One week had passed. Energies and emotions settled and they both found themselves beginning to finally relax. Smiles were shared, kisses exchanged. Neither ventured passed passionate kissing, an unspoken agreement to start over what they had begun at the beach house.

They were cautious, but not overly so. They did not walk on eggs shells, nor did they move away from affection when it was offered.

Mayson, for the most part, found himself unsure of what to do. With himself, with Jonathan. He attempted to not allow the uncertainty show, but the mask was beginning to wane as Mayson became exhausted at the front. Jonathan's words of them never speaking of that day kept him from speaking up, not wanting to quake the foundation they were rebuilding.

There was a distance between them now. Mayson felt it with every heartbeat, and with each increasing second, he felt it metastasize. He wondered if Jonathan could feel it too, or if this distance he felt was one-sided at best. Was this perceived space the conjuring of a guilt-ridden heart?

Mayson's soul was leaden. Heavy with the self-inflicted confession of his inner workings. A part of him had to notice, right? The days when they first got here, when the events at the beach house were crystal clear and invading every part of his memory. When the feel of Lucius' hands was non-stop, his taunting just as in stock.

Did he notice himself using Jonathan as a means to escape? Did he notice Jonathan's reactions?

In truth, no. He had noticed nothing beyond the bliss of orgasmic relief as he let go. And he felt the more retched for it. Mayson really didn't know what to do. He looked over to Jonathan who was piecing together a jigsaw puzzle as soft music played gently in the background. He smiled a sad smile before turning his eyes back to the book that lay open in his lap. He'd ceased reading long ago, his thoughts too wild in their rampaging to concentrate on the pages.

Neither man had spoken in several hours, each absorbed into their own tasks. While on any normal day Mayson would not have found this odd, or given it the slightest of second thoughts, on this day a cloud had settled over and snuffed out the sun.

Mayson set down the book, having given up his attempts at concentration, and wandered over to the window to peer outside. Storm clouds had indeed gathered overhead, heavy and ominous, darkening the sky. The wind picked up as the leaves were whipped into the air, colliding in a dance of the elements.

"I'm gonna grab some more firewood before the storm. We're, uh, we're almost out." Mayson looked at the small pile of wood by the hearth as he spoke. Jonathan glanced over before looking back to Mayson.

"Do you want some help bringing it inside?"

Mayson shrugged, not looking at him. "Sure, Jonny. Sure, if you wanna help."

Jonathan took a deep breath before standing up and following Mayson outside. Jonathan watched for a moment as Mayson leaned against the large firewood stack, his head heavy in his hands. Jonathan wasn't fool enough to wonder what's wrong with him. He wondered, and not for the first time if making Mayson promise not to speak of the week before was a mistake. And one he didn't know how to rectify.

He closed his eyes and sighed before stepping up beside Mayson, a light hand pressing the ghost of a touch to the younger man's back. Mayson jumped, startled, before lazily smiling.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, uh, small headache. Nothing to worry over." Mayson looked down at the wood stack and picked up several logs before walking back to the house.

Jonathan watched him go. "If you're going to lie to me, Mayson, you should learn to lie better." The wind picked up. "And you shouldn't force him to lie, fucking asshat."

They each made two more trips outside before they were satisfied they would not freeze that night as the storm waged. The first raindrops fell as Jonathan shut the door after their last trek to the woodpile.

Jonathan watched as Mayson added a few logs to rekindle the fire. Mayson sat rigidly before it, staring off into the glowing, rising flames.

He's so beautiful. What am I going to do to fix this shit? He's slipping away from me second by second.

A ripple of sorrow tore through him that forced him to look away from Mayson's glowing profile.

He's so sad. Will I ever be able to make that look disappear from his eyes? It's all I want...to make him happy. I'm never gonna be able to do that, am I?

Jonathan sighed deeply before setting himself next to his love. Jonathan said nothing, having no idea what he could possibly say to make this better. His chest heavy and his soul burdened, he lay his head on Mayson's shoulder before pressing his lips to Mayson's upper arm.

"You hungry?" Jonathan asked after a while had passed. The storm roared and boomed outside, flashes of violent lightning illuminating the cabin in a strobe-like effect.

