The late January air is freezing against Beth's cheeks as she steers the boat into the narrow dock. There's a figure standing on the grass bank, dark against the soft light coming from the cabin's windows. She frowns as she tosses three duffel bags onto the dock and clambers up onto the splintering timber.

"Could at least give me a hand," she shouts. The figure just raises their hands palms up in a the universal gesture of oops. Beth picks up one of the bags and stomps her way to the shore, boots clacking with every step. When she reaches him she takes one look at the tailored coat, collar flipped up against the wind, and rolls her eyes. She dumps the heavy bag at his feet. "You can get the rest."

She walks past him and doesn't bother to listen for a response. The cabin is set back from the shore about fifty yards. There's a bench sitting out the front that Dean and Kenny built one summer, and behind that the remnants of a hammock dangling between the posts of the porch. She hesitates for a moment. The bench is starting to deteriorate. One leg is showing signs of rot, and the seat is cracked and splintering, like someone has dragged a wire brush over it.

She kicks the leg and the whole side collapses. Beth smiles and goes inside.

It's not a cabin really, it's a house. It has a proper kitchen and three bedrooms. The living room has comfortable couches and a firebox that keeps the whole place warm even when it's ten degrees. It's warm inside, he must have started the fire a few hours ago.

She's vaguely aware of a truck door slamming, and an engine starting and running for a few minutes before being shut off.

The front door opens as she's tugging off her puffer jacket. The cuffs are a bit too tight and she struggles to get her hands free. She looks up and holds his gaze as she wriggles her hands through the openings.

"I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."

He nibbles on his lower lip for a few moments, considering his answer. "Yeah well things went a bit smoother than expected."

Beth lets out a sigh of relief as she drapes the jacket over the back of a dining chair. "So it's done then? It's not coming back?"

"Are you asking if it's done, or you're done?"

She huffs a short laugh devoid of any real humor. "You already know I'm done."

She heads to one of the cabinets and pulls out a bottle of bourbon. The kitchen window looks out on the side yard towards a small cluster of trees that look ghostly against the moonlight shimmering on the water of the St Marys. It's started snowing, the dark clouds are moving quickly across the sky and she knows soon there will be nothing in the window but her reflection.

"Oh you think treating me like a ten dollar hooker is how you say you're done?"

Beth grabs the nearest cup from the shelf, it's a free one from the gas station that's got Marge Simpson plastered to the side of it. She fills it up half way and takes a sip. "Yeah well it's not like you ever treated me like anything other than a plaything so pot say hi to kettle." She turns on the tap and fills up the kettle to avoid looking over her shoulder at him. A heavy silence fills the room.

"I ain't never treat you like a plaything." She can hear him let out a heavy breath through his nose and knows his nostrils are flaring and his mouth is probably twisted in that frown he gets like he's smelled something rotten. "You're the one who's always yanking my chain… you're in you're out, you've got a fucking family, oh you need to pay the bills, oh no you can't possibly get your hands dirty I don't know what you want from me."

Beth picks up the kettle from the counter and slams it down on the stove. "Yeah? Well I don't know what I want from you either, are you happy?" She whips around and glares at him. Rio is staring down at his boots, toe kicking at the cheap tile on the kitchen floor. "And does it even really matter? I mean you're standing here with all this baggage and-"

"I don't have baggage."

"Oh, you don't have baggage fuck, you just cremated a body for me. In exchange for..." She waves her hand towards the front door, "that. Like that's literal baggage. Literal-"

"Yeah yeah I get the fucking point." He turns to leave but hesitates. "You know you say being around me is like having a newborn well you're like a toddler who's constantly throwing a tantrum because they suddenly decided they don't like ice cream!"

She's silent for ten seconds or so, before a tiny snort of laughter escapes her nose and she giggles.

"That wasn't supposed to be funny." He's still facing away from her.

Beth runs a hand over her face. "Yeah well it kinda was."

"Look I'm gonna go..." He starts back towards the door.

"Don't." She leans back against the sink and takes another sip of her drink. "It's started snowing and it's freezing out there, you can stay in one of the kids' rooms."

He turns around and for a moment he looks vulnerable, like he did that afternoon in her bedroom right before his nose hit her cheek and he kissed her with a gasp and an unspoken promise. "I ain't got no pajamas."

She grabs another glass down, pours him a drink, and walks over with her arm outstretched. He takes it. "Look it's one in the morning, you have to drive all the way across the island and then it's another six hours back to Detroit after the crossing so… you were supposed to come tomorrow anyway so what's the big deal?"

He's looking at her through lowered eyes, eyelashes dark against his cheeks. "No big deal, just… got shit to do you know?"

"Shit that involves you crashing your car into a snowdrift?"

Rio licks his lips and raises his eyes to meet hers. "You worrying about me now?"

"I'll get you some pajamas."

Beth puts her glass down on the counter and walks down the hall. "You can sleep in the boys' room." She pushes a door open and gestures inside. "There's some spare blankets in the closet if you get cold, I'll be back in a sec."

She heads to the master bedroom and rummages around in the bottom drawer. Her hands pass over a pair of Dean's old sleep pants before they settle on a stripey set of her own. She pulls them out and heads back down the corridor.

The wind is getting up outside and she can hear the gusts buffeting the loose iron on the front porch. She hears a thump and an loud shit and the lights flicker out.

"You okay?" Her hands run down the wall until she feels the open door. "I think the power's gone out."

"Ya think?"

Beth reaches for her phone and flicks on the torch. "Cell signal's gone too."

Rio sighs. "Cool that's just… cool." She can see him pulling a blanket out of the closet with one hand while holding his phone up for light with the other. She puts the clothes down and stands by the bed awkwardly.

"Well… g'night I guess." She turns to leave but his hand on her shoulder stops her.

"Elizabeth..."

She huffs out a breath and bite her lip. "It's okay they're not Dean's pjs."

"That's not… look do you really think I kept that body just so I had something over you? Because that's not what it was about."

Beth whirls around and frowns. "Why on earth would you keep it then? If it wasn't a way to keep me in line then why else wouldn't you just do what you do?"

"I just wanted to see you again, okay?" He holds his fingers against the bridge of his nose and makes a pained noise. 'You don't get it do you? I don't want it to be over, and I don't think you do either."

"I don't have a choice."

He takes a step closer to her and raises his hand to her cheek, running his thumb under her eye. "Everyone's got a choice."

She lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Yeah well I can choose to have my kids, or not have them so…"

"And he comes with that deal?"

"Yeah."

Rio flicks his tongue out and presses his lips together. "Right." He drops his hand and takes a step back. "I'm gonna… you got a spare toothbrush?"

"Yeah, in the bathroom cabinet should be a couple in the packaging." The response is automatic, she's already on her way to bed.

…

The light filtering through the curtains is harsh and bright the next morning, and Beth lies in bed staring at the ceiling trying not to think about the man sleeping in the bedroom on the other side of the hall. Her mind keeps drifting to three weeks ago, when she stood in her room with mismatched socks and paranoia about her ratty bra and stretch marks, and the way he had kissed her in a way that made her think she meant something.

Who is she kidding he kissed her like she meant everything. And for a couple of hours that's all she it was, hot open mouthed kisses and biting down on lips. Learning each others' bodies and giggling like teenagers when something knocked into somewhere uncomfortable. Arching her back as he made her come with his tongue, her hands hard against his scalp as she pressed him into her.

Beth groans and rolls over. She leans out of bed and tugs the curtain aside and all she can see is white.

"Son of a bitch."