Rebecca suspected they'd both dozed off at one point or another as they huddled close under the light sheet Sam had pulled over them, but not for any extended length of time. They spent the waking moments absorbing comfort from the other's proximity, exchanging small nuzzles and intermittent murmured conversation. The longest coherent topic was when she told Sam about Ronnie's stories of mid-ocean shipboard swimming parties, how one crew member was always sitting up above the frolickers with a rifle, on overwatch against any maritime nasties that might happen along looking for a snack.

Or maybe any inappropriate behavior from a handful of dumbshits.

Laura came to get them right around sunset, while there was still enough twilight to navigate around and they all only needed one lantern at the outdoor table during. The centerpiece was the result of Landry's day-long efforts, even if several hours of that were simply lounging by the water. He'd put together a straightforward dish of rice topped by a couple of different grilled river fishes — maybe trout, and something along the lines of catfish? For obvious reasons, Rebecca was no longer in a celebratory mood, which dampened her enthusiasm for the cuisine. She ate tentatively at first, but when her stomach didn't protest or rebel, she accepted the communal effort to load her plate in earnest. Eventually she was able to appreciate the tart and verdant flavors of the lemon and dill he'd flavored the dish with, and the hearty meal helped her feel more at ease.

There were a few awkward silences, and people were clearly trying to keep the conversation light, definitely for the sake of the kids, maybe for her too. Wisely, nobody fretted over her directly, which would have done more to remind her about the day's worries than provide any benefit. The closest anyone came to direct commentary was Tania's toast to 'good friends during times that will try our souls'.

Eventually, the boys were hustled off to Jack's room to bond, and the three mothers took to cleaning up after dinner by lantern light. Landry helped carry plateware in, but soon left the house. Rebecca presumed it was to wade into whatever lingering waves had been left behind by the shitstorm he'd missed when it went down.

Before he left, he brought Sam an insulated tankard of coffee, assuring her it was decaf. She grumbled that she'd have a hard time respecting herself in the morning, but would accept it given the hour, and definitely seemed to take solace in the ritual of the warm familiar beverage. He'd also passed Rebecca a mug of hot cocoa — definitely just water and powder mix, possibly MRE issue, but she had long since learned those were one of the surprisingly tasty components thereof... as long as she didn't think about the likely sugar content.

The two of them sat in the backyard, feet up on the stacked concrete pavers forming a fire ring and huddled together on a bench, blankets draped around their shoulders. Rufus lay nearby, occasionally looking up at sounds in the night with a whuff. After finishing the chocolatey sludge at the bottom of her cup, Rebecca set it aside and found herself wondering if she should have brought some knitting out to keep her hands busy. Her mind too, as she stared into the low flames and her thoughts started to wander.

Left unsupervised, her hands seemed to figure out their own means of staying occupied as she zoned out — to her slight perturbation when Sam nudged her and asked if she was alright. Rebecca blinked in confusion before seeing Sam glance pointedly downwards in the firelight, and realized she'd been fiddling with the necklace for at least a minute or two. Probably more.

I've got so many tells, I need to avoid poker games, Rebecca distractedly thought to herself. She slowed her fingers' idle twiddling. "No. When am I though, right?"

Sam gave her a sad smile that was both chastising and sympathetic, but waited patiently for her to continue.

Rebecca sighed uncomfortably. "I was just wondering, what would've happened if I walked into that kitchen—" There was no need to specify; 'that kitchen' always meant 'that kitchen'. "— by myself. If Jaime hadn't been there. Maybe he'd be alive, but that guy..."

She was silent for several seconds before continuing. "I've been incredibly privileged, not really having to fear for my safety in that way. God knows what happened to other women out there." Her eyes started to burn, more than one layer of guilt grinding into a knot in her chest. "I... think I'm relieved he was with me, but then I feel like I should hate myself for it, because that means I was glad he was there to get killed, doesn't it?"

"Oh, sugar." Sam's brow had furrowed, and she was chewing one end of her lip, not in her usual flirtatious manner. She started to speak but paused to gather her thoughts, then tried again. "Don't you think he'd have done anything to protect you? That he'd have stepped between you and danger without a second thought?"

Rebecca dropped her gaze to the ground outside of the fire ring and nodded, biting her own lower lip now, and felt a tear escape. "Rationally, yes. In a heartbeat, the big lug." She looked back up at Sam plaintively. "But, y'know."

"Rational doesn't beat guilt."

"Mm-hmm."

Sam didn't seem to know what to say, or perhaps decided there wasn't anything to. Instead, she pulled Rebecca into an ongoing embrace.

It was also conceivable she was preoccupied with planning a trio of homicides.

So near to Sam, faint wafts of chlorine and woodsmoke diffusing from her skin reached Rebecca. Though not the most stereotypically feminine, the smells felt clean and homey; they also served as an unexpected reminder of proximity, fueling her craving for more of the same. She clung to Sam's shirt with balled fists and leaned into her until the largest remaining log collapsed into glowing coals and they moved inside for the night.

