Mayson looked around his surroundings, taking in the serene, picturesque beauty of the property. He sat on the end of a long, sturdy dock that looked out over a small fishing pond. Beyond the yard were woods that stretched for miles.

It was peaceful. Secluded. The nearest store and town was ten miles due east; they were alone.

They'd arrived at the small cabin three days prior. It had one bedroom, one bathroom, a decently sized living room, and a cozy kitchen. Through most of their stay thus far Jonathan had slept. That was what he was doing then as Mayson sat solemnly on the dock. His arms were drawn around his knees, his ankles crossed. Mayson glanced over his shoulder at the dark house and sighed. While Jonathan healed Mayson had more alone time than he'd found ideal, but knew he needed rest, so never did he protest. In fact, he insisted on it. He would deal with himself for now in moments like this. His fears and guilt and darkness over recent events took to the back burner for Jonathan's more prominent needs. He stared out at the water and the sun's reflection within its shimmering depths. His stomach growled lightly, reminding him he had yet to eat today. Reminding him he hadn't the gumption to make himself eat. He sighed again and getting up went inside to check on Jonathan.

He smiled when he entered the bedroom to find Jonathan awake. He smiled in reply and held out his arm, which Mayson willingly went to.

"Hi," Mayson said still smiling as he kissed Jonathan deeply.

"Hi, my little duck. How long have you been up?"

Mayson shrugged. "Not too long."

"So about, what, sunrise?" Mayson looked away and didn't reply. "Mayson, I was just kidding, love. Not sleeping then, huh?"

Mayson shook his head slightly. "N-not really. Not since..." His eyes shifted to Jonathan's chest then quickly away.

"Duck, look at me, baby."

Mayson shook his head. He couldn't do this now. It still wasn't time to break yet.

"Mayson."

"Jonny, please. I can't do this. Please...just...let it be for now. I'm-I'm dealing with it, okay?"

Jonathan frowned. "You're dealing with it? You're avoiding it."

Mayson shook his head again, closing his eyes. "Jonathan, drop it."

Mayson was nearly pleading but for some reason, Jonathan felt his anger rise. He sat up too quickly but hid the pain behind a mask of anger. "No, I won't drop it. Bet you haven't eaten today, either, have you?"

Mayson stood up from the bed hugging himself and took a couple of steps back. Why was he so mad?

"Have you?" Mayson screamed and leaped backward. He didn't notice Jonathan get up. The question, though not yelled held a note in it Mayson didn't understand. He didn't want to understand. When he jumped backward he hit the door, stumbled, and ran.

"Mayson, wait!" Jonathan called but it was too late; Mayson was already out of sight by the time Jonathan got to the open front door.

Mayson ran into the treeline a bit before stopping. He could see the house, see Jonathan, but could not be seen from where he hid. His heart hammered in his chest and his breathing came in sharp, short gasps. He watched Jonathan walk down the porch steps and look around. Jonathan called out, his voice worried for the lack of sight of the one watching him. He called out a few more times, asking him to come back. Mayson didn't move. Jonathan was beginning to get winded and walking back to the porch sat on the steps, putting his head in his hands.

"You couldn't just fucking drop it could you, you dumb fuck," Jonathan berated himself. He looked around trying to find him. He searched carefully, using every sense he could to feel him out. In his third sweep, he spotted him but kept his features schooled. Then he dropped his head, sighed, and went back inside. He was relieved that Mayson hadn't gone far, at least.

He sat on the couch until he could no longer sit without driving himself mad. He went into the kitchen and slowly began preparing breakfast. He had no idea what to make and stared out into the refrigerator for a while before closing it empty-handed and, opening the pantry door, he repeated this process.

He went back to the fridge and pulled out some bell peppers, mushrooms, and cheese, along with some eggs. He set everything on the counter before grabbing the bacon. In a smaller skillet, he set the bacon to cook then began to chop the peppers finely, then the mushrooms. Mayson loved mushroom and egg omelets. He hoped it would be a peace offering.

He didn't notice any tears until one fell onto his chopping hand. He paused and stared as if offended by its presence.

