Rejoice, rejoice!

We have no choice,

But to carry on.

-Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Carry On

She wakes at dawn, the room in gray but clearly visible. She looks out the window and there's the start of orange at the horizon of what little sky is visible through the trees. Her body aches, mostly because of yesterday's manual labor, a feeling she's utterly unused to. But there's a restlessness also, like currents under her skin, it feels like a buzzing. She twists her body and groans, almost like the springs in that stupid couch. She finds the thought intensely funny for some reason and a giggle makes its way out her nose. When she turns her head to Jess he slowly blinks his eyes open as if emerging from sleep.

"Rory? What time is it?"

"Early," she says and is made aware of the specific circumstances for this situation, the memory of the last three days racing back in her mind. I'm allowed, she thinks incoherently, and leans over and drags her lips over his, the buzzing inside ceasing momentarily. She pulls her head back to look at him and finds him eyeing her, not without worry on his face. He opens his mouth, possibly to say something, but she leans back in, kissing him with fervor. He quickly catches on, but moves slowly, letting her set the pace. She straddles him and pulls off the t-shirt she's been sleeping in.

He's distinctly less guarded this time, maybe because of the early hour, or maybe something else. Hands greedier, kisses her with abandon, face and eyes more expressive. The night before was dark, and she could mostly just feel. But now, the vague morning light lets her see him, and it brings another dimension to the whole thing, makes it more real. He does look back at her and she feels weak and powerful at the same time. This is real, she thinks, and with that she's so aware of who he is, and this seems to have been a long time coming. She climaxes within moments of her hazy thought, and he follows, closing his eyes and makes a sound as he comes unlike any she's experienced before, or maybe she never really listened. It makes her quiver as the vibration of it travels up her abdomen and echoes out her mouth. She bends her torso down on and rolls off him sideways, crossing her legs and rocking herself a little, body singing.

He turns to his side and lets his hands frame her face, stroking it with his thumbs.

"Please don't freak out on me again," he says, in a tone that could be interpreted as an attempt at humor, but holds a fair amount of desperation. There's a twinge of regret and protectiveness in her. She reaches out her hand to return the touch.

"I promise," she says.

At breakfast they criss-cross around each other at the counter, picking out what they need. She doesn't fail to notice that he doesn't really keep his distance anymore, but brushes against her at any chance like a cat. She smiles as he reaches his arms around her from behind to get to the butter. It's a version of him she hasn't had any contact with since- and never to this extent anyway. She's reminded of his somewhat annoying habit of keeping any grand gesture, or feeling, to himself. She gets it though, protection, right? She's done the same a good few times, mostly with him. She turns towards him, pushes her slightly open mouth on his and lets him steer.

She also knows he expresses most of his emotions via actions. She recognizes it from their youth and the way he would ruthlessly pursue her by just being there, by coming back, time and time again. He does now too in a way. And he still wants her, for some reason, she catches herself thinking. It's not that she feels she deserves him, just like that, after everything, but there's something between them, always has been. She slows her mouth and lets their kiss stall.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything." He mumbles, lips still against her, eyes closed.

"How do you and Luke sleep while you're up here?"

He snorts out a laugh, pulls back and opens his eyes.

"Well, he brings an extra mattress from the diner." He pauses. "Not the first time though, it didn't occur to him. That was... interesting."

They bring their breakfast outside this morning, sit quietly while eating, her legs in his lap.

She goes to fetch water for washing the dishes, looks up and finds the sky clear blue. It's already really warm. She recalls yesterday's labor and how trying it was, even with a clouded sky.

"Looks like it's gonna be a scorcher." She turns to him. "What do you need to do today?"

"I still have painting to do, he starts. But I'll finish later. We should go to the lake-"

"Yes!"

He smiles.

"We'll fix the path on the way down."

They clear the table and do the dishes. He heads outside and digs through the built-in storage closets, she can hear him rifle around in there while she fills a bottle of water to bring, she also digs out blankets from under the bed. She keeps her t-shirt but puts on a pair of shorts. Habit makes her bring her book, and because she brings one for herself, she reaches into Jess' duffel bag and grabs one for him too. She pulls out rubber boots from the closet and steps into them despite them being a couple of sizes too big. When she joins him in the back there's a number of items laid out on the terrace; a barrow loaded with a sandbag, the scythe, and another bag of what looks like gravel.