"No."

"Mace, you haven't eaten all day."

"I ate breakfast."

"Pushing your food around on your plate does not constitute 'eating', love." Jonathan half-smiled at the attempted levity.

Mayson shrugged, his head lowering in an almost shameful manner. "I'm just not hungry."

"You've gotta eat, little duck. You don't need to lose more weight."

Mayson shrugged again. "Sorry."

Jonathan looked at him a moment before letting out a slow breath. "I'm not bitching at you, duck." He nodded but did not reply. "Mayson, look at me."

Slowly he brought his eyes up to meet Jonathan's. "I love you, Mayson." Mayson closed his eyes at the words and swallowed. The same words that once filled him with an airy feeling that left him floating were now the same words that tightened the noose around his neck and left him hanging.

"I l-love you, too, Jonny," he forced out his response, the words too big for his throat. He felt like he was choking.

"Come on, duck, let me make you dinner. We can eat by the fire and curl up together and go to bed. You look tired, baby."

He was tired. He was so tired he couldn't think straight. His head was muddled from fatigue and confusion. He didn't know what he needed to do. He didn't want to leave Jonathan. The very thought ripped him asunder and left him feeling an emptiness that he felt he couldn't bear.

"Okay, Jonny."

"Mayson?" Jonathan waited until Mayson actually looked at him, Mayson's eyes reflecting the pain in his heart.

"What, Jonny?" he said after a moment.

"I do love you, Mayson. You know that, don't you?"

Mayson nodded unable to speak for a moment. "Yeah, I know it."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't...don't doubt you love me, Jonathan."

"What is it you're doubting then, Mayson?"

"Everything else," he whispered. "Myself. And I can't..." he stopped partway through his statement and closed his eyes briefly before looking back into the fire.

He needn't finish. Jonathan knew what he was going to say, and the words left unspoken felt like a punch to the chest. This was his fault. He knew Mayson wasn't going to be able to let go of what happened the week before and was a damn fool for trying to make it all come out in one nicely wrapped package, shoved on a high walled shelf and forgotten.

He sighed. "Mayson."

"Don't, Jonny. Just don't, okay? I'm trying, I can't do more than this right now." His voice began to quiver and his bottom lip pulled itself in-between his teeth. Jonathan kissed his temple, Mayson's hair tickling his nose slightly. It was a feeling that not too long ago, would have made him smile. Now as he stood and turned toward the kitchen, the lingering feeling broke his heart.

Jonathan leaned against the kitchen counter much like how Mayson had been leaning against the wood stack. Thunder boomed outside and lightning lit the kitchen momentarily before the light faded back to the dim lighting of the cabin. Jonathan sighed again as he began preparing that night's meal.

He was hoping that he could fool himself into thinking they could eat a peaceful dinner, with no tears or heavy atmosphere, but as he stirred the pasta he knew lying to himself was not going to make this night pass by any easier.

"Boys, you think you can entertain yourselves for a couple hours?" Mamma Scully asked as she walked into Jonathan's bedroom. She was slipping her earrings through the tiny holes in her ears, dressed in a gray pants-suit with light pink pinstripes.

"Mamma, you look rather dashing," Jonathan said with a smile. "Got a hot date tonight?"

Mamma Scully rolled her eyes. "Jonathan, please. You two are more than enough to handle, I don't need another man traipsing around my life." They all laughed heartily.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, Mamma. Where you off to anyway?" Jonathan said.

Mayson sat quietly and watched the exchange. He'd been at Mamma Scully's eight months now, and while he was beginning to have fewer problems speaking, he was still unbelievably shy and had a hard time talking to more than Jonathan.

"I've got a meeting with my lawyer about a couple things. Nothing to worry about, I'll be back in a couple hours. There's dinner in the fridge if you boys get hungry. Mayson?"

Mayson met her gaze. "Y-yes, Mamma Scully?"

Mamma Scully smiled, he very rarely spoke, and she could tell he'd been putting in a lot of effort the last couple months.

"Think you'll be okay with this wild child without me?" She smiled when Mayson let out a small laugh, and a genuine smile.

