Give me something.

Give me something to give.

-Patti Smith, Privilege (Set Me Free)

She wakes up flush against her bed partner. His breath on her neck, arm flung over her waist and body in line with hers. In a flash she's aware of exactly where they touch and where it's just barely. Dawn grows golden outside the window. She's intensely conflicted. Her grief-ridden, newly woken self wants to be engulfed by him. The room smells like unattended summer house, and it's nippy. He smells nice, human, and is warm. But he's not just anyone. Instinct still makes her close any distance between them. A low groan vibrates in his chest, and his hand moves to her tummy stroking her under the t-shirt. She lies still, relishing it, the anticipation distracting her from everything else. His hand lands at her hip and squeezes it slightly. She can't help a sharp breath and his body stiffens, hand releasing its pressure on her skin. He lies still for a second before putting some distance between them. The unreasonable part of herself is disappointed even if it's all the way it should be. She stares into the still murky room for a few moments, waiting for further reactions from him, but nothing. She stretches her body, slowly turning to face him. He's awake, obviously, eyes trailing her face, but he himself remaining unreadable.

"Morning," she says, forcing an innocent smile.

He mirrors it after a beat.

"You sleep alright?"

She hesitates.

"Eventually. How 'bout you? Crowded?"

"No."

Damn him and his poker face, she thinks, experiencing the familiar frustration of being with him. She breaks eye contact.

"I need coffee."

"Of course," he smirks, rolls out of bed, and pulls on his pants and tee. "I'll put on the water for you."

"Wait a minute, the water?"

"For the instant coffee."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't seriously expect Euell Gibbons to keep a coffee maker up here?"

It hadn't even occurred to her. The idea of a coffee-less existence too outlandish.

"Oh man!"

"Don't worry, it's not so bad once you get used to it, and it certainly beats the alternative."

"What's that?"

"No coffee?"

She gasps.

He grabs the white plastic water container and shakes it lightly. A few sad drops splashes around the bottom.

"I'll be right back."

He heads out the front door. She sits up in bed, taking inventory of her situation. No running water, no indoor plumbing, dank shed, bugs, no Danish, no fricking coffee. She gets up and pulls out her make-up mirror from her bag. Her eyes are still a bit rosy from last night and she's vulnerable just from facing herself. This is not what she had in mind for the weekend. And yet… She looks out the kitchen window at Jess pumping up water in the can. It feels different. That's something. Since her grandfather died it's been bad, lonely. Her mother has been too tied up in her own complicated grief for the two of them to connect properly. It's probably because she cried, but this morning seems… softer somehow. She finds she's more curious about this place than freaked out by it.

Jess returns, pours water into a tin pot and places it on the stove. She pushes to his side.

"So, how do you work one of these things? Rub two sticks together?"

He looks at her with raised eyebrows for a second before grabbing a lighter from the spice rack and putting her hand to the right knob. He twists it with her and lights the gas. She blushes.

"Thanks."

"There's a boiled egg in the fridge, and I'll make toast if you want some."

"Yes please."

As soon as the water boils she takes her first crack at instant coffee. She twists her face with disdain at the taste. Jess laughs.

"I can't believe I'm considering creamer."

"Do you know how bad that is for you?"

"No, I had no idea. Thank god you were here to tell me, Luke."

"My point is; there's none on the premises, you're more likely to find cocaine."

"Doesn't matter, I think I bought evaporated milk yesterday."

She rummages through her bag of canned goods, pulls out an item and hands it to Jess who starts laughing again.

"This is condensed milk."

"What's the difference?"

He shrugs.

"With instant coffee? Maybe nothing. Give it a try, how bad can it be?"

She takes another gulp of her so-called coffee but it's still horrid. He's right. She opens the can and stirs down a teaspoon of the syrupy liquid, has a sip, and laughs.

"It's actually not terrible, and certainly not worse. So, win, I guess."

He shakes his head.

They sit down outside for breakfast. Side by side on the small bench on the porch. Scraping portion served spotty butter on their pieces of toast, she peels and eats her egg, drinking water and another few gulps from her not too heinous coffee drink.

"So, you wanna talk about yesterday? About your grandfather?"

"No," she answers with a dismissive smile, like she has all along. "I'm fine." She hears herself while remembering the sounds she made in the silent cabin last night. A shiver runs through her and she meets his serious gaze. For a second he looks like he's going to tear into her lie with his significant ability, but then his face softens and he speaks again.

