"Shh! Shaddup!"

It didn't help. Not that he didn't stop, because he did, at least for a little while. But though the splashing had stopped the looks and giggles refused to quit. The world was drained of color, everything in the palest shades of blue and purple and green, mostly black and gray. She could still make out the curve of his half-smile in the tiny corridors of light they passed through.

"We could always turn it, upend it over our heads and walk low to the ground..."

"Like a pair of cartoon characters? Besides, you're taller than me. Everyone would get to see your unsightly, pale legs."

Snort. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Well. He wouldn't, at least. She didn't mind.

They slipped into the water, toes, ankles, to the tune of splashing and hissing and panting breaths as the cold crawled up her legs.

At waist level they were out far enough that overturning the canoe into the water made only a little splash. It tipped sideways as he hoisted himself into it, less so when she crawled aboard. Her fingers curled over the metal rims as she clung and waited for the boat to settle.

"We could go back, if you want." Mild tone, slightly raised eyebrows that half disappeared under the hair falling into his eyes again.

She snorted. "Not on your life. I did not freeze my ass off so we could turn right around and go back." The boat steadied. She let go.

"I didn't realize you were afraid of the water." He was laughing at her. She made a face at him.

"I'm not afraid of the water. That's freezing water. I'm afraid of my lungs seizing up and you don't know CPR."

Too much?

Just a little. The crickets chirped all the way from shore, water sloshed around the sides of the boat. Somewhere along the edges of the island, at least a few frogs were holding forth. One jumped into the water before either of them wanted to break the silence.

"Anyway, you should be just as concerned about my cute little ass as I am. You like looking at it enough."

"I do not!" He was blushing. He had that tone of blushing, but it broke the awkwardness, anyway. And now for a complete change of mood. Always worked best when one of them skidded headlong into the area of 'too much.' "Wait. I mean, that isn't to say your ass isn't..."

"Shut up." She flicked water at him, laughing.

So he flicked water back at her.

The splashing fight made her giggle, and gasp when the water started hitting as high as her chest. No lie; it was that cold, cold enough to make her chest contract and her lungs labor and when he cupped the water in his hands and started really letting fly she curled up and brought her arms in front of her against the cold. Which wasn't the best of ideas. The sudden movement overbalanced them, sending them straight into the drink.

Cold. So cold.

Her head popped up above the surface, gasping. Hair plastered in front of her face, between that and the night sky she couldn't see. She could breathe, noisily and a little nerve-wracked, but she couldn't see. Calling his name wouldn't mean a damn thing if he was under water, would carry across to the island if he wasn't. She didn't want to wake anyone. Where was the damn boat?

"Jesuschrist!"

Hand on her arm. His hand on her arm, tugging her to the boat, putting her hand on the edge. It had been concealed beneath a curtain of wet-black hair. "Hey!" he yelped as she flailed, the moment before she realized it was him. "hey. It's okay. It's me."

"You scared me!" The question of who dumped the boat was moot. "Christ al-fucking-mighty."

"You've been watching that Western too much," he told her, helping to hoist her into the boat. All her clothes were plastered to her skin, showing outlines here and there, even in the dark.

She blinked at him when he kept his hand there and started swimming. "Aren't you going to get in?"

"Faster this way." One hand on the canoe, paddling, taking them towards the shore. She stayed put, if only because protesting would do no good and getting out would smack the side of the boat into his fool head. Instead she curled in one spot and shivered.

Silence, but for the croaking and bellowing of frogs and the chirp of crickets. The splash of the water as he kicked their way to shore. She felt like apologizing, but the silence forbade it. In lieu of apology she clambered out as soon as they were close enough to stand, helped pull the canoe inside. There were blankets in the nearby shed, old blankets, spare padding for tent, but they were clean and would do.

She took him by the hand and tugged him into the shed, peeling off her wet shirt as she did so.

"What are you doing?" Suspicion, something near panic in his voice. Or worry, or nervousness, or.

"Shut up." She motioned at him to keep his voice down. Started peeling off her pants, too. "I dont' want to stay in these wet clothes any longer than I have to. Neither do you. So strip. We'll bundle up in blankets and stay warm for a while."

It was a reasonable idea when she put it that way, and though he gave her his usual slew of protests and disbelieving looks, in a moment they were both stripped to their skivvies. She grabbed one of the biggest blankets she could find, stretched it out along the back of her arms, and went and bundled him up in it before he could protest further.

"What are you doing?" More exasperation, this time, but she noted he didn't pull away.

"Body heat works best."

"You sound like a bad romance movie."

She snickered into his collarbone. He was so damn skinny, too. She should have been the one swimming, him in the boat. He was shivering like a leaf and she had layers of curve and muscle (and fat, yes, let's be honest. Padding.) for warmth. "Hold this," she thrust a corner of the blanket into his hand and grabbed two more. "Right. Now, come on."

"This is awkward." It was. A shuffling two-step over to a corner where somehow they managed to sit down without bruising anything or knocking elbows, or stepping out of the shelter of the makeshift cloak.

They arrayed themselves appropriately, warmly, then shifted until they had achieved an equilibrium of comfort and oddness. For all that they spent more time together than in anyone else's company, that time didn't often include physical closeness. Especially not this kind. She was right, though. They warmed each other quickly, even if drying wasn't all that much on the agenda, piled together in limbs and bodies beneath blankets and the weight of the night's adventures.

"If we fall asleep here," she murmured, between two yawns. "Do you think they'll yell at us?"

"Does it matter?" His fingers curled a little closer around her shoulder.

Probably it didn't. They couldn't get dressed without squelching in the wet clothes anyway. The canoe and the oars were pulled up onto the shore where they wouldn't float away; they'd had their adventure. Nothing had been broken, and no one had come to harm. They might have caught cold, but that would be it. No, it didn't matter. This was worth a yelling.

She turned her cheek to his still clammy chest and listened to his heartbeat until she fell asleep. His fingers still combed through her hair.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.