"Boots – good." He says when he reviewing her. "Can you walk in them?"

"I'll manage," she responds.

"Okay. It's probably better if I take the lead. I'll be the reaper," he smiles and gestures to the scythe. "Can you pull the barrow?"

"Sure," she says.

He picks out a pocket knife and cuts a hole in the bag on the barrow, allowing the sand to slowly pour from it, picks up the scythe and the bag of gravel, repeating the knife-maneuver on it, and loading it onto his shoulder. She ties her bag of things to the barrow.

"Let's go."

He starts walking the overgrown path from the house. She pulls the barrow, it is heavy, but probably worse from the terrain. It's rocky and bumpy, and it's hard to get the pacing right since the have to stop and clear some patches more than others. Pretty soon she's sweating, and cursing internally in frustration. She tries to focus on the scenery, because it is beautiful. They're surrounded by golden, green foliage and pines, bugs and birds fluttering gives the air structure and makes her understand why people used to believe in fairytales.

She's actually caught up in it, and trips over a root that efficiently traps the wheel of the barrow. She swears, out loud this time. He turns and grabs hold of the handle, helping her to pull the wagon loose. He squats next to her, apparently inspecting her leg, supposedly for scratches. When his hands travel her skin, she laughs.

"You certainly are thorough."

He looks up and winks.

"Better check the other one too."

She slaps his shoulder and he gets back up, still smiling though, in such an open way that she actually feels it in her chest. He turns and keeps walking, hoisting the bag up on his shoulder, swinging the scythe dully from side to side when necessary. She keeps walking too, pulling the gradually lighter barrow behind her. She watches his back as they walk; the muscles moving in waves under the shirt, and occasional tremors when they work harder in the rough patches. Sweat runs from his neck along the spine creating darker stains in the cloth. There's something inexplicably calming about in the entire thing. To just follow him.

They finally see water through the trees, and Jess drops his tool, what's left of the bag and drags his clothes off himself with telling speed, running out onto a boulder and jumping in the lake. An unguarded laugh rolls off her at the scene.

"Fuck! That's cold!" He yells as he breaks the surface, emerging, then he sets off swimming. Her body shakes with something between a laugh and a shiver despite the heat. She stalls for a few seconds, then imitates his actions. Drops her clothes on the ground and takes aim. The closer she gets to the water the more hesitant she gets, and the more hesitant she gets, the more she picks up her pace until she's sprinting off the rocks where he jumped. Cold water swallows her, pushing a giggling scream from her lungs that rises like bubbles to the surface. She breaks it too, gasping. The place, the feeling, is incredible. Her heart hammers in her chest.

"Gutsy," Jess hoots.

"Back at ya," she calls back at him, swims in his direction, and he moves to meet her. When they're a few feet apart, they stop, paddling water and looking at each other. Her cheeks ache from smiling and she's struck by how rare it has been for her lately. His eyes are wide, shining, like a little boy that she can't imagine he ever was. Their feet touch as they paddle and she wonders how deep it is.

"Luke doesn't fish for Pike here, does he?" She remembers the potential size of that particular kind of fish, and their teeth.

"Don't think so. Wrong environment for them, or something. He's mainly here for Trout. I'd watch out for Crayfish though if I were you." He sticks out his tongue at her, and she splashes water on him.

When they're back on land, sitting on the rock they jumped off, wrapped in a blanket each, they share the water in the bottle.

"So, are you gonna do some fishing?"

"Nah," He says. "I could never stand killing them. We better stick to canned Tuna."

"I'm so sick of canned stuff."

"You've had it for three days."

"I will not apologize for having high standards."

"Great, you go fish!"

"God no. Yuck."

He gives off his short, quiet laugh, the one she can only hear if she listens for the air exiting his nose, and looks for the twitch in his body. Like a comforting secret.

"Well, we do have pasta. And there's Parsley and Asparagus growing up by the driveway."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Luke tried to cultivate some sort of vegetable patch a few years back. It's a pretty decent meal."

