H I A T U S

Any other day, he would have pulled back if they had behaved like this, freaked out about the change of pace and attitude, putting a stop to it instantly. Somehow, tonight, it didn't matter.

She was his friend. Fuck it all, she was his friend. He'd tried so damn hard to keep her at arms length, fucking her in a way that wouldn't foster any kind of attachment, always teasing and pushing and drawing back whenever she asked anything too personal. But she was his friend. Hell, she was probably the best friend he'd ever had. Thank God she had the Tear, because if she died on this island and he didn't, he knew for damn sure that it would never stop hurting. And to think, not even two full weeks ago, she'd locked him in her brig.

Frankly, she hadn't even known if she wanted sex nearly so much as to just distract him from his gloom and spark some life back into him. But now that he was responding, accepting, giving her this moment and himself another chance even if briefly, she felt her want for the activity flare up monumentally.

He'd have to avoid her, after that, because things couldn't just go back to normal. How could they? He wouldn't be able to bring himself to hurt her, or maybe even her crew. Not after everything they'd been through here. So he'd have to take The Tempest further South to warmer waters and then they need not run into each other. They could try to forget.

Was there truly any chance of forgetting?

But now here they went, breaking that unspoken rule. What did they have to lose? Tomorrow they’d set out on whatever raft they managed to build, and they wouldn’t have a shelter any more or a sandbar or a fire or…

Well. Anything. So all bets were off now, he supposed.

She pulled him into the shelter after her and he settled down at once, easing her back and kissing her soundly once more. His hand swept down her side, her leg, feeling the change she had undergone since being on this island. They’d both lost so much weight…

She felt his chest and shoulders, the bones and joints so obvious now. It was cruel of fate how quickly the body ate itself without enough food. Oh, but she didn't want to think about that now. Not with the way he was kissing her, the gentleness with which he'd laid her back. She raked her fingers the wrong way through his hair, but where fingers typically gripped and pulled, her hands stayed mostly-loose now, showing her desire without any of the aggression.

Any other day, he would have pulled back if they had behaved like this, freaked out about the change of pace and attitude, putting a stop to it instantly. Somehow, tonight, it didn't matter.

She was his friend. Fuck it all, she was his friend. He'd tried so damn hard to keep her at arms length, fucking her in a way that wouldn't foster any kind of attachment, always teasing and pushing and drawing back whenever she asked anything too personal. But she was his friend. Hell, she was probably the best friend he'd ever had. Thank God she had the Tear, because if she died on this island and he didn't, he knew for damn sure that it would never stop hurting. And to think, not even two full weeks ago, she'd locked him in her brig.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t want to think about implications, or why he wanted to be softer with her then, why he suddenly didn’t want her biting him so hard that it bruised or pressing her dagger against his throat and threatening him. This was… something else. God help him, he needed to not think about it. That way lay madness.

It was new, though. She'd never cared about a partner the way she had begun to care about him. Had never spent more than a single night with one, and not even the whole night then. But she'd spent weeks with him, fucked him and been fucked by him several times. And yet that deep desire to see him live to another dawn had never entered into it.

When they reached their little shelter, she ducked down, never taking her hand off him, leading him in with her. How could something be new and familiar at the same time? How could he be new and familiar?

But now here they went, breaking that unspoken rule. What did they have to lose? Tomorrow they’d set out on whatever raft they managed to build, and they wouldn’t have a shelter any more or a sandbar or a fire or…

Well. Anything. So all bets were off now, he supposed.

She pulled him into the shelter after her and he settled down at once, easing her back and kissing her soundly once more. His hand swept down her side, her leg, feeling the change she had undergone since being on this island. They’d both lost so much weight…

God, fuck, that was why he'd been avoiding it. His stomach twisted and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. What the fuck?! She cared about him. He'd known it for days now, had known it truly since that first night where she'd held him close because he'd been so cold. And now he could see it so plainly on her face. It would hurt her if he died. It'd hurt her badly.

