Weeks of exploring had to be made up in just a one day. At least, this was what Lewis believed. Clark had not let go of his hand since that morning, when they had become a duo again. Lewis and Clark. As busy as that day had been, and as battered as Clark looked- and felt- from his tragic excursion sans his partner, Lewis had felt happy for once in quite a long time.

Happy may not have been the most accurate word, actually. Satisfied? Exhilarated? At peace?

Did he feel... appreciated? Loved?

He scrawled in his journal beside the campfire until his eyelids began to sink closed by themselves.

...

"Clark?"

"Mm?"

"Are you still awake?"

"Umm... yeah. Is something the matter?"

"Can you come lie with me?"

Clark rose, his pillow tucked under his arm, and then snuggled beside Lewis. "You okay?"

Lewis nodded. "I just need to feel you beside me is all." He was facing Clark's back, and he nestled his nose in the man's reddish-gold curls. He inhaled deeply; the hair smelled of cedar- rustic and rugged, yet fresh.

Lewis awoke at what had to have been past midnight, needing to pee. Clark was still in a deep sleep, snoring, his right arm slung over his pillow. Lewis yearned to go outside anyway, to take a breath of the night air. He rose quietly, slowly so as to not wake his partner. It did not matter what a stir he caused, however; Clark was such a deep sleeper that he would not notice. Besides, after having been lost and hungry for days, he was deeply exhausted.

The grass was already drenched with dew, and Lewis had to traipse carefully by the light of the moon. He found a dark bush and hitched up his nightshirt. Jefferson had teased him about this for weeks. Prissy, fastidious Lewis, relieving himself in the bushes, behind trees. No delicately-patterned porcelain chamber pots, having to keep his balance with the aid of tree trunks and skinny shrub branches whenever he needed to squat. He had done this for years in the military, having survived even horrible bouts of diarrhea in the field; he had long outgrown the embarrassment, but the idea still tickled Jefferson.

But many things had tickled Jefferson. Jefferson was a friend. A man with common interests: nature, flowers, all things ornate and delicate. He loved writing his daughters, Martha and Mary, about his dreams for grand gardens at Monticello. Jefferson, Lewis felt, was also the only one who understood his moodiness, his desire to be alone, his frequent bad days. Things that, Lewis feared, made him less of a man. He trusted Jefferson and Jefferson alone with this very fear. He could talk to Jefferson, and Jefferson did not pass judgement or look down on him.

Lewis missed Jefferson.

Would Lewis be comfortable sharing his dreams and desires and feelings with Clark? Jefferson had asked him this one evening before his departure from Virginia. Clark is a friend, Lewis had replied. But he's a man much more fierce and brave and stable...

He's a man- Lewis had recently realized- who had shown little regard for others' feelings and safety. He had broken Lewis's fragile heart. He had been dishonest with two of those mysterious time travelers, had gotten them lost and hungry for weeks. He had punched the third, the fellow named Larry, who was made of metal. Their visit had, indeed, made Clark wise up a bit. He had been more cooperative and loyal to Lewis the past few days.

I need you! were the three words that had made Lewis's heart sing that afternoon. He had truly waited for a long, long time to hear Clark say those words.

That was what Lewis needed to hear. That someone needed him. Those words made him feel important, whole, and worthwhile.

If someone did not need him or appreciate him, then he was worthless. Whenever he felt worthless, he could not start his day. He would hurt. He would dream of death.

His family made him feel needed when he ran Locust Hill. The young nation made him feel needed when he served in the military, quelled the rebellions out west- or, rather, what was considered the west at the time. Jefferson made him feel needed when he hired him as an aide and when he asked him to undertake this expedition. Now there was Clark. Once a friend and nothing more, a companion on their military missions all those years ago, who did not necessarily make him feel needed or useful then.

But he did now.

Yes, this man needed him: the brawny, rugged man with the gruff voice and the wild sideburns and the cap made from a raccoon he had skinned with his own hands. His hands- Lewis remembered that chilly morning when Clark had embraced him for warmth, and that night soon after when Clark had accidentally groped him in his sleep...

But... was it Clark who needed Lewis, because the latter had proven more competent, the former unprepared by himself?

Or was it Lewis who needed Clark? Because something was not quite right, because something in his mind or his heart was constantly aching?

Lewis sat upon a rock and drew his knees to his chest. The wind tickled him underneath, making his spine tingle. He and Clark had not been intimate in weeks, since things had gone wrong and Clark had stopped cooperating with the expedition. He and Jefferson had almost done it once, but only made it as far as touching with their clothes still on. Anything more would have made Jefferson uncomfortable; he had not been afraid to admit that to Lewis. He had been a married man, he had children, and as President, he had to assume that anything scandalous would have made its way to the public. "But Lewis, please," Jefferson had said, "find yourself someone like me, with whom you can become emotionally intimate, but someone unlike me, with whom you can also be physically intimate."

