Both having showered (separately) and dressed (again, separately), Saffron and Jack sat at the small table adorning his tiny kitchenette, which was barely more than a sink and stove with miniscule counter space. They shared coffee, silently, and considered what might have happened the night before.

"Sorry I don't have any tea," Jack told Saff, "but we aren't tea people over here."

Saffron studied her cup, flashing Jack a withering look as she drank her coffee.

"No," she agreed, "you're all lacking a fair bit of culture. Tea being the least of your problems."

This raised Jack's ire.

"Yeah, well, call me when Britain dominates anything again - including soccer," he sneered.

"Football," Saff corrected. "The proper style of it."

"Right. Like you're so into anything athletic," Jack said bitterly, taking a swig of black coffee. "On the playing field or off of it."

Saffron wouldn't let that one pass.

"You…"

"Bastard?" Jack offered. "Ass? SOB? What?"

"Must you always swear?"

Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry," he said.

Saff's headache was improving, but only slightly. She massaged her temples, closing her eyes. Finally she stopped even trying to sip the coffee. It made her that much more nauseous.

Jack rose from his chair, put his coffee cup into the small sink and stood, looking down at Saffron. Now she'd put her head down on the table, trying to rest. It wasn't working. She looked absolutely miserable.

"Hey, you need me to go get you anything? Soup? Ginger ale? A pistol?"

Saffron tried ignoring Jack's lame attempt at humor. Saying nothing, she tried breathing deeply to ease her throbbing headache. Still, it didn't work.

Seeing how awful she looked, Jack immediately stopped kidding around.

"Look, I'm gonna go down to the store and pick up a couple things for you, okay? Go back to bed. You look terrible. I'll be right back." With that, he grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter and headed out the door. Saffron slowly made her way back to the bedroom. Climbing into Jack's bed, she was soon fast asleep.

Jack returned in about a half-hour with soup, ginger ale, (no pistol) and some headache medicine. He looked in on Saff where she lay, dead to the world. He was sorry she'd gotten so sick, but it was nice having a gorgeous woman sleeping in his bed. And to Jack, Saffron was the most incredibly lovely girl he'd ever met. Nothing about her was fake, she wasn't Barbie-doll "pretty" and she was intelligent, witty and charming. Also, he found her sexier and more alluring than any other woman he knew. He couldn't force her to stay with him, but he hoped she'd stick around for a while. He enjoyed her company.

Humming softly to himself, Jack quietly set a pan on the stove and started heating up some soup for Saffron. He'd take care of her today, get her feeling back to her old self. Maybe it would continue thawing some of the ice keeping them apart. He had the sense that Saff would appreciate his being truly kind. And he wanted to prove to her that he wasn't some lecherous creep.

Having Saffron trust him was important to Jack. He'd never cared this much about anyone before and, new as the feeling was for him, he liked it. He didn't understand why he'd so suddenly fallen for her. They were strangers, after all. But he hoped that would change.

When the soup started boiling, Jack poured it into a bowl, let it cool and started towards the bedroom. Maybe this would wipe the slate clean between them. Maybe she'd let him know more about her.

If she was willing to share, he was certainly willing to learn.