She began to lead him to the shelter but he only stumbled a few steps after her before stopping entirely, hand still in hers.

He stared at her, the ache in his gut fading away into nothingness, his blood pounding through his veins. This was different. They'd only fucked before to release anger or frustration. This was... something else. She'd tried so hard to keep him alive this whole time. She hadn't needed to. They hadn't been friends or even allies. And yet here he was, still alive because she'd made sure to keep him that way.

Despite how they'd started, despite their rivalry and how much he deliberately infuriated her, and how she allowed herself to become infuriated by him, she was his friend now. That storm, this brief stay on a tiny strip of land that barely kept them dry, had changed everything. They'd relied upon each other, let down their guard around each other, laughed together... And so, because of that, she couldn't help but care now. She didn't want him to die. He'd fought so hard to live up until now. His whole life had been a struggle to survive. Why did he have to give up when it was only her he was around?

Those thoughts vanished when he pulled her in and kissed her in a way he hadn't done yet. Her heart pounded in her chest, and if she were not so dehydrated, she might have found tears in her eyes. This was tender. Caring. It was everything she had gradually allowed herself to feel and feared he didn't feel in return. He was her friend, too.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t want to think about implications, or why he wanted to be softer with her then, why he suddenly didn’t want her biting him so hard that it bruised or pressing her dagger against his throat and threatening him. This was… something else. God help him, he needed to not think about it. That way lay madness.

She got up. He missed the warmth of her beside him, and shoved that thought aside the minute it arose. Stupid, stupid brain. It was the island madness.

When she held out her hand, he glanced at it without turning his head. If he met her eyes now, he'd see her caring about him. He knew he would. He'd see how much she didn't want him to die, how determined she was to keep his heart beating, and he just... he couldn't. He couldn't see that. Not now. Maybe not ever. If he saw it, how could he ever un-see it?

So he glanced at her hand and took it, letting her haul him up to his feet. His gaze settled somewhere around her shoulders. He didn't want her trying to make him feel better. That wasn't their way. They were frustration and teasing and annoyances and fucking and getting angry with each other. If she tried to make him feel better, it might just break him altogether.

God, was he tired.

It would be so easy to get angry with him, frustrated that he was giving up. He couldn't give up! Not now! How would he feel if she gave up?! Ha, probably nothing at all. Even after two weeks together, with no company but each other, she wasn't entirely sure that this attachment was entirely one-sided. She could be made about that, too.

But she didn't want to be mad. Anger was exhausting, and she wasn't by nature an angry person. So she scoffed and tossed her head, feeling the ratty braid he'd so carefully done for her multiple times as the sand and grit clinging to it scratched roughly against her back.

"Look, if you're determined to die, and I'm determined to spend eternity floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean, I want one good lay again before we resign ourselves to our respective fates. One last hurrah before we go. What do you say?"

She didn't wait for an answer before she was leading him back to Tempest Inn, feet shuffling in the sand with the unsteadiness that came from not eating enough for two weeks. The Sun's Tear kept her alive, it didn't keep her fed. If the raft was ever found, she was going to look something like a mummy, all leathery skin clinging to bones. Even if she was found, she might never recover.

God, fuck, that was why he'd been avoiding it. His stomach twisted and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. What the fuck?! She cared about him. He'd known it for days now, had known it truly since that first night where she'd held him close because he'd been so cold. And now he could see it so plainly on her face. It would hurt her if he died. It'd hurt her badly.

She began to lead him to the shelter but he only stumbled a few steps after her before stopping entirely, hand still in hers.

He stared at her, the ache in his gut fading away into nothingness, his blood pounding through his veins. This was different. They'd only fucked before to release anger or frustration. This was... something else. She'd tried so hard to keep him alive this whole time. She hadn't needed to. They hadn't been friends or even allies. And yet here he was, still alive because she'd made sure to keep him that way.