That someone was Clark. Clark, who insisted on only being on top. Who could fuck fiercely for what felt like hours without becoming exhausted while Lewis, on the other hand, was the one panting and shaking and weak. Who had first introduced Lewis to pure physical pleasure. After these nights, which left their tent hot and reeking of sex and sweat, they would simply cuddle up and not say a word to one another until morning, when it came time to issue commands and read maps and make rations...

"Lewis?"

Lewis nearly jumped. "Clark? What are you doing up?"

"I noticed you were gone." Clark settled down beside him and rubbed the fresh scratches on his face.

"I needed to pee."

"Oh. Well, I woke up because my back is killing me."

"Clark, you need to go back to bed, then. After all that, you need your rest."

"May I sit out here with you?"

"As long as you're comfortable." Lewis sighed and closed his eyes. Clark was hurt. Bruised and scratched and cut and aching all over. He needed some relief, didn't he? Some ointments and bandages and maybe some willow bark to stop the aches.

"I wanted to say sorry," Clark said, interrupting Lewis from his thoughts. "For all that happened... you know, me leaving you and getting everyone into trouble, getting myself into trouble..." His voice trailed off as he noticed tears gathering in Lewis's eyes. "Is- is something the matter?" Lewis began to sob, and Clark glanced around nervously. "Is it okay if I... do you want a hug?"

Lewis nodded, and Clark caught him in a snug embrace. "It's going to be okay. Look, I take back what I did earlier... I can't tell you how sorry I am-"

"Clark... it-it's not th-that," Lewis answered, heaving.

"Is this one of..." Clark paused to find the gentlest words. "Is this one of the, um, 'depressive moods?'"

"W-what?" Lewis pulled out of the embrace slowly.

"That Jefferson told me about?" Clark grimaced nervously. "He told me, before we left, that you... get these moods sometimes. Gosh, I don't think he wanted me to tell you that he said that..."

"I know that he said that to you," Lewis said, taking a deep breath to quell his sobs. "I wanted him to tell you so you wouldn't have to find out about them for yourself... I was too embarrassed."

"I know you had bad days back in the army. I wasn't around you enough to know much about them, though."

"Well, they're bad. You've seen some out here already, I know." Lewis sniffled and dabbed his eyes on his sleeve. "I forgive you for everything you did."

Clark crossed his legs and stared down sadly into his lap. "I want to take care of you, Lewis. I really do." He looked up at his companion. "I don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. We're best friends, aren't we?"

"So you're fine with me not being... much of a man?"

"What do you mean? Are you talking about your moods?" Clark held both of Lewis's hands and massaged them softly with his thumbs. "Listen, it doesn't bother me that you... get that way. I mean... I don't like seeing you upset but... if you, um, need to talk or cry or whatever... I... want to help." Clark could feel his face redden. "You're still a great man to me. And you mean a lot to me." Clark bit down on his lower lip, and Lewis could see his eyes widen, almost as if with panic, in the moonlight. "I mean that. I- I really like you, and... I'll do my best to make sure you don't, you know, feel sad or alone." Clark went silent, and he stared into Lewis's eyes, awaiting a reply. Or an angry outburst. Lewis truly has no reason to trust me, Clark said to himself...

"Thank you, Clark." Lewis squeezed Clark's hands in return and smiled warmly. Clark could not help but grin as well. He laid a hand on the back of Lewis's head and drew it to his face. He kissed Lewis's narrow, dainty mouth and kept the tip of his tongue pressed to his companion's lower lip for a few moments. He heard Lewis moan quietly.

"You make the cutest sounds when we kiss," Clark commented, stifling a coy laugh. "I missed that."

"Missed what?" Lewis smiled playfully.

"Kissing you. And hearing you make those sounds."

"Don't worry about missing them now." Lewis began to feel the sharp throbs between his legs.

"Do you want to... get closer?"

"Yes, Clark," Lewis whispered. Lewis lied on his back in the grass and relaxed as Clark slid his fingers into the fold of his groin and massaged deeply, up and down and in small circles. Clark felt a warm pulse from Lewis's flesh and watched as the hardness began to rise from the patch of dark, coarse hair. Lewis hoisted his slender, long legs upward, above his companion's shoulders, and Clark entered him abruptly, eagerly. Lewis yelped, as it had been weeks since he had last been penetrated, but he managed to relax once Clark sank down upon him and breathed deeply upon his bare chest. Clark, being sore, simply remained still inside of his partner and tucked his hands underneath Lewis's shoulders. "Is this fine?"

"Perfect," Lewis said softly, letting Clark press his lips upon his neck. He nibbled and sucked gently, then worked his way up to Lewis's cheek.

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Lewis smooched him on the end of his blunt nose. "Thank you for... taking care of me."

Clark chuckled. "No problem. What do you say we get back into a real bed?" They rose together, and Clark lifted Lewis up and cradled him in his arms. "You're a real doll." Lewis smiled and leaned his head against Clark's cheek as Clark carried him back to the tent.

They lied in one another's arms for the rest of the night.