The Cabin on The Blue

"Yes, thank you," Rachel murmured into the cup, flushing beneath her light bronze skin.

John shook his head, frowning "You've been much improved. I've let it get the best of me, just like before," he said. "But you're certainly still quite unwell."

"Like before?" Rachel queried, looking up at him over the cup. She drained the tea and set it on the table in front of her. John picked it up immediately, taking the cup back to the woodstove to refill it from the kettle. She stared at his back, amber eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her for a long moment then sighed before turning to plate her food. "When you first got here, I took to sleeping in the chair beside the bed. It was the easiest way to keep you fed and hydrated, and tend to whatever else you needed. I knew you had a concussion and you had lost some blood, so I wanted to keep an eye on you. After a few days, you woke up, sat up, had a whole conversation with me about some medical tv show and-"

"Fashion. And sewing," Rachel said slowly. She remembered lying in bed and laughing softly about... needles, of all things.

"Yeah, that's right," John replied, giving her a nod of encouragement. He set a plate down in front of her, generously piled with thinly sliced smoked ham, and herbed skillet bread. "Anyway, we had dinner, and then you asked me to sleep beside you. In the bed."

The blood drained from Rachel's face. "No," she whispered. "Oh my- I remember this..."

"I was rather tired of sleeping in that chair, so I decided to take you up on it. You seemed completely cognizant, and you kept talking about how cold you were. Then in the morning...there were some other things. And you started talking about baseball and carpentry and I realized that you were spouting perfect gibberish. Obviously, nothing happened," he said, gesturing towards her body in a very general, swirly sort of way. "I think you would be able to tell if there was any sort of activity, you know." He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say more, but closed it almost immediately.

What was that about- Rachel's eyes widened in horror as memories flooded back. She remembered snatches: snuggling up against him and telling him how good he smelled; laying in bed, shivering, and then wrapped in his arms as John rubbed her back, telling her to rest and sleep. And she remembered waking in the middle of the night, his erection firm against her thigh through his pants and hers. It had felt impossibly large. "Oh god," she said, her face warming again as she clapped a hand to her mouth. She had pressed up against him quite passionately, running her hands underneath his shirt and rubbing his muscular chest and stomach while she had cooed over how hot his body was. John had run his hands through her hair....and she didn't remember anything else after that. "I- We-" Rachel swallowed. "I remember, uh, I said things, to you....I asked you to-"

John shook his head, meeting her eyes. "NO," he replied firmly. "I swear, I didn't let it go that far."

So he had been the one to halt things? "Oh...my...god...!" She buried her head in her hands with a groan. "I'm so embarrassed," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her palms.

He scoffed. "Don't be. I wasn't exactly concerned that you were going to overpower me," he said , giving a pointed look between, "and you were barely conscious, anyway. I thought it was a fever dream." The bowl he set in the center of the table was divided into sections, each containing broccoli, asparagus, bok choy, or peas.

John eagerly tucked into his food and Rachel followed suit, though much more reserved than usual. She was mortified. Once he had cleared his plate, he took a pill from the bottle in the center of the table and pushed it over to her. "How's your pain?"

Rachel cleared her throat, head still down. "It's alright."

"Rachel," John said, and she could hear the frown in his tone.

"My head and my ankle," she admitted finally. She watched from the corner of her eye as he added ibuprofen and another tablet to the pile. "Thank you."

"I'll have to go get some more meds soon. But we can wait until you're headed up, I think," he said thoughtfully, refilling their mugs of tea before he sat back down. She could feel his eyes on her. "Are you feeling sick?"

After the way she had felt watching him work outside, she was even more troubled to remember that she had reacted in such a manner when he had been close enough to touch. She been seriously injured, laid up in bed with an attractive stranger and her semi-conscious instinct had been.... to try to have sex with him?

Rachel glanced up, briefly meeting his puzzled gaze. "I feel fine," she replied in a low voice.

"Good," he responded. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight, but you holler if you need anything."