He didn't want to die. Of course he didn't. He'd spent his whole life fighting, escaping, doing everything he could, fighting tooth and nail. But he wasn't stupid. His chances of getting out of this were slim. But maybe he could stay conscious long enough to direct the wind in their favour for a while, at least.

It was true. They'd realized it at some point -- individually, together, it didn't matter -- that for some insane reason, neither of them could let the other one die. That was why they'd made the half-baked plan on using their powers with and for each other to get out of here.

Her heart clenched in her chest. He'd given up. What was she supposed to do without him? She wouldn't even be here without him! But if he let his spirit die, his body was bound to follow soon after.

Shaking her head, she got to her feet, picking up the coconut he'd set aside and holding her hand out to him. "Come on," she instructed. "I know what'll make you feel better."

She got up. He missed the warmth of her beside him, and shoved that thought aside the minute it arose. Stupid, stupid brain. It was the island madness.

When she held out her hand, he glanced at it without turning his head. If he met her eyes now, he'd see her caring about him. He knew he would. He'd see how much she didn't want him to die, how determined she was to keep his heart beating, and he just... he couldn't. He couldn't see that. Not now. Maybe not ever. If he saw it, how could he ever un-see it?

So he glanced at her hand and took it, letting her haul him up to his feet. His gaze settled somewhere around her shoulders. He didn't want her trying to make him feel better. That wasn't their way. They were frustration and teasing and annoyances and fucking and getting angry with each other. If she tried to make him feel better, it might just break him altogether.

God, was he tired.

He played with the sand, dragging his fingers through it again and again like a rake, feeling the coarse particles against his just-as-coarse skin. A breeze picked up their hair, light and playful, opposite to the mood that had settled over them. He accepted the coconut half without a word and quickly drunk the water inside, then rested it in his lap. Somehow, though he was quite literally starving, he couldn't bring himself to eat just then.

She rested her head on his shoulder. His stomach tensed. If - when - he died here, she'd be left alone. Worse, if he died while they were trying to escape, she'd be adrift on the sea with no way to control the wind or direct the raft. She couldn't die. There would be no end to her suffering. He began to turn his head to look at her, only to find that he couldn't bring himself to.

"There's as much power in the Sun's Tear as there is in the sun itself," she answered. "Of course, I can't actively use it if I'm unconscious, but it will continue healing me regardless of that.

If she fell unconscious before him, she wouldn't be able to keep him alive any longer.

He didn't want to die. Of course he didn't. He'd spent his whole life fighting, escaping, doing everything he could, fighting tooth and nail. But he wasn't stupid. His chances of getting out of this were slim. But maybe he could stay conscious long enough to direct the wind in their favour for a while, at least.

Her reminder about the buttons had him barking a laugh. "Damn right you are. My poor shirt never saw it coming." So saying, he toyed with the open sides of the shirt in question where it hung on her petite frame, gaze downcast, wetting his lips. She really did look astounding in his shirt. She'd looked incredible at dinner, too, and then again in nothing at all. His cheeks flushed.

That was how they took it.

Rai was losing track of time. The only clear measurement at this point was the way their resources were dwindling. It had been another nine days, and the rainwater had run out, the coconuts running low too. Yes, he was getting nervous. No, he refused to show it, even slightly.

He'd continued to push her buttons, more and more - they'd fucked out their frustration several more times, to the point where it was almost a habit now. It was certainly becoming a comfort, though he refused to think about what that meant. Their nights were spent pressed close together beneath her long coat, and neither of them ever spoke of it. Rai refused to allow himself to even think about it during the day. Nothing counted on this island, he told himself. Nothing counted, dammit.

His ribs were starting to show. His stomach ached constantly. His limbs felt weaker, though he tried to stay somewhat active so his muscles wouldn't atrophy. His skin was drier now, worn by the sand and the sun and the saltwater.

