With all the heavy talking they had done, the quiet now didn't feel hollow or oppressive like silence could. It was good – open air, buzz of Pike's fun bakes running through him, Jag's warmth along his side. He could stay like this.

When he'd taken his last pull on the cigarette, he straightened, his hand running along Jag's back, keeping the contact while he could because it felt good. He stubbed out his cigarette, tossing the butt with the others in the Madonna Inn official ashtray he kept out here. "You good?"