Days passed. Her bruises were fading, her ankle was back to its normal size - though still tender - and her ribs barely hurt at all. The rest, care and food had made all the difference, and she was incredibly grateful. Rachel felt better every morning.

After all, John had saved her life, in more ways than one. She began to insist on helping with what she could, which was mostly food preparation. John watched her carefully the first few times she worked at scrubbing potatoes or cutting carrots, but after a while seemed satisfied that she wasn't going to accidentally cut off one of her fingers.

She had talked John into taking her out for several more searches, but they had turned up nothing indicating the whereabouts of anyone - in her group or otherwise. Rachel had already feared that most of the others had been either captured or killed, but she had held out hope on finding Verre. The pretty black woman was tough and smart, and they had become close friends over the course of their journey. Rachel remembered seeing her swimming strongly after they had jumped in. She didn't remember anything after that, but she wanted to believe that Verre had made it to safety.

Thus far, there weren't any traces of other people, but Rachel had observed and learned much about the area itself. From the map John had shown her, crossing back to the area her group had been settled in was only viable by the river, which was even more treacherous to traverse from this direction. He jokingly referred to the acre and a half or so surrounding the cabin as an island - which it was, practically speaking, between the river and moat. It didn't take long for Rachel to develop an appreciation of John's off the grid paradise. He jokingly referred to the acre and a half or so surrounding the cabin as an island - which it was, practically speaking, between the river and moat.

The river provided food and a natural line of defense around about seventy-five percent of the cabin - the remaining section was protected by a moat that John worked regularly to enlargen, crossed with a removable bridge - along with food and fresh water. There was also a hand pump in the front/side yard area and a cistern system on the property. The solar panels provided more electricity than the place needed, and the battery was useful after the sun had gone down or on especially cloudy days. The cabin was was equipped with running water for the sinks and shower, though the toilet was of the compost variety. Even more importantly, the place had been built on high ground, giving an excellent view of the area while remaining relatively hidden by a number of large but well placed trees.

She was also impressed by the general arability of the entire area. The plot of cultivated land by the cabin was verdant, and there were numerous wild vegetables and other edible vegetation to be found on the other side of the moat. Rachel suspected that the wild rice John kept stored in huge glass canisters had been picked from the nearby river, and it was obvious that the cabin was excellently situated. In addition to the edible plants, both cultivated and wild, John had an impressive store of cans, jars, dried food and other useful items. Since her arrival, she had noticed stone fruit, pome and nut trees, as well as a number of berry bushes and several other edible plants she knew only by sight. The lush greenery also attracted a variety of wild game.

Rachel had grown up in a metropolitan area, but even before the Official Fall things had been increasingly difficult for almost everyone. Everyone had been forced to learn or improve practical skills - scavenging and foraging, gardening and fishing, collecting water and various forms of fuel. Eventually city life became outright dangerous, and Rachel, her friend Beth, and half a dozen other people they knew had set out in search of better. Suddenly, Rachel found a use for all the skills her father had honed into her and her brother Adam during their regular camping trips, skills grown rusty from disuse. Making a fishing rod from a branch, string or vines, and a sharpened, hooked piece of something. Back then, Rachel had only been able to make serviceable hooks from a paper clip or can tabs. Although the types she could make were excellent, she had been quietly jealous about how good Adam had been with making all of the hooks that their father had taught them. Identifying the most common edible plants that grew in their locality. How to find small game trails and set traps. The way he had insisted that she and her brother be able to make fire from scratch - or 'without pre-packaged fire', as he called it. They each had to do it at least once during each trip.

Sometimes, while Rachel was crouched beside a thicket and examining blades of grass, or working a fireplough, Rachel would close her eyes. She could hear her father's patient instructions, reminding her of what to look for and how to hold her hands while she worked; the warm sunbeams felt like her mother's embrace.