He broke the eggs and watched as they went from clear to white while they cooked, before dumping the rest of the ingredients in the center and folding the egg. We watched the cheese melt from the sides and lost himself as it bubbled from the skillet. He turned off the stove and slid the omelet onto a plate, cut it in half, then slid the other half onto a separate plate. He turned around preparing to grab some tin foil to keep it warm while he fetched Mayson, but Mayson was standing just inside the kitchen, arms crossed protectively over himself, head down.

"Hi," Jonathan said softly. "I, uh, I made us breakfast. Omelets just like you like 'em."

"Th-thanks," Mayson quietly spoke. He still didn't look up from his feet.

Jonathan carried the plate to him, careful to stop a short distance back. "Peace offering?"

Mayson did look up then, nodded slowly, and took the plate. He sat down as Jonathan did and they ate in silence. It was a heavy silence. It weighed on them both. The food was hard to swallow past the lump in his throat, and Jonathan wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to rage. He wanted to hit something until something broke.

He glanced at Mayson. Then quickly away again. Mayson was pulled tightly into himself, but at the same time ready to bolt at any moment's notice.
Jonathan knew his anger wasn't helping. He knew Mayson could feel it, and more than anything he knew it scared him. His anger wasn't at Mayson. It was at himself. He was a failure. But Mayson didn't distinguish to whom the anger was directed upon...just its presence.

"Are you done?" Jonathan kept his voice as light as he could, as soft and as even as he could. Mayson still jumped.

Mayson's eyes slid to Jonathan's face and then quickly away again before he nodded. Jonathan nodded too, stood, picked up their plates, and set them in the sink.

He took a deep breath, turned, and walked over the few steps to Mayson.

He reached out to run a knuckle down his cheek, something he had done many times over the years, but stopped when Mayson flinched.

Jonathan dropped his hand and looked down, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, held it, and took another. "Mayson, I..." A tear fell and he chocked, his throat locking up. He shook his head and walked back toward the bedroom.

Mayson watched him walk away, his heart breaking along with his resolve. He couldn't stop the tears any longer. He dropped his head in his hands and screamed.

Jonathan resisted the urge to rush back out there to him. To scoop him up into his arms, to reassure him that everything was okay. But he didn't. He listened as Mayson screamed, take a deep breath, and scream again. Jonathan, who had been using the closed bedroom door as a crutch to keep himself upright, pushed off and made his way to the adjoining bathroom. He turned on the water as hot as he could stand before stripping and stepping inside.

He let the water run over his head trying to drown out the sound of Mayson's screams. He wasn't sure if he was still screaming, or if was just echoing in his head. He stayed under the water until it was beginning to cool, then washed his body, and turned off the water. The cabin was silent. For a fleeting moment, Jonathan wondered if Mayson ran again, but swallowed the panic.

He dressed in the same clothes he'd taken off. A white t-shirt and plaid sleep pants. He took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. He was starting to hurt, his breath was coming shorter, he could feel himself becoming weak and tired. He made his way from the bathroom and walked out into the living room. He couldn't see Mayson anywhere and collapsed bodily onto the couch. He laid down facing the front door and his eyes slipped closed.

When they opened again it was almost dark. There was a plate on the coffee table in front of him that contained his dinner. It was covered in tin foil. There was a note next to it and Jonathan picked it up with a frown.

I didn't go anywhere earlier. Just sat on the dock for a while. When I came in you were sleeping.

I made you dinner. I ate, too. I hope it's good.

I love you
-Mayson-

Jonathan smiled. The meal on the table was still slightly warm. The plate was decorated with mashed potatoes, green beans, and a pork chop. The scents assaulted his senses and his mouth watered. He ate, savoring each bite. Mamma Scully did well in teaching them both how to cook, though, in his opinion, Mayson's skills far outweighed his own.

Not bothering with putting the plate away at that moment, Jonathan stood and went into the bedroom in the hopes Mayson would be there.

He wasn't disappointed. He smiled slightly at the sight. Mayson was lying on his side of the bed with Jonathan's pillow wrapped between his arms and legs. He was clinging, even in his sleep. Jonathan climbed in behind him, pulling Mayson's smaller body tightly against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, entangled his legs with his own. Jonathan breathed in Mayson's scent, reaffirmed his hold, placed his head in the crook of his neck, and fell asleep.

