by Cecilialisbon

She tries not to hate Tom. She smiles at his weak jokes and engages him in conversation, and she doesn't wince when he takes hold of Lynette's hand. She babysits Penny when her parents want some time alone together, and she tries not to look to the Scavo house and think of what she threw away. It is easier this way, she thinks as Andrew and Danielle start another fight upstairs and she can hear the thumps on the antique floorboards that ten years ago she went through hell to find. It's easier this way because no-one gets hurt, and no-one loses anything. As Danielle pleads for her mother's assistance and Andrew barks his laughter, Bree closes her eyes and wipes the tears she didn't realise that she'd shed. Its easier this way.

The next day, Bree looks in the mirror that hangs in her corridor. She neatens her hair and attempts a friendly smile to the unresponsive mirror and all she is faced with is her own dark and empty eyes. She opens the door and braves the world again. Reaching for the car keys in her clutch bag, her eyes drift to the lawn where Lynette sits in the mid-morning sun, beating down on her dirty blonde hair. Her legs are curled underneath her and her eyes are closed, savouring the few moments of peace that she can find. She doesn't feel Bree's piercing glare on her skin, or realise how her neighbour is mentally undressing her yet her eyes lazily open through some vague awareness of being watched. For a few seconds, Bree is frozen to the spot, her limbs unmoveable.

"Hey," Lynette shouts, but all Bree can hear is her throaty voice in the midst of passion. Without thinking, she moves towards the Scavo house and Lynette gets up from the sun-baked lawn to greet her neighbour, "How're you doing?" She asks, mindful of the fact that Tom is absent. They can talk more freely and Lynette doesn't feel like the adulteress that she is as she admires the curves of her friend's body.

"I'm fine," She answers primly before amending her off-putting tone, "How are you? Are the kids OK?" Lynette notices the lacking mention of Tom, but she says nothing.

"They're good," She grimaces slightly but with a slight grin, "Hyper, but good." A paperboy cycles past and an airplane goes overhead. And on Wisteria Lane, two women fight their attraction to the point of bare faced repression. "What about Andrew and Danielle?"

"They're teenagers," Bree answers with the smallest hint of a smile, "They're constantly in a bad mood or asking for something. Namely money."

Lynette emits a small gruff laugh, "Looking forward to that..."

With the more comfortable interaction, Bree releases a breath of tension that she had been unknowingly holding, "It's supposed to get better. One day." [One day this will get better and I won't feel like this about you]

She fails to catch the double meaning, or if she does, she lets it go unmentioned. "It better do," Lynette looks over the toy littered lawn, "Otherwise I'm not sure how Tom and I are going to get through the next forty years of our lives."

She visibly winces this time. Mr Scavo isn't around so the pretence isn't needed. "I'm sure you'll do just fine," She replies softly and genuinely, and Lynette almost feels her heart breaking, "Certainly better than Rex and I."

"You can't say that..." Lynette comforted, her hand reaching to rub Bree's cashmere-covered arm but before she can, Bree shifts away.

"Don't," She says simply, looking to her shoes and her eyes then glancing to Lynette's with a darkness that the latter didn't realise she bore, "Just don't."

"So I can't even touch you now?" Lynette asked incredulously, "I thought we could at least still be...."

"Friends?" Bree's breath shudders, "This is going to be hard enough without pretending that all we've ever been, or ever will be, is friends," and on those words, she slowly turned on her heel to walk away.

"Are you coming to the Poker night tomorrow?" Lynette asked. She knew the reply.

"I'm busy tomorrow." Bree answered as they walked towards Bree's garage where her car sat.

"What shall I tell Gabrielle and Susan?"

Bree shrugged, as they met with the automobile on the Van de Kamp driveway, "I'm sure you'll able to think of something." She slid the keys into the lock of the car as Lynette tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Bree seemed almost mesmorized by the small action.

"I meant what I said," Lynette uttered in an echoey whisper before she lost all hope, "I meant it."


They were against the wall before the door had even closed. Their hands were nowhere and everywhere at the same time, causing fire to rise in their bodies as they explored each other again. Bree pressed her lover against the wall, showering her with tormenting touches and light kisses. Lynette gasped at the contact, her body arching into Bree's as they moved in perfect symphony. Lynette brought Bree's head up from her neck where she where she was pressing her lips, and she stared into her eyes. "I missed this."

[I missed this. I missed you. I love you.] They are the destructive undercurrents which neither admit to. This is not the time. In the small box where they both store this affair, they wonder if there ever will the the time.

As Lynette moves up the stairs, Bree follows and catches a look of herself in the mirror. She doesn't hate Tom. She hates herself. She is ruining families and lives and she can't stop because there is this woman that she is captivated by, who makes her feel like she is everything, like she is beautiful and adored. She looks at this woman who has her heart, and sees everything about love that she had been so idealistic about in her youth.

She's fallen.

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