"I never met him. And Luke mentioned some intriguing things about the man. Color me curious, tell me about him."

She tilts her head, knows what he's up to, devious Jess, but obliges him anyhow.

"Fine. He was a big man, cast a big shadow, you know? Which could be scary, but he was really kind… to me, and-" she pauses. Struggles to find something unequivocally good about him that her mother couldn't turn around to show her the backside of. "Look, it doesn't even matter. How he was. Sometimes I think the eulogies have it all wrong, like, it doesn't matter what he was like, because sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn't, so, what really should matter is…" she falters.

"What he did," Jess finishes.

"Right," she says. "That's how we love people anyway, based on their actions rather than… I mean, you don't love someone for having a sense of humor, 'cause everyone does in a way, you love them for making you laugh. And I remember him taking me golfing, defending me when my paternal grandparents were horrible, and him holding me when I really didn't deserve it…"

"Sounds like he loved you."

Tears burn in her eyes again, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Maybe the way he should have loved my mom. Like, he should have been more supportive of her, and that's just a can of worms, so that's why I'm… here."

After breakfast she boils water, mixes with cold from the can and does the dishes from yesterday and what little there is from breakfast. He's already outside working to clear the foundation and area under the porch. She finds a lounger covered in cobweb in the only closet. She brushes off the chair, brings out her laptop and sits down with her back to the clearing.

She has a deadline next Friday and tries to work on the text, getting nowhere. Her attention keeps getting snatched by sounds and movements, animals big and small, wind through trees. And the rest of the time it's just the light, color and structure of the place and how strangely breathtaking it is. She glares at the cursor at her screen but it still doesn't help.

She gets up instead and walks the short distance down the clearing. There's a barely distinguishable path leading away from the house.

"Hey, is this the way to the lake?"

Jess looks up.

"Yeah. I was gonna go down there in a day or two and clear it on the way."

"Huh."

She regards the cabin. Now, that she's really paying attention she notices the flaking paint, the green algae climbing from the ground, and the cracked wood underneath it all. Even she can tell that the place could use some work. She looks at him going at it. He tears away handfuls of shrubbery with surprising speed.

"So, if you get Rabies from some scared raccoon, how long do I have to get you to safety?"

He smiles grimly.

"Actually, Lyme disease is more likely 'round here." He winks at her. "You might have to check me for tics later."

"Geez!"

She continues her walk along the wall of the cabin. Finds the generator in a closet by the toilet. And a broom. She grabs it and dusts off the machine, clears the spider-webs off the low ceiling and wipes the floor around it. A vast improvement, she thinks, and it couldn't have taken more than a few minutes. Encouraged by the simple progress she brings the broom with her as she continues walking. She repeats the cleaning procedure on the porch, and starts brushing off the terrace. To her delight, some of the weeds are beaten by this. The moss doesn't budge however. She finds a pocket knife in the kitchen and brings it out. Gets on her knees and starts pulling the moss and dandelions between the stones with her hands, using the knife when necessary. She's surprised at how satisfying it is. After a while Jess rounds the corner stopping in his tracks. She looks up.

"I'm helping."

"You don't have to."

"You're behind schedule, right?"

"Right." He walks off but returns moments later with a push hoe. "Use this. It'll be quicker."

They break for lunch a little while later, heating tomato soup and making toast.

He joins her afterwards, brushing remnants of moss off the stone behind her. Soon they're scraping their way around the cabin. She catches him glancing and smirking at her and that turns it in to a contest, that she winds up too involved in. A hot pain burns at the base of her index finger, she drops the hoe.

"Shoot!"

"What?"

"I got a splinter." She covers her hand in her other, scared to look.

"Let me see." She feels him taking her hand and unfolding it in his. "It's deep. Can you pull it?"

"I can't even look at it! Is it bad?"

"It's a splinter, not a stake through the heart." She hears the amusement in his voice.

"You don't know my traumatic history! Once, when I was a kid, I got a splinter from Miss Patty's floor that went right through the pad of my foot."

"Seems appropriate," he mumbles while pushing on the splinter with one hand and pulling at it with the other. "How'd you handle the crisis?"

"Well, you see, my mom was too freaked out to touch it, so it was just a mess of us trying avoid my foot while getting to the hospital."

"You went to the hospital over a splinter?"

"No! Luke showed up with these big pair of forceps-"

He starts laughing.

