A/N: Weren't we all hungry! Goodness me. I love my reviewers. You are all just the best in the world. I'm glad you're reading, enjoying, and bothering to take time to tell me. Thank you! As for pie, I checked the cupboard, and lo and behold it seems there might be seconds to go around. I know there's been rife speculation about all the earlier description about the cabin and all its accouterments, especially one particular feature...

I also apologize about the tremendous lag in updates. I have been finishing up my school year, traveling a bit, and also got derailed somewhat by a Doctor Who fic that grabbed me. While the Doctor Who fic is still rolling, the other things have abated somewhat, so you should see updates here more often. On with the show.

Oh, Shine on, shine on harvest moon, up in the sky;
I ain't had no lovin' since April, January, June or July.
Snow time ain't no time to stay outdoors and spoon,
So shine on, shine on harvest moon, for me and my gal.

~ "Shine On, Harvest Moon" circa 1931

I.

Now that the leading edge was off at least one of their appetites, Marshall insisted that they actually cook the steaks and eat the food he had been in the process of preparing. He pulled her against him as they got up from the cold tiles since they were more than a little unsteadily. She gave him an expression that would probably have made a lesser man flee. Marshall only grinned at her, dodging lightly to the side when she punched.

"Maaaarree," he coaxed, lifting her discarded robe to hold out to her, "come on. Steak. You know you love steak."

She muttered as she walked over to snatch the garment from his hands. "'So not the beef I am interested in right now, Marshall..." She thrust her hands through the sleeves a little sulkily, crossed her arms over her chest. Crude. I know it's crude, but dammit...

He threw back his head and laughed outright. "Ah. Irony is a bizarre thing at times, you know that?" And he crossed over to his gear bag to pull out a folded-up pair of flannel pajamas bottoms and shake them loose with a dramatic snap. They were white with brown-and-cream spotted longhorn bulls on them, all of which had their tongues sticking out as if giving raspberries. Mary looked at them and at him for a moment, speechless.

"What...how...what do you even say to something like that?" she said weakly.

His brow arched wickedly, and he tilted his head sideways just a bit. "I'm thinking the most appropriate response probably has to be...Moo..."

Good God. I totally set him up for that one. Lobbed it right over the net pretty as a picture... Think sex addled my brain. Can't believe I didn't see that one coming...

She just walked away down the hall to the master bedroom shaking her head to the sound of his continued laughter.

II.

They ate outside on deck. The night was clear and cold, but Stan had a lovely little butane outdoor heater that kept the area near the table warm and toasty. Mary had slipped into pajamas of her own, deciding that if she was going to have to eat, she damn sure wasn't going to do it naked under a bathrobe. Because it's all fine and good if there's sex involved, but otherwise...well... She hadn't missed Marshall's slightly mournful expression when she'd come out of the hallway wrapped in her winter pjs which consisted of a very old pair of sweatpants and a large loose long-sleeved tshirt.

Teach you to put food first, cowboy. Or should I say cow-boy. Geez.

Her eyes swept over him as they ate. He was wearing the pajama pants, and he'd pulled the tshirt he'd worn earlier back on with them.

Wearing much too much as far as I'm concerned. Hell. I'd have sex with him again if for no other reason than to get him out of those damn pants. That pair won't be making it back down the mountain, methinks...

Marshall was talking, but she wasn't focused on what he was saying. He waved his fork at her, amused at her frowning expression as she gazed down at the leg of his flannel pajamas.

"Are you even listening to me at all?"

She shifted her eyes upwards and sighed. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was telling you about my truck."

"Oh yeah. Where did you park it? I never did hear the engine earlier. That was awfully stealthy of you."

"Don't be too impressed. There was no engine to hear. That's what I was trying to tell you."

"Okay. Let's start this over. Clearly, the damn silly cows distracted me. Another reason they must die."

He smirked. "They are clearly very masculine bulls, and you be leaving them alone, missy."

Missy? Her eyebrows rose and then her eyes narrowed dangerously. An evil smile spread across her face. He matched it with one of his own, unphased.

"Anyway...I was trying to tell you that the truck is dead, at least temporarily. I had to leave it with a mechanic in that little town a couple miles back. He's supposed to be getting a new fuel pump and putting it on, but it's going to take at least two days. I...I hope that's not a problem. I..I didn't want to intrude on your vacation up here for too long." He turned the fork hesitantly in his long fingers, a question in his eyes.

Even after everything, he's still not sure. And I guess it's just going to take some time for both of us all the way around. There's no such thing as a quick-fix. She sighed mentally. But to him, she smiled and said...

"Idiot. What did you think I was going to do? Kick you out? Did you really think I was going to make you walk back into town, just you and your spotted cows on the lonely winding road in the dark of the night?"

