When his wife's arms slinked around his neck, his own enfolded her middle.  He knew better than to argue for his blame, but the quiet voice in the back of his mind was still hefting accusations that brought that lingering shame to the forefront of his mind.  The gold flame.  Fated.  And he'd let her get shot.  The self-debasement continued, 'til the woman stood on her toes, and pressed her mouth almost hungrily to his own.  Casey -caught by surprise- let out an approving noise.  Her mouth was warm, and soft.  And the kiss seemed to wake something up in the wizard.<br/><br/>His mouth pressed back against her own, and the guilt seemed to vanish, at least for the moment.  She was safe.  And she was there, in his arms.  Warm and real, and pressed firm against his bare chest.  His eyes closed, and his shirt fell idle from his hand.  Kissing her felt right.  Holding her, felt right.  Protecting her.<br/><br/>His lips withdrew from her own in brief, broad hands settling slowly at the top of the girl's jeans.  As of yet, he'd been incredibly polite about touching.  Certainly not like a newly married couple.  But the brush with death was enough to push him to feel something innately alive.  Gingerly, his fingers slipped up from her jeans, beneath the loose shirt she'd slipped on, to gently splay over the small of her back.  He studied her face, for reticence.