"And my mom had to hold my hand, but it didn't really help, 'cause she was just as upset and Luke pulled the thing from me. Surprisingly graceful with forceps, that one."

"He is good with a tool," Jess says. "Hold on now, don't get grossed out, just one more-" he interrupts himself and puts his lips to her finger. Her heart stops beating. He opens his mouth slightly feeling out the splinter with the tip of his tongue for a split second before grabbing the tiny edge of it with his teeth pulling it out. The sting makes her wince.

"Sorry," he shows her the splinter, while rubbing her finger with his thumb.

For a moment she wants his mouth on her, anywhere really, so bad she's taken aback by it. She swallows hard. He meets her eyes, with the trace of a smile on his lips.

"Logan called me," she blurts out, and is dumbfounded at why. She scrambles for a way to continue. "My college boyfriend."

He stares at her blankly.

"I remember. What'd he want?"

"Say sorry for my loss and…" she hesitates, feels like an idiot for bringing it up in the first place.

"And what?"

"And he wanted to see me."

"Huh."

"Except I don't really know if I should, you know? I don't-" She pauses, swallows. "Have the greatest track record with him and hard times. But it would be nice to catch up, try to be friendly."

He nods slowly, face unreadable. She stares at him anyway, not sure what she's looking for. He casually starts working again.

"So, what should I do?"

"Why ask me?"

"Well, you're here. And I could use some advice."

He looks back at her.

"What do you wanna do?"

"I don't know! Why do you think I'm asking? I guess a part of me wants to get back to him, but another doesn't, isn't that how you feel about your exes?"

He shakes his head.

"I'm the wrong person to ask." He pauses, leans on the shaft of his tool, then speaks with more resolve. "It's rare, but when I like someone I just know. I've always known. And then right or wrong doesn't really enter into it. I don't need to write pro- and con lists. It's okay that you do though, I just wouldn't be any help with it." He starts working again, but continues talking. "And besides, I'm not really impartial. You can't trust my opinion."

"Why? Because we used to date?"

"…Yeah." He says, the briefest of pauses noticeable.

"Makes sense I guess..." She starts working, but can't really get the pace up.

"What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" She asks his back.

"No."

"How come?"

He sighs.

"Like I said; I don't really like people that often." He turns around to face her. "And I tried to ignore that for a while, tried to date. But it was a really bad idea, 'cause I hurt them." He gnaws on his lower lip, gaze distant. "And myself too, I guess. I would be fine, and then I'd start dating someone and it'd always make me feel worse. So, I stopped."

She feels sick to her stomach that she's relieved at his answer since it doesn't seem a sustainable solution.

"So, it's only casual sex these days?" She tries jokingly. He gives her a somewhat pale smile.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Hey! Nothing's wrong with you!" She exclaims, grasping his lower arm, suddenly desperate to offer solace. "You need to care for people in order to be in a relationship. Seems healthy to me."

He looks less than convinced, but winks at her just the same.

"Thanks." He says.

She can't leave it alone, of course, the dilemma nags at her, and while they're making dinner a bit later she brings it up again.

"But I mean, what if I asked you if you thought he was a good idea? What would you say?"

He shakes his head and smiles, seemingly to himself.

"I'd say I've already given you my opinion on the guy."

"What? That was almost ten years ago!"

He turns and leans on the sink, looks right at her.

"Well, I rarely change my mind."

"Oh, come on!"

"I don't! And I have no new information to work with. The last I heard he ditched you when you wouldn't adapt to his plans and that's not exactly redeeming."

With that he goes back to peeling carrots.

Her heartbeat picks up at his words and she's strangely cheerful, apparently at the fact that he… what? Can hold a grudge? Has her back? She can't stop the feeling either way. She aches with warmth, and she needs to let it out somehow.

"I need music!"

"No internet, obviously," he says. "I could play from my car, but I don't know how long the battery will hold on for."

She's about as pleased with this plan as he seems to be. She frowns.

"Doesn't Luke have any music here?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"But have you looked everywhere?"

"Maybe not, but I didn't think I'd have anything other to do but work and sleep here. Shows how much I know," he finishes. She doesn't let his words discourage her but dives into the closet with the flashlight intending to look properly. All she finds there, however, is fishing gear, and old newspapers.

Places to look are limited. She goes over every drawer in the bed and finally finds a cabinet in the kitchen shut with a small padlock. She pulls at it but it stays locked.

"Darn," she mutters.

Jess turns and looks at her, then the lock.

