"I can help around the cabin." The offer comes out too eager. Too desperate for something to do besides sit here drowning in thoughts of him. "Earn my keep while we're stuck here."
He looks at me for a long moment. Evaluating. Then he shrugs. "Woodpile needs splitting. Generator needs maintenance. Radio's been acting up."
"I can look at the radio." The words are out before I think them through. "I have electronics training. Part of field research requires maintaining your own equipment."
Surprise flickers across his face. Brief but genuine. "You know your way around a radio?"
"I know my way around circuit boards and signal processors. Can't promise I'll fix it but I can probably diagnose the problem."
"All right." He finishes his coffee. "Radio's in the Corner. Equipment's in the cabinet below it. Don't electrocute yourself."
The dry delivery catches me off guard. Makes me smile despite the tension coiling in my belly. "I'll try to contain my enthusiasm for live wires."
His mouth twitches. Then the neutral mask slides back into place and he's moving away, putting the length of the cabin between us, retreating to whatever task will keep him occupied and not thinking about what we did.
I clear the breakfast dishes. Wash them in the deep sink while he disappears outside to check the generator. Through the window I watch him move through wind-driven snowwith the confidence of someone completely at home in hostile environments. Strong. Capable. Dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with survival skills and everything to do with the way my body responds when he's near.
Focus. Radio. Electronics. Something I can actually control.
The office is small but well-organized. Maps on the walls. Flight logs in careful stacks. The radio setup is older but quality equipment. I pull the casing and start tracing connections, looking for loose wires or corroded contacts. Methodical work that requires concentration. Safe work that doesn't involve thinking about Magnus or last night or how my body still remembers his.
Except every shift reminds me of soreness. Every breath brings back his hands in my hair. Every heartbeat pulses with memory of how it felt when he filled me.
I make myself focus on capacitors and resistors. Find the problem eventually—corroded connection in the antenna lead. Simple fix with the right tools. I clean the contacts, resolder the connection, test the signal strength. Better. Not perfect but functional.
Magnus comes in while I'm closing up the casing. Snow dusts his shoulders. Cold clings to him in a way that makes me want to step closer, share heat, close the gap he's been carefully maintaining all morning.
"Generator's good for another week." He sheds his coat. Stamps snow from his boots. Looks at the radio. "How's the signal?"
"Better. Corroded connection in the antenna feed." I gesture to the equipment. "Should hold but the whole system could use upgrading. This setup is ancient."
"It works." He crosses to check my repairs. Stands close enough that I can smell snow and diesel and something underneath that's purely him. "That's what matters."
Our shoulders brush. Electricity shoots through me where we touch. Immediate and consuming, like my body recognizes his on some level that bypasses conscious thought. He jerks back like I burned him. Puts the length of the desk between us with deliberate precision.
"Storm's getting worse." His voice is too controlled. Too careful. "We should check supplies. Make sure we've got what we need if we're stuck here longer than expected."
"Right." I step back too. Neither of us wants this separation but we both need it. "Makes sense."
We inventory supplies with tense efficiency. Canned goods. Freeze-dried meals. Water purification tablets. Ammunition for weapons I hope we never have to use. Practical preparations from a man who lives like disaster is always one miscalculation away.
Working beside him is torture. Every accidental touch makes my skin burn. Every time he reaches past me I remember how those hands felt on my hips. Every time he speaks I hear the command in his voice when he told me not to come until he said.
The morning bleeds into afternoon. We work mostly in silence, the storm a constant roar outside that somehow makes the quiet between us louder. I organize medical supplies while he checks ammunition counts. Mundane tasks that should be boring but feel charged because we're conscious of each other. Every movement. Every breath.
When we finally break for lunch, the cabin feels smaller. The air thicker. Like the storm outside is compressing everything inside into tighter quarters.
I make sandwiches. He doesn't eat much. Neither do I. We're both wound too tight, tension building with nowhere to go.
"I'm going to check the perimeter." His voice is rough. Strained. Like maybe he's fighting the same battle I am. "Make sure drifts aren't blocking the emergency exits."
He leaves before I can respond. Escapes into the storm like fresh air might clear whatever's building between us. Maybe it will. Maybe cold and wind will freeze out this heat making it hard to think about anything except how much I want him to take me against the wall again.
I try to read but the words don't stick. Everything circles back to Magnus moving through the storm outside. Magnus who claimed me last night and is working so hard to act like it never happened today.
Except he's not acting like it never happened. He's fighting it. Same as me. Creating space because proximity is dangerous when attraction burns this hot.
When he finally comes back, snow-covered and wind-burned, something has shifted in his expression. More raw. Less controlled. Like the storm outside found something inside him that he can't quite contain anymore.
