The cabin consisted of all the amenities that any overworked farmhand would need: a wood burning stove, a flimsy card table and chairs, a sink, and a set of bunks. Aside from the front door and a singular window there was one other door on the far side of the room. D found it to contain a cramped lavatory, complete with a tiny shower stall.
"Well, it's certainly not much to look at," she observed, lowering her hood and pushing back her hair. "But at least it's better than being stuck out in this rain."
D made no response.
Unbothered by her companion's silence, Doris slid off her soaked overcoat and wrung it out over the sink before setting it aside. The interior of the cabin wasn't much warmer than outside, but at least it was dry. Tugging back a dusty linen curtain she peered out the cabin window at the torrent of rain, shining silver against the black landscape. She could see the compound's perimeter fence was just a few yards away; the only barrier between them and the untamed wilds of the Frontier that lay beyond. Repressing a shudder, Doris pulled the curtain closed.
Her shirt and jeans were soaked through, though her feet were blessedly dry thanks to her sturdy rubber boots. An icy gust of air forced its way in around the ill-fitting window frame causing goosebumps to spread along her skin. Doris twisted on the hot water tap and waited, somewhat impatiently, with her frozen fingers under the stream.
Behind her D was making a slow circuit of the bunkhouse, no doubt assessing its weak points and weighing its defensibility. A warrior's instincts, she thought fondly. The water began to warm under her fingertips, prickling and revitalizing her cold skin. The Hunter moved quietly around her, his footfalls slow and measured. His familiar presence allowed some of the day's tension to ease out of her shoulders. She leaned against the counter and listened to the muffled droning of the generator and the constant hammering of rain
His brief patrol completed, D came to a stop just a few feet to her left. He moved to unstrap the longsword from his back, leaning it next to the front door. The motion was so succinct and casual, but the small clack of the sword in its scabbard as he placed it down seemed to echo in her ears. Her cheeks warmed slightly in the coldness of the room and Doris paused, suddenly very aware of their situation. They were here, alone together in a secluded cabin in the middle of a storm. Their mad dash through the wind and rain was over and they stood barely an arm's length apart, breathing lightly in the confines of the room.
D removed his hat and long coat, laying them out over a plastic folding chair. He could feel Doris' eyes on him, could hear her thundering pulse as it increased. The chaotic turn of events that had led them to this point left him in a rare state of unease, constrained as they were by circumstance. He had seen Doris to safety only to end up in a precarious position himself.
To say he was unaffected by her presence would be a lie. Doris had sought his services out of desperation all those years ago, but somewhere along the way had managed to work herself under his skin. After all, in his very long life she had been the first woman to willfully crack his carefully crafted veneer with not much more than a tender smile and trusting embrace.
But it was wrong . His gaze swung to her, her form softly illuminated by the dim overhead light, shimmering in contrast to the darkness. He could feel the heat of her skin emanating from every inch of her, reaching out to him despite the chill of the room.
He had nothing to offer her. Or, at least, nothing that was worthy of her. She was a brilliant flame that he could not tend, only extinguish.
Doris, in turn, was watching him intently, the hot flow of water forgotten. With nothing to obscure his graceful, aristocratic features she found herself once again overcome by the Hunter's beauty. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had seen him without his trademark hat during his time in her employ, and the sight never failed to take her breath away.
They stared at each other, the silence stretching thick and heavy between them. Doris snapped off the water, her heated gaze never leaving his face as she turned toward him. "D," she breathed softly, an unspoken question lurking in her tone.
An icy tendril of water slipped from her hair to soak into the scarf around her nape, causing a shiver to run up Doris' spine. D's eyes shifted slightly, taking in her sodden hair and clothes. "You must be cold," he observed.
"Hm," she affirmed, breaking away from his gaze, color rising in her cheeks at his deferring, noncommittal remark. She had all but forgotten about her soaked clothes and frigid muscles. But the moment was gone, and her body trembled with a renewed chill. Sighing, Doris turned away and picked up her travel bag, rifling through it to retrieve a dry set of clothes.
"Are you cold?" she asked interestedly, taking in his damp hair and wet boots. The dark materials of his clothes and armor made it hard to determine whether or not they were also wet, but she suspected as much.
"No," the Hunter replied simply. "I do not feel the cold as you do."
"Ah," she chimed, her tone a bit too bright. "Do you feel the cold at all?"
"Yes, but to a lesser degree than you might." He turned away then, crossing to the wood burning stove squatting in the corner. "There was firewood in the stable," he remarked. "I can build a fire if you would like to make use of the shower."
"There's a shower?" she asked, genuinely hopeful. The Hunter nodded. Doris scooped up her clothes and made for the bathroom, grateful for an opportunity to step away and recoup her thoughts. "Now if the hot water holds out it will be a miracle," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be quick, don't wander too far." She flashed a grin before slipping into the bathroom.
Doris wasn't out of sight for more than a few seconds before the symbiote piped up. "Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise? Always so nice to see a familiar face, eh, D?"
D remained silent, ignoring the countenanced carbuncle's teasing tone. He knelt to examine the stove, ensuring that the flume was open and that the oven was relatively clean of its old ashes. He could hear Doris as she moved around in the bathroom, adjusting the knobs of the shower. Soon there was a rush of water being piped into the small stall.
Unbidden, a memory surfaced.
The soft sound of bare feet as she crossed the living room floor and a gentle sigh as she let her towel fall, bearing herself to him in the moonlight. She melded against him, her body yielding eagerly, the promise of her flesh and blood so readily offered and his for the taking…
D stood and dusted his hands of soot. He crossed to front the door, forgoing his hat and coat as he unlocked it and stepped outside to retrieve a bundle of firewood from the stables. The cold shock of rain on his bare skin helped to clear his head, the memory receding forcibly.
It was going to be a long night.