If she took slow breaths and sat in the sun, she could feel her mother pulling her in for a goodbye hug and gently kissing her cheek as Rachel skipped out the door, excited to see where her father was taking them this time. Her mother would make her usual tsk-tsk-tsk noise in her long-suffering way, wishing the three of them an enjoyable time and telling them that she would spend the weekend working on housework, her roses and the vegetable garden. And she always praised them for their catches, making a big deal about cooking whatever they caught - even if she had to research the recipes.

Rachel and John spent a lot of time talking while searching. John would point out areas of interest, pausing to collect batches of lavender or investigate natural weirs in small offshoots of the river, and Rachel would find herself telling John stories about camping with her family. In the beginning, they engaged in pleasant small talk, speaking of their lives Before. City girl, country boy, she thought. After all, she had watched him chop wood, track game, and groom horses like he had been born to it. She had even seen him carrying mountain sheep over his back to the slaughter / smokehouse. While whistling.

But then they had begun to trade stories, talking about their lives During and After. They had a lot more in common than either of them had expected, and Rachel found herself increasingly drawn to him - and she wasn't blind to the way that John looked her over when he thought that she wasn't aware.

In addition to his physical qualities, he was genuinely interesting and pleasant to talk to. A fair amount of downtime went to reading, something they both enjoyed, and John had also invited Rachel to join his post-dinner movie-watching tradition. He had a sizeable collection of movies, and since Rachel had recovered enough to spend normal hours awake he had resumed his habit of watching after dinner. He enjoyed it when she joined him on the couch, but she usually only stayed for a short while before retiring to the bedroom. She kept telling him that he should take his bed back - she had grown used sleeping in far less comfortable places than his couch.

On this particular day, John had spent a considerably longer period of time working outside, while Rachel tackled some of the lighter indoor domestic work. He had spent the morning out, then returned with the fruit of his traps - one fat fish and two small rabbits - as well as a collection of mushrooms, nuts, and other foraged items. She helped him prep the game and put everything away, and then John started preparing dinner - venison stew. They snacked on leftovers from their breakfast - cold ham and baked apples. At noon he headed out again, requesting that she wait a few hours before bringing out any food.

"If you're still feeling up to it, that is?" John looked her searchingly.

"I'll see you in a few hours," she replied, pointedly turning back to the pile of pecans she was preparing for roasting. Rachel had begun to cook regularly, and when John was out working she took him meals to help out just a little more. She was used to pulling her weight. She paused at two-forty pm, cutting slices from the remaining half loaf of bread for sandwiches - homemade mustard, spinach, fried onions and peppers and generous portions of warmed venison, cut into thin slices with the sharpest knife she could find. Rachel made one of the sandwiches bigger than the other. She wrapped the sandwiches in two kerchiefs, filled two bottles with water from the pitcher in the refrigerator, made a thermos of hot tea, added everything to a small pack and headed out to find John. Clark was running happily around in the clearing, chasing something that Rachel couldn't make out. Probably a squirrel. Those were his favorites.

John wore jeans and a short sleeved shirt, his flannel resting on a low branch of a nearby tree. His face lit up when she approached the moat, and she felt a shiver go through her. "Hi," she greeted him, smiling back. "Are you hungry yet?" She surveyed his work, impressed with the progress he had made that afternoon.

"I really do appreciate the lunch deliveries," John said, "and the company, of course, now that you'll actually sit and eat with me - but are you sure-"

"My ankle is fine, John," Rachel said, rolling her eyes at him. "I need to move around to make sure it heals right, and I take my time making my way down here. It is a rather smooth path, you know - it's not like I have to scramble over rock piles."

He snorted, taking the old picnic blanket from the bag she had brought and gesturing for Rachel to join him once he had shaken and laid it out, waxed canvas side down. She seated herself as he withdrew the remaining contents. "I like your sandwiches," he told her, inspecting them. "Mmmm, deer," he said, rolling an apple over to her. After lunch, John put in another hour of work before heading in to shower.

As that day's lunch had been eaten quite late in the afternoon, they had decided to watch a movie before dinner instead of after. "We'll live dangerously," John joked, eliciting an amused smile from Rachel. The stew he was preparing would be best if left to simmer for a few hours more, so they had decided they would likely take small servings and have a light dinner after the movie before retiring for the night.