He sat there in the sand, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, painting the sky orange as it went. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet today. He hadn't pushed her buttons. Truth was, this was it for him. If no one had found them by now, who ever would? She would live. She had a chance to be found. He was going to die on this sandbar. Terminal dehydration. Starvation. Both, simultaneously.

So he watched the sunset, tired eyes half-heartedly scanning for any sign of a vessel out on the sea.

She finished the little sand castle village, because what else was she going to do? She improved her spear fishing, let herself be annoyed by him, and fucked him wildly to let it all out. And she watched the state of his body deteriorate.

At night, when she was certain he was asleep, she quietly healed him. She could not put the meat back on his bones, but she could keep the starvation and dehydration from killing him. And she would, until he told her to stop. Which was why she did it in secret.

Today had been quiet. For once, he didn't take every opportunity to annoy or touch her. And that was how she knew he'd resigned himself to fate.

Sitting beside him in the sand, she passed over a single half of a coconut. They were almost out. Maybe a day or two more, and there would be no more coconut water to drink. And he hadn't brought another storm. Maybe there wasn't one to bring. He didn't create the rain, after all, just control the winds.

He played with the sand, dragging his fingers through it again and again like a rake, feeling the coarse particles against his just-as-coarse skin. A breeze picked up their hair, light and playful, opposite to the mood that had settled over them. He accepted the coconut half without a word and quickly drunk the water inside, then rested it in his lap. Somehow, though he was quite literally starving, he couldn't bring himself to eat just then.

She rested her head on his shoulder. His stomach tensed. If - when - he died here, she'd be left alone. Worse, if he died while they were trying to escape, she'd be adrift on the sea with no way to control the wind or direct the raft. She couldn't die. There would be no end to her suffering. He began to turn his head to look at her, only to find that he couldn't bring himself to.

She'd made an excellent dinner last time, and she clearly enjoyed cooking for some reason he couldn't understand. He kept running his fingers up and down her legs, nails dragging across the backs of her knees, thumbs rubbing against her thighs.

Day after tomorrow? She could do that! Spend some time at his place in the morning before heading home to clean up and change, and give each other space from one another. Not that she wanted space from him, but she couldn't imagine him wanting to be glued to her hip like this for too much longer.

Her reminder about the buttons had him barking a laugh. "Damn right you are. My poor shirt never saw it coming." So saying, he toyed with the open sides of the shirt in question where it hung on her petite frame, gaze downcast, wetting his lips. She really did look astounding in his shirt. She'd looked incredible at dinner, too, and then again in nothing at all. His cheeks flushed.

But they still had a chance. They had a couple of weeks before things got so dire that they'd have to attempt some sort of makeshift raft. Between her healing abilities and his control over the wind, they had far better chances that most castaways, right?

She wanted to ask him to start thinking of potential ways to get off the island, but she didn't want him to think she was panicking. Or give him an opening to tease her. Most of the time, the teasing was fine, even a little amusing, but when she was being serious and was being teased for it, it really struck a nerve.

"Right," she murmured to herself, attempting to get her thoughts in order. "One step at a time. One meal at a time." Their two signals had to work. They just had to.

God, she was scared.

What kind of pirate was she that the thought of being marooned eternally scared her? That was one of the big risks that came with sailing the high seas.

That was how they took it.

Rai was losing track of time. The only clear measurement at this point was the way their resources were dwindling. It had been another nine days, and the rainwater had run out, the coconuts running low too. Yes, he was getting nervous. No, he refused to show it, even slightly.

He'd continued to push her buttons, more and more - they'd fucked out their frustration several more times, to the point where it was almost a habit now. It was certainly becoming a comfort, though he refused to think about what that meant. Their nights were spent pressed close together beneath her long coat, and neither of them ever spoke of it. Rai refused to allow himself to even think about it during the day. Nothing counted on this island, he told himself. Nothing counted, dammit.

