A/N: Thanks to Zen for some inspiration about their conversation. :) Also, this takes place after Glimpse, but before Up In the Air. I haven't decided what I think about Up In the Air yet, but I definitely got the feeling that there were no candles between episodes. Ah, well.

There were candles.

Not just one or two candles, but dozens of them. Zane must have spent the entire time that she was waiting for her food lighting wicks. His apartment – both neater and cleaner than the last time she was here, just a few days ago – was filled with the warm, flickering glows.

"You – you put candles on your flat panel," Jo said. It felt like a stupid thing to say, even before the words left her lips. But there were three tall white tapers, precariously balanced on small holders along the thin edge of the wide-screen television. And there were candles on the Xbox, on the PS3, on the bookcase, on the desk, on the window sill…oh, and two on the table, where he'd put out plates and silverware and his food.

"What are the odds the wax gets on the screen?" Zane asked cheerfully, as he took her bag of food from her. "50-50 or worse?"

"Are they the dripless kind?" The words were rote, automatic, as if someone else were running her body. Inside, her brain was stuck on a loop that went something like, 'Candles. He lit candles. Candles.' Not that it should be that big a deal – how hard was it to light a few candles, after all? But, still…

"Is there a dripless kind? I just bought all the white ones at the store."

The candles on the Xbox were hurricane candles, squat and stumpy. And the ones on the windowsill were votives, short and fat. He hadn't mixed them up at all, just lined them up around the room, as if he'd bought them in boxes, and emptied each box in succession.

"Why white?" she asked, not looking at him, her eyes slowly scanning the room, taking in each and every candle.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I figured there might be rules I didn't know. White seemed like a safe choice."

Her gaze stopped on him. His expression was just a little worried. She didn't think it was about whether he was going to get wax on his television, so she let the grin that had been trying to escape since she'd walked in the door break free, and watched his worry change into relief. "Is this my reward?"

He shook his head, and held out a chair for her. "Your reward comes later," he promised.

"Is this your reward, then?" she asked, sliding into the chair. What had inspired him? Not that she was complaining: it was sweet, if unexpected.

He brought his mouth next to her ear and said, voice husky, "My reward comes later, too," before brushing his lips against the soft spot where the top of her jaw met her ear. Almost involuntarily, her eyes half closed and she angled her neck for him, as her breath came a little quicker, but he straightened before taking his seat, next to hers.

She looked at the table. Plates. Real plates, not made of paper or plastic. And silverware, in its proper places.

Wait.

Candles, plates, silverware.

"This isn't like a date, is it?" she asked, voice wary. "Because we are not dating."

Was that a flash of exasperation? "Can't be a date," he replied. "You brought your own food."

Okay.

Fair point.

She opened Vincent's take-out container and ladled spinach salad onto her plate. Zane did the same with whatever he had. She tried to identify it, and failed, but it smelled great, a little spicy, a little sweet.

For a minute, maybe two, they ate in silence, Jo acutely aware of Zane's eyes on her, her eyes on her plate, as she stabbed her bites of spinach with a fork. "What are you eating?" she finally asked, looking up.

"Vince's special," he answered with a shrug. "Maybe something Thai? It's pretty good."

She smiled a little. It was like him to not care what Vincent fed him. As long as it was food, and plenty of it, he wasn't picky. "Do you still –," she started, before breaking off. Maybe that hadn't happened in this timeline. In her timeline, Vincent had once invented a recipe especially for Zane – a food so disgusting that no one else would eat it, but that Zane would love.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Tell me," he prompted. "Worst that can happen is I say no, right?"

She shrugged, feeling shy and awkward. Was that the worst that could happen? She wasn't even sure she wanted to know: everything that reinforced the ways in which this Zane was like her Zane made it harder to end things, while everything that reinforced the ways in which they were different made her sadder about her loss. Lose-lose.

"Come on, Jojo," he wheedled. "You know I don't do well with curiosity."

She grimaced. Okay, that she did know. "Toasted peanut butter and bacon?"

