Pitch and Lark: Not Yet

((Last night saw some strangers at the Pig & Whistle - drunk, loud, and rather obnoxious strangers. OOCly they were rather amusing, but Lark wanted nothing to do with them. When they finally left, her mood was kind of ruined, so she called it a night early and convinced Pitch to leave with her.))
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"So what was that about?"

Lark glanced down at Pitch, padding by her side. She looked away again quickly, her face carefully expressionless. "What was what about?" she asked blandly. "You know. Those guys in there." He looked at her inquisitively. "If I didn't think I knew you better, I'd think you were afraid." Lark snorted, "Not afraid." They walked on without speaking for a bit before she added, "I just... don't care for men like them." She felt his eyes still on her, and sighed. "Look, Pitch, I don't want to explain it out here. Just.. wait til we're off the street?" "Mkay," he replied. The rest of their trip to his apartment was accomplished in silence, but she could almost hear the wheels in his head spinning.

Pitch thought he could guess what her problem was. He said nothing, however, as they crossed the Park to the little herbalist shop. Shylamiir was just closing up, but she let them in with a smile when they arrived. Pitch shifted out of his cat form as he followed Lark up the stairs to his tiny apartment, little more than a spare bedroom. He shut and latched the door behind them, then turned in time to slip his arms around her as she pressed herself against him, pulling his head down for a kiss. He returned it for a few moments, then gently pushed her away. "Someone treated you badly," he said bluntly. "That's why they were making you nervous."

Her look of surprise swiftly turned to suspicion, with a touch of confusion as well. "We're off the street now," he told her, smiling slightly to take the sting out of his actions. "No more distractions. You were saying?" She sighed and eyed him, a little wistfully. "It was several years ago," she admitted finally. Then, with a small, sad smile she added, "Some scars take longer to fade." He just watched her curiously. She hesitated. "Pitch, I... It's not something I want to talk about. Not yet. But I'll... I'll tell you sometime. When I'm ready." She held back a sigh of relief when he nodded. "When you're ready," he repeated, then held out his hands. She gave him a crooked grin and stepped closer, reaching up to massage his ears, and was rewarded when a rumble started deep in his chest. He made no objections as she guided him toward the bed.

She didn't leave right away when they were done, like she often did. Instead she remained pressed against him, seeming to draw comfort from his presence. He gave her all he could, staying awake for as long as possible. At last, however, he dozed off. When he woke the next morning she was gone. A note on the table told him that she'd see him in the next day or two, and at the bottom she had added a scrawled Thanks.