"Okay, master chef."

She takes a turn in the clearing and picks up their clothes, hanging them on branches and on the barrow. The sun burns down and the wind has picked up so they'll dry soon enough. She brings back their books and lies down on her tummy next to Jess on the blanket he's spread out on the moss.

"Knausgård, huh?"

"Yeah," he says dismissively.

"How d'you like it?"

"I don't know. It's interesting, but a bit much. He's a sort of a dude."

"You're a dude."

He winces.

"Well, I'm a guy, but not a dude… right?"

She laughs.

"Why do you read it if you don't like it?"

He's quiet, frowning and biting his lower lip before answering.

"I guess it's too crazy not to read. I mean, it's series of autobiographies - plural! And from what I can tell he's famous for writing multiple autobiographies. Very strange."

"Are you perhaps considering writing one yourself?"

"Of course I am." He says, and after a beat; "I just don't think I could, and I don't even have- I just think it'd hurt Luke too much if I wrote about Liz."

His situation seems hauntingly familiar to her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's weird, but it's like keeping from disappointing him sometimes keeps me sane."

She shrugs.

"You might leave stuff out."

"Might as well write fiction."

"I don't know, it should all depend on which aspects of your life you present, or which genre you're aiming for. Seems so sad that autobiographies always have to be so… gloomy. Have you read Wishful Drinking?"

He nods, and she continues.

"I mean she hasn't had a storybook-life and she still manages to be honest about it without being overly exploitative or self-indulgent. She talks about her life like people do in general, trying handle it with distance and humor, and I just don't think that's an inherently bad idea. You don't have to make a spectacle of yourself to tell an interesting story."

"Good point. I'll consider that," he says.

She smiles at him, warm at the recognition.

They read for a while in silence. Then he speaks again.

"Okay, so maybe my problem is that my life is kind of uninteresting."

"What?" She says, and hears the disbelief in her own voice clearly.

"Well, bad kid manages not to fuck up his life completely, and keeps doing that. Would you read that?"

"First off; You weren't a bad kid, and you're selling yourself way too short. There's nothing about your life that I wouldn't wanna know more about. If you wrote an autobiography I'd be first in line to buy it."

He smiles at her.

"I know you would, you might be the entirety of the line, but I know. You on the other hand…"

"What about me?"

"Your life would make a great story."

"Get outta here!"

"No, it would: town sensation since you were born, feet in two different, equally exotic worlds for the average person, vindication, your mom… all of it. A modern princess story."

She laughs loudly.

"You are full of it."

"Fine, very modern," he admits. "But it would be so intriguing it wouldn't even matter how it ended."

"Now you're just being the entirety of my line," she says, leans her shoulder to his, and shoves it, a move he mirrors.

His gaze moves to her shoulder and he reaches out and strokes it.

"You're gonna burn yourself," he says. He sits, grabs the other blanket and spreads it over her. It's actually nice, it blocks the hot rays of sun and sudden gusts of wind. She smiles at him.

"What about you?"

"Have you seen me? I'm fine."

"Maybe I just want to share it," she says and lifts the upper blanket. He inches under it and she folds it out over their heads. They enter a world of only gravity, she closes the distance between them, her eyes darting between his. He repeats this morning's gesture and puts his hands to her face. Takes a deep breath as if taking aim. Closes his eyes. Speaks.

"I don't sleep around. I haven't- it's been months since-"

She starts protesting, but he cuts her off by opening his eyes and looking intently at her.

"It is relevant, just not for the reasons that were on the table yesterday."

Her heartbeat is thunderous. She purses her lips and leans in, a light shushing escaping her mouth before kissing him. They remain under the blanket for a while, she really has no way of keeping track of it, her mind is in a place adjacent to sleep, relishing the cocoon-like closeness, light oblivion.

A shadow moves over them and it's colder. They fold the top cover open. The sky is covered with clouds turning darker by the horizon, there's a distant sound of thunder, or maybe strong winds, it's hard to tell. She looks to Jess, the shade has robbed his eyes of their amber turning them dark. She shivers.