They fell asleep on the couch before the movie had ended. Rachel woke first, surprised that she had slept and expecting John to make some dry, snappy yet mild comment about how she ought to go to bed if she couldn't keep her eyes open. But when she looked over at him, he was asleep as well. Unlike Rachel, who had curled up on the couch, John had fallen asleep sitting upright, his head resting on the back of the couch. She watched as his chest rose and fell, his profile illuminated by the faint lamplight. Rachel was mesmerized, content to stare at him as he slept. He was so handsome it hurt, and she wondered if she had been around him for too long.

Idly, Rachel wondered how he would respond if she told him that she had been laying in his bed, dreaming about him nearly every night. She inhaled deeply to calm herself, catching a whiff of his delicious scent mixed with the mildly citrus smelling soap that he used - along with the smell of stew.

The stew smelled like it was ready, and she knew that he would want to attend to it himself. "John?" She stretched, reaching out to touch his arm, then tap it, but he continued to sleep. Rachel sighed, shifting around in her blanket to move across the cushion that separated them. "John?" His eyes fluttered open, and they locked gazes, raw heat spreading across his face before he could catch himself. Shocked by the intensity, she jumped, managing to tangle her leg in a pocket of cloth and couch. Rachel lost her balance and landed on his chest as she tried to right herself, still somewhat awkwardly wrapped in the blanket she had fallen asleep in. He caught her easily, keeping his hands on her shoulders as she tried to steady herself. "Sorry," she murmured, unable to break eye contact - and then she knew that he was going to kiss her.

John pressed his lips to hers like a question, and her response was to kiss him back eagerly. He pulled her into his lap, her thighs on either side of his, and his erection felt massive underneath her leg. He was wearing soft, loose pants, and not the sort of fabric that was meant constrain or hide. John ran his hands through her hair, letting her soft, loose curls flow through his fingers as he had been wanting to do for some time.

Rachel's head swam as he kissed down her neck, cupping her firm, round rear in his large hands as he ground their bodies together. "Oooh...John," Rachel forced herself to pull back, breathless. "John - the stew."

He groaned, squeezing her hips in his hands and pressing her down into his lap for a long moment before releasing her with a loud, frustrated sigh. She buried her head in his shoulder, gathering herself and fighting the urge to moan aloud at the sensation of his erection pressing up against her.

"Fuck," he replied, moving her back to the couch so he could rise.

Rachel gaped as he stood. He might put out my eye even through his pants, she thought, awed, before turning to watch him move over to the kitchen area. He checked the Dutch oven on the stovetop, stirring the contained stew and taking his time. Rachel sat on the couch, tucked up into her blanket as she watched him. His snug, turquoise t-shirt made his eyes seem bluer and brighter.

She shook her head. He looked amazing in everything he wore; his daily routine kept his athletic frame well-honed, and nearly their entire diet consisted of protein, vegetables and grains. Like everyone's diets these days, she thought idly. The fall of civilization had forced the survivors back to a time of much healthier eating. If you were eating at all. Slightly taller than average height, Rachel had a petite frame and had always been slim. Long periods of limited food and hard physical activity had given her a much more toned physique, though she had kept most of her curves. These past few weeks at the cabin she had been doing a lot more resting than usual, and John kept their bellies full; although nearly everything they ate was much denser in nutrition than calories, her body was making very efficient use of the plentiful fuel, and she was slowly beginning to fill out again.

"The stew needs a little longer." John paused, tapping the counter. He hadn't looked at her since he'd risen from the couch. "I'm going to steam a squash, make some flatbread," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"I'll help," she volunteered, standing.

"No," John replied immediately. He took a deep breath. "I want to do it."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. It felt like he was avoiding her, and giving himself busy work. "Okay," she said slowly. "I'll go bring in the laundry. It'll dry better in here, now that the sun's set."