"Yum," he responded promptly. "So, so good."

"So, so disgusting," she replied, an easy smile breaking free. She should have known.

"Two great foods that taste great together." He took another bite of his dinner, eyes laughing at her.

"Peanut butter is already one of the world's most disgusting foods. Add fatty, salty meat…" she shuddered.

"Don't tell me you don't like bacon." It was mock horror on his face, but Jo rolled her eyes anyway.

"At breakfast. Once in a while. Who doesn't like bacon? Just not mixed with peanut butter."

"I'm pretty sure it's un-American to not like peanut butter. Come on, isn't it nostalgic? Don't tell me you didn't eat plenty of PBJs when you were a kid."

She couldn't hide her expression fast enough.

"Tell me," he repeated, his voice softer.

She looked away.

"Curiosity, Lupo," he warned, one finger stroking a line down her arm to the back of her hand. "You know it's bad for me."

"Fine," she shook her head slightly, still not looking at him. "My mom died when I was six. My older brothers made school lunches for the next few years. I ate a lot of PBJ. And yeah, that probably has something to do with why I think it's disgusting." She took another bite of her spinach salad, and chewed thoroughly, not quite glaring at him.

"Change of subject coming up," he said. She could hear the sympathy in his voice and for some reason it made her want to cry. She blinked a few times. She never cried, and she wasn't about to start now, not over something as silly as peanut butter. "Want to try Vincent's Thai thingamy?"

She looked at it. It did smell good. And it looked good, too. "Yeah."

Carefully, he twirled the noodles on his fork, and held it up for her. She looked at him. Really? He wasn't just going to hand her the fork? But there was a heat in his eyes that stirred a matching feeling in her, and she could feel her heart picking up its pace. She opened her mouth and took the bite off his fork, her eyes never letting go of his.

"Good?" he asked.

She nodded as she chewed. It wasn't a surprise – almost everything Vincent made was delicious – but this was really nice, a sweet almost cinnamon-y flavor followed by a burn that hit the back of her throat and lingered.

"Want some more? Vincent gave me plenty." Zane picked up the take-out container and showed her the pile of noodles still left in the box.

"Yeah, sure," Jo shoved aside some of her spinach salad, making room on her plate. Zane served her and then watched her as she ate, a tiny smile lingering around his lips. "What?" she finally snapped. Tiny prickles of uncertainty were running along her skin.

"You're eating my food."

"So? You offered. You said you had…" He was grinning at her, and her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out why.

She dropped her fork. "Oh, damn it."

"It's okay." He kicked the rung of her chair, turning it sideways so that she was facing him in one easy motion, and reaching for her. "I won't tell anyone."

He tugged her to him, off her chair and onto his legs, and she didn't resist, flowing forward until she was straddling him, but putting her hands on his shoulders to hold him off. "We are not—," she started.

"Yep, I know," he said, going straight for the buttons of her black shirt, and flicking the top one open without hesitation. "Not dating," he added as he reached for the second, then the third. "Just sex."

She clutched his shoulders, squeezing as her fingers clenched involuntarily. The way he said that…

But he was already through with her buttons, pushing her shirt and jacket off her shoulders, and sliding his strong hands down to her hips. He slid her closer, pulling her along his legs until she was nestled against him, and then bending his head to tease her through the black lace of her bra, his breath warm against her, his lips hot.

She wiggled a little nearer, feeling the ridge of denim against the seam of her own pants, and angling until the pressure hit just the right spot. She bit her lip, and stroked down his t-shirt, feeling the soft cotton under her fingers, and then sliding her hands under the bottom edge and up, trading the feel of cotton for the warmth of his skin, loving the rush of heat that was building in her veins.

"Casual sex," he added, tongue caressing the line where fabric met flesh.

Jo closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. Maybe it was just a spark between them, but every time he touched her, it flared to life with almost volcanic energy.

"Really amazing casual sex."

Her eyes opened, and she frowned. Okay, that might be an accurate description, but it just didn't sound good when he put it that way.

