She'd felt only a tentative want to skin her palm across his side. To settle it -- firmly -- where abdomen met waist. It would have been an additional point of contact: another saving grace. But a soft hum of her own admitted to his good intent and fine-planning when he stripped down to bare shoulders. Peggy felt no similar drive -- out of cultivated modesty, or else a desire not to show her blooming bruises and reddening cuts. Stripping down to her skin meant inviting infection; she stayed wrapped up.

But she twisted. Ginger-like, so the pain wasn't unbearable. But Peggy leaned into his touch so she felt hard fingers against her neck. And her own fingers curled almost possessively into the flesh of his side. A fistful of security, taken not out of lust or greed but because she knew they both needed to survive.

"You only brought the one," she breathed her laughter. Poor unfortunate soul. "We make it through this and I'll promise you a whole case of the finest."