Author's Note: I haven't had much time to write lately. Things have changed at work and my schedule is a lot more demanding this year, so there's not going to be any proper full-length drabbles anytime soon. However, when this kind of thing happens, I have discovered that I really enjoy working with prompt tables. Enjoy; please R&R.

This one takes place probably sometime after Waiting for the Man. Not related to my other stories.

Prompt: Thirsty

She awakens sometime in the night, one of those summer nights when the air is too still inside the mill, humid and sticky. Rubbing her eyes, Zed realizes how thirsty she is and sits up, groggy, but on a mission to go get a glass of water.

Outside of her bedroom, the air is a little cooler. There are no lamps on; silver-blue light from the windows pours in, illuminating her way. Zed tiptoes, not wanting to wake John or Chas.

No need. John is sitting in the kitchen in his boxers, white shirt unbuttoned, a bottle of bourbon and a whiskey glass in front of him. He looks up when she enters the kitchen, sits up a little.

"Hey," she whispers to him.

He smiles weakly at her. He's drunk, but not too drunk. "Hey."

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asks, getting a glass out of the cabinet and running it under the sink.

Water splashes onto her hand, cold and clear, and Zed touches the back of her neck, letting the droplets run down her shoulders and collarbones. She sighs. "It's hot." She takes a long drink from the glass. "Why are you awake?"

He shrugs. "Too hot to sleep."

She leans on the counter across from him, sets her glass down, and slides it towards him.

John looks at it for a second, then takes it and drinks from it as well. In return, he pours a little more bourbon into the glass and passes it towards her. Zed takes it, hitches her breath, and tosses a gulp down, grimacing, before chasing it with another gulp of water. The bourbon burns going down, and leaves a warmth in her stomach that is too warm for this stifling night.

He stands, putting the bourbon underneath the cabinet where it belongs, and walks slowly around to the other side.

"I've been thinking," he says.

"Mm?"

"You've got that apartment downtown. You haven't stayed in it in weeks."

"Yeah." She turns toward him, the thin strap of her camisole sliding down a shoulder.

"I think you should stop wasting money on a place you're not staying in." He looks at the shoulder the strap has fallen down. Wordlessly, he slides one finger under the strap, lifting it, running a single finger up it until it's back on her shoulder. His hand brushes across her collarbone, and then he drops it. "Good night, Zed." He saunters away.