His ribs were starting to show. His stomach ached constantly. His limbs felt weaker, though he tried to stay somewhat active so his muscles wouldn't atrophy. His skin was drier now, worn by the sand and the sun and the saltwater.

He sat there in the sand, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, painting the sky orange as it went. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet today. He hadn't pushed her buttons. Truth was, this was it for him. If no one had found them by now, who ever would? She would live. She had a chance to be found. He was going to die on this sandbar. Terminal dehydration. Starvation. Both, simultaneously.

So he watched the sunset, tired eyes half-heartedly scanning for any sign of a vessel out on the sea.

The door opened just moments later and Rai shifted to his feet and disembarked, then held his hand out for Rapunzel. He wondered who they might encounter today, how many people of the Ton they should meet and be able to show off their good news.

"We shall indeed." He offered her the elbow of his good arm and they set out into the park.

For a while, he was quiet, just taking in the fresh air, feeling the chill, the slight moisture in the air from the earlier rain. It was definitely getting colder by the day.

She found herself focused only upon him, and strangely self-aware that she was not putting much attention outward to the others who might be here and see them. Yes, she did want to share their news, but she also found herself simply not caring who saw or knew. She had spent so much of the year in the public eye when she had never been permitted to be a part of the Ton until then. Why should it matter, now?

Still, she arranged her hands carefully, so that her ring was quite visible as they strolled together.

He smiled down at her, adoring the attention she paid to him and the way she rested her cheek against his arm. She was so wonderfully affectionate with him, even in public, and he could not adore it more. It was quieter now than it was during the Season, but there were still a few couples and families milling around despite the colder weather.

He could think properly later. Instead, for now, he focused on teasing.

"If you want to," she smiled. "I'd definitely like to kiss you in more than my kitchen. I can't claim to have the comfiest bed in the world, but it's not bad. It came with the house." Of course, he wouldn't be able to sleep over the way she was at his place tonight. Not on short notice. He couldn't just leave Lia alone like that.

Oh, but she adored his touch. And the way he looked at her. God, she could easily get turned on again just from looking at him gaze at her with those eyes. He was so engrossing.

She'd made an excellent dinner last time, and she clearly enjoyed cooking for some reason he couldn't understand. He kept running his fingers up and down her legs, nails dragging across the backs of her knees, thumbs rubbing against her thighs.

So he returned to Rapunzel, flopping onto the sofa once again with a heavy, satisfied sigh.

When he came back, she stretched her legs out across his lap. Him asking about the next date did a lot to ease her mind about whether he felt like he'd been getting too much of her.

"Well, I picked the fancy dinner and the fucking, so it's your pick next," she smirked right back. "But you're the one with any kind of schedule right now. I've got nothing but time."

He could think properly later. Instead, for now, he focused on teasing.

"Lia says that pai forgot to give her her evening chew," he mused, then sighed. Fair enough. He'd have to get up and get that chew for her - as wrapped up as he was in Rapunzel right now, he didn't want Lia to feel neglected in any way. "And she's probably jealous I'm paying so much attention to you."

Another grin at Rapunzel, and he pushed himself to sit up, stretching his arms up over his head. "Aight. Gimme two secs."

She watched him stretch, appreciating his build, and not for the first time. Hot damn, she actually got to look at and touch him whenever she wanted to now, huh?

"One..." she began to count teasingly. "Two... Time's up, hot stuff!"

But she didn't really mind him being away. Frankly, it was thrilling that he'd been taking so much of his personal time and giving it to her. But that did make her start to wonder if she should maybe give him a break. She didn't want to, but maybe he did.

So he returned to Rapunzel, flopping onto the sofa once again with a heavy, satisfied sigh.

Up next on the Xiaolin Monks’ parents, I give you Rai’s Mãe, Tarsila Pedrosa. Having raised 7 children, gone through so much hardship and loss, she’s as strong willed as she is strong headed. Her and Rai’s ‘talk’ below.