Jonathan woke suddenly as screams of terror filled his subconscious.

Mayson was deep in the throes of a nightmare. He wasn't moving much, but he was shaking, and clearly in the grip of terror.

"Mayson," Jonathan tried gently. "Baby, it's okay."

Mayson cried out his name, mourning clear in his voice as the tears rolling down Jonathan's arms.

"Baby, I'm right here. I'm safe. You're safe."

Mayson shook his head in argument. "He killed you. He killed you. He..." He cried harder as the Jonathan in his dreams told him he loved him one more time before closing his eyes forever.

"Jonny!" The pain and fear in his voice made Jonathan's stomach fall.

"Mayson!" Jonathan spun him around by the shoulder as he called his name. Mayson's eyes snapped open as the scream died on his lips. Frantically Mayson sat up, tears on his face, and began pulling at Jonathan's shirt. He had to make sure.

"I'm okay, duck, I'm okay," Jonathan said but did not try and stop him. He threw off Jonathan's shirt in one fluid movement, his hands automatically checking over Jonathan's chest for a gaping bullet hole.

After several minutes, Jonathan captured Mayson's hands and held them close to his chest.

"I'm safe, little duck." Mayson brought his eyes from their hands to Jonathan's face. "Come 'ere, my love."

Mayson carefully moved into Jonathan's arms so as to not jar him, and allowed himself a moment to break. He felt so lost. He didn't know up from down and he felt adrift in stormy seas. He knew he was supposed to be strong for Jonathan like he had been strong for him on so many occasions over the years. But he didn't know how to be strong when he himself was in such black turmoil.

As Jonathan held him he realized almost two months had passed since the incident at the beach house and they hadn't discussed it once. Hadn't even skirted the topic. He held Mayson a bit tighter and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, my little duck," Jonathan told him as he stroked Mayson's hair.

"I love you, too."

"Mayson, talk to me. Please."

Mayson shook his head, "I can't, Jonny, I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't." His body tensed up as his cries came a bit harder.

"Why can't you? You can talk to me about anything, baby, you know that."

"'Cause I have-have to be s-strong for you, and take care of you so you can heal and not leave me alone and I'm trying, Jonny, I'm trying, but I don't know how and I'm sorry, Jonny, I'm sorry..."

His words at that point became unintelligible to Jonathan mixed as they were with tears and sorrow.

Jonathan rocked him gently. "Mayson, baby, hush, my love. Breathe, my sweet love, breathe. Sh, baby, sh. It's alright, now. I'm alright, baby. I'm here, sweet love. Breathe, Mayson." Jonathan pet him gently, still rocking.

"Was so scared, Jonny, I was so scared. You weren't breathing and blood...blood...then you died! Jonny, you..." He tightened his grip around Jonathan unconsciously as his breathing became erratic from recalling one of the worst moments of his life.

"Mayson, look at me." Jonathan pushed him back to look him in the eyes. Mayson's eyes were wide and wild with heartbreaking terror. Jonathan took Mayson's hands and set them against his chest. "Feel it, little duck. Feel my heart beating. You feel it?"

Mayson nodded slowly, eyes still streaming a flood of tears. Jonathan pulled him back into his arms, Mayson's back to Jonathan's chest. Jonathan entangled their legs together like some archaic Celtic knot design, his arms wrapped solidly around Mayson's chest. Lightly he kissed Mayson's neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. When he did finally speak, his voice was low, calming, reassuring. His hold on Mayson never lessened.

"Now, little duck, feel me. Feel me wrapped all around you, within you. Feel me against you. Solid, and here. I'm here, baby." He placed another small kiss on Mayson's neck. "I'm right here. Can you feel me?"

Mayson tightened himself in Jonathan's grasp, pulling his arms a bit tighter, their legs a bit closer. "Yes. I can feel you." They were quiet for a few minutes before, "Jonny?"

"Yes, little duck?"

"Will you sing to me?"

He smiled gently. "Always."

His voice was gentle and melodic, and soon Mayson fell into a sleep he had long since been deprived of.