"Hold your horses, horsey holder" she says. "I'm not done yet… Aha!"

Right by the door hangs a tiny key on a nail, they spot it at the same time.

"Oh, geez!" He sighs.

Rory picks it down and tries it in the lock. It fits.

"You probably should've checked over the door for extra keys before breaking in," she snickers as she pulls the cabinet open.

"Score!"

She reaches in and grabs a cassette player and a stack of tapes.

"Is it all Jimmy Buffett?"

"No, but-"

"I knew it!"

"There's Jethro Tull, Songs from the Woods, which, however appropriate, is a bit fruity. But there's also Stand Up and you shouldn't knock it 'til you tried it – it's like heavy psychedelic but with flutes."

"Sounds riveting."

"Your loss, mister. There's also Steely Dan-"

Jess hides his face in his hands.

"So close-minded," she remarks. "Oh! Déjà vu! Crosby, Stills, Nash-"

He looks up.

"Really?"

"And Neil Young."

"Thank god!"

"We have a winner!"

She pops in the tape and Unknown Legend blares somewhat shakily through the mono speaker. She takes out a kettle and balances the player on the top, speaker into it for acoustic, and lowers the volume. Smiles slowly.

"That's better."

She climbs the sink on her knees to look for more on the top shelf. He steps closer and places himself behind her.

"No way!" She exclaims and pulls out a dusty, half filled, bottle of whiskey and another tape.

"Patti Smith!"

He grabs the bottle from her, pulls out to glasses from a cabinet, and pours about two fingers into each.

"Godmother of punk!" She hoots.

He puts an arm around her waist, swinging her down from the counter with surprising ease, and hands her a glass.

"Here's to her," he says and clanks his to hers. She takes a hearty sip, and has an idea.

"Hey! Can I have your car keys?"

"What for? The godfather of grunge not doin' it for you?"

"Not quite," she says wiggling her fingers at him, "come on!"

He points to his jacket hanging from a hook next to the door. "Right hand pocket."

She fishes up the keys and runs out into the dusk. Opens the door to the driver's seat and slides in. She takes a moment to look around it. The seats are in mustard velvety cloth, and the car smells like foam rubber and cigarettes. She hasn't seen him smoke so far so if he needs to he's playing it very close to the chest. The music system is a CD player which must drive him nuts. She leans over and pops open the glove compartment. Old CD's fall out, on top of more cases covering the floor of the passenger's side. She smiles at the mess and briefly browses the titles. There's a lot from their youth, when people still bought CD's, a number of burnt ones, with mixed tracks and some hopelessly obscure ones, probably bought at live shows of the no name-artists in question. She actually knows of a few from Lane, which makes her want a more detailed look into his highly unorganized collection. But it'll have to wait, she's on a mission. She rummages around in the compartment until she finds what she's looking for.

She enters the cabin again tossing the deck of cards on the counter next to the stove.

"We're going fishing!" She exclaims cheerily.

"What are you, five? Poker!"

"So you can cheat me out of my life's savings? No thanks."

"We could play for clothes." He winks.

"So you can cheat me out of my clothes? No thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of Rummy. Slapjack. Skitgubbe."

"What are you, ten?"

"Not everyone can be professional gamblers."

"We'll see. Let's eat first."

They do play cards and listen to music while slowly working their way towards the bottom of the bottle of whiskey. He shuffles and deals but offers the cut to her.

"We should play Dame," she suggests.

"Never heard of it."

"The goal is to get as few points as possible, queens and King of hearts are all zeros."

"Aren't you talking about Hearts?"

"No, it's called Dame, but should really be called Life 'cause you don't get to see what's coming, you can't take back anything, women and emotionally mature men get a raw deal, and right there, on top, is a joker that can screw everything up, depending on its rank, and you can't protect yourself."

"Sounds fun. Let's play."

She shows him the set up. He kicks her ass up until the third game when she's under him by one point at the call stage.

"Moment of truth." He turns the card and smiles. "Queen of Hearts. No way you beat that."

She turns hers and smiles broadly, at the King of Hearts.

"Sometimes you get lucky." He admits.

They're between games and he's shuffling the deck. She's watching him do it, looks to his face. He seems focused and serene at the same time, she's a little jealous, can't imagine having looked that way in a while. He looks up and she's a too tipsy to look away directly, instead they get caught staring at each other for a few more moments than what might be considered appropriate. His gaze flicks to her lips and she's too warm in her clothes.