"We should go," she says.

"Yeah," he responds.

They get dressed and gather up blankets and books, tying them to the barrow and walking the path back to the cabin. She hears the rain as it hits, but feels mere drops of it as the crown canopies catch most of it. She takes the time twisting her steps to grind their spilled sand and gravel into the ground.

When they get back it's raining pretty heavily, but he still goes to put away the stuff from the lake and pick the vegetables from the patch. She runs inside and starts cooking dinner.

She pours the pasta into the boiling water. Goes through the tapes on the counter. Jess is still outside, so she puts on Steely Dan. Starts bopping her head to the rhythm on Do It Again. She doesn't usually dance, it mostly makes her feel clumsy, but this place is freedom. Nobody's watching. The rain hammers the roof of the cabin and she pretends she knows mambo.

Jess enters and stops in the middle of a step, staring at her. A wide smile spreads on his face and he shakes his head.

"Did you get into the mushrooms?"

She drops her jaw.

"There are mushrooms!?"

He shakes from a badly contained chuckle, and she laughs. They smile at each other for a few seconds. His expression changes, gains purpose, and walks up to her dragging her into a kiss. She's still smiling even as he escalates it, moving them to lean on the kitchen table, and she looks at him through her lashes. He's obviously lost in them and she lets herself be dragged into the landslide.

He's assertive, for the first time since they got here, really, having responded to her mostly so far.

"Can we turn this off, before the record has to show that we fucked to Steely Dan?"

She laughs mid-kiss, tingling by the explicit sentiment, but reaches out… and turns off the stove.

"Nope," she says. "It's to Steely Dan or not at all."

An uninhibited smile spreads across his face.

"Fine. If that's how you wanna play it. Just trying to keep it civil."

"Yeah, a civil screw." She mumbles.

He laughs.

"You're adorable."

"Back at ya."

They don't talk much after that.

There's a point, a while later when he looks at her and she sees it. How he feels. She knows. And waves of lust run through her at the insight. It feels dangerous and safe at the same time and she wonders for a second how it's so enjoyable. Maybe it's like combinations of salt and sweet, sweet and sour, that work together even though they shouldn't.

Afterwards, in bed, she shivers slightly, tenses and relaxes her body, rocking gently against him, riding the after quake of her orgasm. Looks at his face in the murky room, exploring its features, drunk off of him. He meets her gaze and smiles somewhat tiredly.

"What?"

She shakes her head.

"I don't know, I was just thinking we should have done this earlier."

She falls silent and back into thoughts. He presses his lips to her temple, and mumbles.

"Although I have several thoughts on this matter; I'm not complaining."

"And I was thinking about Logan."

He tenses, turns his face to hers.

"We were at a pool party ages ago. We'd been together about six months at the time. And I… had one of those weird days when you're just so in the mood. It was sort of all I could think about while I was mingling and eating canapés. I kept thinking it'd have to be so obvious the way I kept staring at him. And once we got home, I was all over him and he… had stuff to do."

She pauses.

"He hadn't noticed a thing, and went to answer some mails and I was just… deflated. It felt like we were from different planets." She swallows, feels herself drifting into really sensitive territory, but can't stop herself, the current is too strong. She's lost all her fear. "But this… Sometimes it feels like you can read my mind. I haven't felt like that, in a long time. Maybe never.

She laughs dully and puts her head on his chest listening to his rapid heartbeat.

"Anyway, after that non-incident it was like… I don't know, I just never forgot it." She doesn't quite know what her point is, but the words keep falling from her mouth, as if they have a life of their own. "And now I'm here and… I'm buzzing." Her cheeks burn. "'Cause I want you again and I think you feel it, I know you do."

He finally interjects. Speaks low and resolute.

"Had it been me at that party I would have fucked you there and then. Pulled you into some closet and-"

He rolls over, on and into her. She yelps in surprise and pleasure, body shaking from laughter and excitement. He moves slowly while he keeps speaking.

"And we might have missed the party but now-" He interrupts himself to draw a few sharp breaths. "Now it feels like we- like I- like my purpose is to be here, to sleep with you."

She dreams of dark, soft water.