered Irene's bubbly laugh ringing out across an empty field and it spurred something on inside of her. She found herself dripping onto the doormat, fumbling for her key. Breathe, she told herself. So she breathed and swung the door open.

Irene was fully clothed (thank God) and sitting on the chair, actually reading. Her phone was sitting on the table beside her, out in the open. Normally she guarded that phone with her life, and there was something jarring about seeing it exposed like this.

But there was also something comforting, a message that made Molly feel warm and soft. Irene trusted her. Irene really and truly trusted her.

"Come on in," Irene said, "don't be shy."

"Hello," said Molly, because she really didn't know what else to say.

Irene sighed and put down her book. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. But we can just forget about it, alright? Now you go shower and don't worry, I can sleep on the floor tonight, if you like."

Molly didn't like that at all. "Really, it's fine, I don't mind."

Irene was giving her an Irene stare, analyzing her and seemingly stripping her down to her most basic components. Molly felt herself blush, quickly stammered, "I'll just go shower then," and fled.

The water was gloriously hot and Molly scrubbed herself harder than usual, as if trying to scrub away all the awkwardness brought on by that evening. She stepped out of the shower and found her pajamas waiting for her. Relishing the sensation of the clean cotton against her skin, she nearly forgot about Irene entirely until she walked into her five seconds later.

At Molly's insistence, they did indeed share the bed, though Irene was careful to leave a large gap between them. Molly resented that gap deeply, the gaping chasm which divided the two of them. But she didn't comment on it, didn't reach for Irene, just lay there in the darkness and wondered how she'd ever fall asleep.

Irene's whisper broke the silence. "I really am sorry."

"Me too."

"No, really. I shouldn't have pushed you."

Molly felt her heartbeat quicken. "I didn't really mind, actually."

She could hear Irene's smirk. "You seemed to at the time."

"Well, I, um, I did want it... I just..."

"It's okay."

They paused. Molly felt like the world's greatest idiot and resisted the urge to roll over and scoop Irene into her arms. She just wanted to hold her, run her fingers through her hair and be able to touch her, skin against skin.

"What now?" Irene asked. She was asking what Molly was comfortable with, she realized. It was up to her. She decided the boundaries.

Molly closed her eyes and imagined the time and place that would let her hold Irene like she wanted to.

"Can we start over?"