"How've you been, Jess?" She asks drowsily. "How's work? Family?"

"You know me, I'm always alright."

"Is that what you are?"

"Well, yeah. Ever since I got my act together. Work's good, still a lot of fun. I don't know what Luke's told you, but I got my GED."

"That's great! Probably overnight, right?"

"Yeah, the education fairy dropped it off. And Liz and TJ are still together, still insufferable of course, but I try to visit regularly anyway, because of Doula."

She's struck by how little she's told about Jess, and finds it strange, and not just a little bit sad considering the proximity of their lives. And she wonders why. Is Luke and her mom still protecting her in some misguided fashion, or is it all her own fault?

"Luke hasn't told me much, I've been a bit scared to ask."

"Why?"

"Well, 'cause I- I've thought about you, missed you. And I didn't know how it would feel to know, stuff about you, so I just…" She trails off.

He watches her with searching eyes, serious, for a few beats before speaking again.

"How about you? How have you been?"

It's a simple question but it paralyzes her. The truth is that she hasn't been happy in a while, and that is just, unacceptable. It's not part of the plan.

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why, don't I seem it?"

"Well, no." He pauses, shrugs. "But I guess it's no surprise at the moment considering. So, you've been good?"

"Yeah."

She looks at him and he knows. It's clear. Her throat hurts and she gulps down the rest of her whiskey.

"We should probably sleep, right?" She musters.

"Yup," he says.

When he turns out the light a little while later the darkness is a blessing. The pain in her throat returns and she tries swallowing again, but it doesn't work.

"I haven't been good for a while," she whispers.

"I got that," he responds, and after a few moments; "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"God no."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Get me."

Silence. Then;

"It's not rocket science, I know you. I watch you. And you're sort of a terrible liar."

"Shut up!" She puts her hand to his mouth and that's the start. Of a different feeling. A tingling in the soles of her feet at the sensation of his lips on her palm. It travels up her legs to her lower tummy and causes her heartbeat to accelerate. She doesn't lift her hand from his face, but strokes it, painfully slowly, down his chin, neck, shoulder and chest. All the while waiting for a reaction from him. Of course she gets what's going on, and he must too, because he freezes.

He doesn't give her any indication that he wants her to stop, she lets her fingers continue down his side. He remains still, but when she reaches his hipbone his chest rises sharply and breathes her name, with some labor.

She's powered by this and responds by grasping his wrist, bringing his hand up under her shirt and placing it over her breast. A motionless moment goes by, then, he drags his palm across her breast and down the side of her body to her waist, stopping and grasping her firmly. She swallows.

"Jess?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you wanna say what you think about me calling Logan back?"

There's silence, then:

"You know why."

The implication makes her heartbeat pick up in strength, he has to feel it. She speaks again, needs something specific.

"Do you still love me?" Her voice is even only by the full power of her will. His isn't.

"What do want me to say to that?"

"The truth?" She starts, but decides to be blunt. "I mean 'yes'. Say you do."

He puts his free hand to her face and strokes her across her cheek to her mouth, takes an audible breath.

"I do."

She kisses him. The emotion and physical sensation drowns out everything, covers all, and it's glorious. She moans softly and he finally springs into action by tipping her over while he keeps kissing her. She greedily accepts his weight on her, stroking his lower back, hooking her fingers in the elastic band of his underwear. He stills, puts his forehead to hers. His quickened breaths on her face makes her arch her neck to reconnect their lips. As they brush against each other he speaks.

"What about-?" He starts, but she interrupts him.

"I have an IUD. I dated someone a while back." She doesn't slow down while speaking and pulls off her t-shirt. He doesn't ask any follow ups, but regards her for a few moments, too many, she thinks and seizes his mouth with hers.

He paces himself differently than she does, touches her slowly and she's increasingly frustrated by it. She drags off her panties to get her point across. His hand trails her thigh all the way up and his fingers slip inside her. She whimpers, loudly, she thinks, in the silence of the room. He responds with a low moan and it drives her nuts.

"Please," she whispers. He pulls off his underwear and leans back on her, this time between her legs. The feel of him, them together like this makes her knees shake.

"What do you want me to do?" He murmurs.

"Everything. All night. I would like to not exist, if that's possible." She breathes, struggling to keep desperation out of her voice, unsure if she said the last part out loud.

"Okay."

It's almost dawn before she really falls asleep from sheer exhaustion. She dreams nothing.