He grinned, relief shining in his eyes. "Actually...I had an offer from a very nice old couple to stay with them tonight if things went badly up here, I'll have you know. If I could walk it back to town, that is... The bulls and I both would have had safe refuge for tonight."

She snorted, shook her head, stood up and gathered the empty dishes. "Get your happy herd up from there and help me clear the table." She eyed him as he unfolded himself from the chair, lean frame uncoiling, and she felt the curl of desire inside her. Yeah. Going to have to get him naked again. And maybe for more than just getting rid of those pants.

II.

They washed dishes side by side. He washed, and she dried and put away. It was a casual, homey thing. A partners thing. They fell into it without thinking. They carried the dishes into the kitchen together still talking, still teasing, and he simply flicked on the faucet, plugged the drain, squirted in the soap, began to wash. She listened to what he was saying, gave her answers or smart-ass replies as were needed, and picked up a dishtowel lying on the cabinet unbidden as each dish came dripping out of being rinsed. Their fingers tangled with each other as she took the plates and glasses from him, and he ran his index finger down her hand to her wrist lightly, gently, with a knowing smile once or twice. When he did that, she lost the track of the conversation for a moment, had to go back and retrace what she'd been saying to pick up the threads of it.

"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you," she accused.

"Yup," he said, totally unabashed.

"You know, stuff like that will get you in trouble, mister."

He was washing a pot he'd used for cooking green beans, scrubbing at a reluctant bean stuck to the side. He didn't even look at her, but an unrepentant grin slid across his face. "Oh, I most sincerely hope so."

She'd never had that before, never had this sort of casual domesticity, never wanted it. She'd had men aplenty who expected "service with a smile" straight out of a 1950's sitcom (which they by God hadn't gotten). She'd had men who'd tried to serve her (and that had been scary in ways she wasn't going to start trying to explain). She'd had one or two men who followed the "you cooked, I clean" mentality (back when she'd bothered to cook for them at all), coming in with a holy and martyred expression to bang things around and slosh water to the point of making so much noise and mess that had invariably wound up as another cleanup job for her afterward. But it was only Marshall who stood beside her here as he did everywhere else and made it seem natural, expected, easy, normal, something everybody did as they cleaned up the knives and forks, the plates and glasses, the pots and pans. This was just a part of them, she realized, as they were finishing up, and she looked up at him with something glowing in her eyes that made him drop the sponge he was wringing out in the sink.

"Mare," he said, a little uncertainly, a question in it. He still had dishsoap on his hands.

"Shh," she murmured, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him down into a kiss that was tender, soft, filled with all the things she was feeling but did not possess words to say.

He didn't question it, didn't question the sudden emotion vibrating through her. He simply pulled her tightly against him, sudsy hands and all, and gave back to her from the endless pool he held inside him just for her.

III.

They'd come back outside to drink more wine and look at the stars. They sat leaning against the deck railing, staring up, he with his back against the post, she between his legs leaning back against him, his arms around her. The moon had risen, and it bathed everything in its silver light.

"Looks like you could reach out and grab it doesn't it?" he mused.

She huffed a laugh. "Silly. Sure. Go ahead."

He grinned. She felt it against her hair. He reached up as if to grasp the silver ball of it, and she heard him take a quick breath.

"What? What is it?" She turned her head, turned in his arms to look at him. There was an expression of wry discomfort on his face.

"About 14 hours of driving in the past 36," he said. "It's nothing. I'm just a little stiff and sore from being in the proverbial saddle so long." He shifted slightly as if trying to alleviate the twinge.

Mary looked at him, reading him easily. He couldn't hide things from her half as well as he thought he could. Liar, liar.

She stood up, held out her hand, and she saw swift regret in his eyes at what he perceived to be the loss of their outside closeness because of his weakness. Little does he know what I've got in mind.

"Mare, really, I'm..."

"Shut up and come on, will you?"

He sighed, took her hand, and let her tug him lightly to his feet. She didn't miss the wince as he came up. She pulled him firmly by the hand across the deck, and she glanced back over her shoulder to see resignation settle on his face as they approached the bedroom door. She stopped, though, before actually reaching it, and she turned to him again.

"Okay. Time to loose the bull britches, buster."

Confusion now. "Mare, what...? I don't understand..."

She grinned, and it was her dangerous grin, the one that boded no good for Marshall. It made his heart speed up. It made his brain slow down. He loved that grin. She pointed to the hot tub which sat bubbling and frothing right outside the bedroom door.

"I said...strip. Do you need it in Morse Code? Spanish? Vulcan? 'Cause I actually thought it was pretty clear. Lose the cows, boy, and get your butt in that water."

And she proceeded to lead by example, whipping the long-sleeved tee over her head.

More to come, and soon. And yes. The pajamas are real. I found them online and couldn't resist. :) Shopping for Marshall is so much fun.