His hands were sliding up her back, already fumbling at the clasp of her bra. "In fact, you're just using me for cheap, mindless gratification."

"Zane," she protested, pausing in her touch.

He lifted his head and grinned at her. "It's okay, Jojo." His eyes were dark, the pupils dilated, as he slid first one strap then the other down over her shoulders. "This is your reward, remember?" The lace fell forward, and his hands moved down, then cupped, thumbs stroking. She couldn't stop a wordless murmur of pleasure, as her eyelids flickered again. His hands on her were a match to a fuse, and she reached to take his mouth, her lips greedy and eager for the taste of him.

They kissed, long-drawn out moments of pure sensation, tongues exploring, until Zane began to set up a rhythm, tongue flickering in and out of her mouth, sliding over the delicate skin, as his hands caressed her body, and her hips rocked gently against him.

It was too much, but she wanted more. Eyes glazed with pleasure, she slid backwards, standing and pulling him to his feet. "Bedroom," she ordered, voice heavy with desire.

"So bossy," he murmured back, pulling the tie out of her hair, and burying his face in her shoulder as the silky mass fell around them. He nibbled his way along her neck, and whispered in her ear, "If this is your reward, do I get mine later?"

"Mmm," she tilted her head, heart racing, a flush like a fever burning her.

"Say yes, Jojo," he prompted.

What was she saying yes to? He slid one hand up, along the nape of her neck, burying his fingers in her hair, and the other down, stroking, and then pressing her against him, caressing her thigh until she lifted her leg to bring herself even closer.

"Zane," she gasped.

"Say yes."

"Yes." What was she agreeing to? Did she care? Not so much, as he placed his hands on her ass and scooped her up. She wrapped her legs around him and took his lips again as he maneuvered them into the bedroom.

He'd put candles in here, too, she noticed, as he dropped her onto his bed. They'd burned down while they were eating dinner, but the room was still lit by the scattered, fluttering flames.

She lay on the bed, unbuttoning her own button, pulling down her own zipper, but otherwise watching as he shed his clothes, waiting for him. He tugged at the bottom of her black pant legs and she lifted her hips and let him slide them down and off her. He fell forward onto the bed, and she pulled him to her.

"Your reward," he reminded her.

"Is that a hint?"

"Mm-hmm," he said, as his hand found her. "Anything you want, but you have to ask for it."

She laughed, rising to meet him. "Make me come," she whispered.

"Gladly," he whispered back. And then his hand started and his mouth followed, and Jo lay back and let the world shatter around her.

Some time later, she murmured sleepily, "Your turn." She rolled on top of him. When his arms curved around her, she smiled but straightened. Looking down at him, arms propped on his chest, she said, "Tell me."

He grinned at her, eyes half closed. "The night."

She frowned. Brow furrowed, she said, "What night?"

"This one," he said. Abruptly, unexpectedly, his arm was a metal band around her waist as he shifted, switching positions until she was under him, his weight heavy across her legs.

"What are you talking about?"

"My reward," he answered simply.

"Exactly," she murmured, arching up underneath him, raising one hand to stroke his face. "What would you like?"

"The night," he repeated.

She paused, mid-stroke.

"The whole night. You stay here, you sleep here, you wake up here." He was grinning at her, his blue eyes lit with mischief.

"Zane! That's not fair," she protested. This was just casual sex. Spending the night? That made it intimate. That made it mean something. And, oh, sure, the night before he'd stayed with her at S.A.R.A.H. but that had kind of just happened. Just happened was different than done with intent.

"Nobody said anything about fair, Lupo. You promised."

"I did not promise," she denied, trying to wiggle out from under him.

"You said yes."

She stopped. She'd been lost in pleasure and he'd been planning? Oh, that was so annoying. She glared.

"We could have died today, Jo, both of us. We came really close." His grin was gone. "You can say we don't work, but when I fall asleep tonight, I want to be able to feel your heart beating."

She stared at him. Damn it. He was a snarky, know-it-all, womanizing felon and they did not fit together. She needed to let him go.

And she would.

Tomorrow.