A moment or two before the end of the world, Betty sighs and it's not from sorrow.

It's not the kind of sigh that is used to passing through her lips – of sore feet, of bleary eyes. It's not even a sigh of frustration or of boredom or of some kind of long-standing anger that simmers underneath the surface. It's the kind of sigh that echoes off of darkened movie hall walls. It's the kind of sigh that brushes over skin, all soft and secret.

It's the sigh of love, as fine and as delicate as a butterfly's wing, that coasts off of Betty's tongue as Kate's hand slides up her spine and alights upon the back of Betty's neck.

And about a billion of those multi-colored wonders are fluttering around in Betty's stomach, working their way up into her chest – god, my heart is racing! – And the shell around her body is about to crack and all the words she's been too damn afraid to say will just spill on out.

Right there, just a moment or two before the end of the world, Betty begs for this shattering to begin.