"I'll be okay, Mamma Scully. Jonny w-wouldn't hurt m-me."

Mamma Scully glanced at Jonathan, which she did every time Mayson called him Jonny. He simply smiled at her as if letting her know that it was okay in each of these instances. She knew from experience not to call him Jonny. That that name was reserved for one person, one person who could never call out to him again.

"No, I'm sure he wouldn't." She touched Mayson's hair lightly, smiled sadly at him when he flinched slightly before pushing his head against her fingertips. He was trying. She kissed the top of Jonathan's head, told them both to behave and not burn the house down one more time before turning from the bedroom.

Mayson reached to move the pawn a single space up on the Chess game they were playing when Jonathan caught his hand, interlocking their fingers. Mayson looked curiously at him, a fire igniting in his belly each time Jonathan touched him.

"I really wouldn't, you know?"

Mayson smiled. "I know, Jonny. I wouldn't either. Not...not on purpose, anyway."

"One day, Mayson, you'll know love without pain."

"I don't think so, Jonny. But it's a pretty thought."

"Why not?"

"Because life is pain, Jonathan. Love...you can't love someone without hurting them, too." Mayson looked at their still joined hands and squeezed ever so slightly.

"Maybe not," Jonathan agreed. "But it's different than the pain we know. The pain we know...had nothing within it but pain, and fear. Real love... it's...different." Jonathan kept his eyes on Mayson's face, who steadily watched their hands.

"How do you know, Jonny?" The question was whispered in a pleading tone.

"Because I wouldn't ever do to you what was done to me."

Mayson looked up and met Jonathan's eyes. They were raw, questioning, and scared. "You can't love me, Jonny."

"Too late."

Jonathan carried the parmesan pasta to the coffee table and set it down before going and getting the medium-sized salad bowl he'd prepped as well. He dragged the small table so they could access the food from the fire's side. He made Mayson's plate and handed it to him before scooping a small portion of salad into a bowl and setting it in front of him. Mayson looked up with a small smile in thanks.

Jonathan thought about that day at Mamma Scully's as they ate in silence. The fire popped and crackled as the wood split and turned to ash. Never had he ever allowed himself to love anyone like he loved Mayson. Each time he was with another man, either in short spats or relatively long-term, he could never get Mayson's face from his head. When they'd lain together, it was Mayson he saw. When his partner fell asleep, it was Mayson he'd wept for. It was Mayson.

Mayson.

"Mayson?"

Mayson looked up, his fork halfway to his mouth. He frowned as he lowered the food back to the plate. He'd been so far into his own thoughts he didn't realize he'd been neglecting Jonathan for the last couple days. And he'd been distant since the day after they made up that night.

"Yeah, Jonny?"

He paused, his words seemingly caught in his throat before he croaked out, "Is...is it good?"

Mayson nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it's really good, Jonny."

Jonathan nodded and looked down at his plate, sighing.

"After dinner, you wanna go curl up in bed and watch a movie?" Mayson tried to sound cordial, trying to bring up the heavy mood. His smile waned at Jonathan's hesitation, but he nodded.

"Sure, duck. We can do that." Jonathan looked up and returned a tight-lipped smile before quickly averting his eyes again. Mayson knew he was going to have to snap himself out of this haze he'd been walking in the last week.

He'd already come up with an answer to his question, the problem remained was how would he carry out the resolution? He sighed. If he didn't fight he was going to lose. And in losing he would lose big. He would lose everything.

Mayson slid closer to Jonathan as they finished eating, lightly touching at the thigh. The touch, simple as it was, was the longest contact they'd had outside of falling asleep in the last seven days. The touch held an air of forgiveness and a question thereof. Jonathan dropped his hand over Mayson's and willed his eyes not to water.

Mayson smiled lightly up at Jonathan and squeezed his hand.

"I really do love you, Jonny." His voice was strong and unwavering now. Jonathan studied him before answering in turn.

Together they washed, dried, and put away the dishes before wandering, hand in hand to the bedroom.

Jonathan felt his throat close up as hope began to take hold. Maybe they would be alright. Maybe they would be able to make it passed the past together.