**

Sam woke with an abrupt start. The setting half-moon still cast enough light over the tops of the window coverings for a tense glance around the room. Nothing was out of place — Rebecca was laying next to her, Laura's even breathing could be heard from the other side of the curtain, and Rufus lifted his head at her movement with calm curiosity. Speaking of big lugs, he had refused to settle in the corner, ignoring coaxing attempts and laying between the airbed and the door, until they conceded and moved his bed to that spot.

She looked back to Rebecca, barely able to make out a furrow in her brow in the minimal light. She foggily pieced together that she might have heard a yelp or whimper from Rebecca, and eased the half-drawn knife back into its sheath beneath her pillow. When Rebecca stirred again, Sam reached to adjust the light blanket over her shoulder, which ended up coaxing Rebecca to roll towards her with a mumble.

Sam scooted her pillow closer and caressed Rebecca's hair. "Sugar, it's just a bad dream, you're safe."

Rebecca sighed and felt around semiconsciously under the blanket for Sam's other hand. It was clear she dropped off to sleep again quickly from her slow breathing and the subtle twitches of her fingers as she drifted, but Sam was unfortunately still waiting for the adrenaline to fade. As she lay there with her eyes closed and their foreheads touching, she felt a certain empathy for the self-loathing Rebecca had expressed earlier. The way Rebecca had just sought physical comfort from her was a huge relief, and yet Sam was simultaneously able to resent herself for finding joy in something that originated from Rebecca's suffering.

**

When morning finally came, there was an old-fashioned enameled metal carafe of coffee sitting on the counter, steam drifting from its spout as Sam shuffled back from the bathroom. She was reasonably sure that Landry or Dylan were not the kind of monsters that would trick her with decaf first thing in the day, and even the promise of imminent physiological accelerant, liquid energy, was enough to help her start to feel functional.

Cognitively and physically, anyway. Emotionally was an open topic just as much as it had been for... well, the prior couple of years.

Back in the room, Sam slipped through the curtain just in time to see Rebecca squeeze into a blue sports bra. The shimmy of tugging the edges into alignment drew Sam's eyes to the scattered bandages on her back until a snug black v-neck covered them. When Sam saw her start gathering her hair into a low ponytail, she grabbed Rebecca's helmet from under the table and set it on top with a small clunk.

Rebecca looked at Sam quizzically as she finished with hair. "How'd you know?"

Sam nodded towards her. "You packed far more comfortable options for securing the girls, and only do your hair that way when there's a helmet coming and I haven't already French braided it. I don't blame you for gearing up though."

A reassuring hint of Rebecca's old sheepish 'picked on' expression crossed her face. "I mean, not until after breakfast at least."

"Good, because drama before coffee might encourage an ass kicking, but I'll be better at it afterwards." Sam started to change for the day herself, but hesitated and arched into Rebecca's nails as they ran lightly over her back. She closed her eyes and practically purred; sometimes a good scritching truly rivaled or even surpassed sex, especially after the same fabric had been pressed into her skin for several contiguous hours.

Rebecca chuckled and changed their connection to her palm and fingertips in sweeping loops, soothing the reddened stripes. "Are you sure you still want to go check the base camp crap? If you want to tell them to go fuck themselves, I'll back you."

Sam finished getting another shirt on, but left the back loose over Rebecca's wrist. "I could ask you the same thing." It was pretty obvious to her that the day before had provided far more reason to worry about Rebecca than herself. Maybe it wasn't so clear for her occasionally knuckle-headed darling, though. "Also, aren't I supposed to be the fiercely protective one right now?"

The warm hand left her back. "What, I can't stand up for us too?"

The barbs in Rebecca's voice caught Sam off guard, as did the frown when she turned — maybe it was the lack of caffeine, but she couldn't help a sharpened reply. "It was a joke, Rebecca."

Rebecca's usual self-blaming demeanor returned and her expression softened. "Shit. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

This time, Sam didn't admonish her for apologizing. But... she did touch Rebecca's cheek lightly. "It's okay. You certainly didn't deserve a table to the face — the balance sheet is definitely still lopsided." She sighed. "I guess it makes sense we'd be a little on edge, huh?"

With a smirk, Rebecca reached behind her and pulled the sheathed knife from beneath Sam's pillow, holding it up. "Interesting figure of speech. Brave of you bringing a knife to bed on an air mattress."

Sam rolled her eyes, but supposed the awful puns were a dose of normalcy. "Noticed that, did you?"

"When you were busy hiding it last night and missed my attempts at coy flirtatious looks."

"Oh, so that's why you're grumpy." Speaking of coy, she fluttered her eyelashes at Rebecca before the teasing could cause more offense. "What if I make it up to you when we get back home?"

One eyebrow raised. "I might hold you to that."

"To what, the wall, maybe the bed?" Sam clicked her tongue. "Don't make a girl a promise..." She grinned when Rebecca was left speechless, and it widened when they heard Laura cough — or maybe half-choke — in the hallway beyond the door and Rebecca's cheeks reddened.

A polite tap at the door preceded Laura sticking her head through the curtain. "Breakfast is ready, girls. If you want to sate at least one of your appetites."