They made love that night in the shower, the hot water pouring over their entwined bodies. After the chaotic events of the past 48 hours, Sierra reveled in the tension relief from the steam and the feel of Joe's body.

When she woke the next morning the sun was high in the sky, streaming brightly through the window. Joe came into the room carrying a tray of grilled cheese sandwiches and juice.

"Good morning," he said to her brightly. "I was planning on making you breakfast, but since you slept straight though that it's going to be lunch instead."

Sierra looked at the clock. She had slept for thirteen hours, and felt like she could sleep for at least thirteen more. As she had predicted, her body ached everywhere. She stretched languorously and gratefully accepted a grilled cheese, groaning as she sat up.

"Are you alright?" Joe asked her, concerned.

"I'm just sore," she told him.

"Oh." he responded.

A troubled expression crossed his face.

"Did I hurt you?"

Sierra laughed.

"Sore from running for my life. And getting scratched and bruised up. And lost sleep. And having a desk collapse underneath me. Not from you big boy. Unless I'm counting the desk as your fault."

Joe laughed with relief.

"I think the desk was your fault," he said. "You should have bought a stronger desk."

"You can blame the budget minions for the rickety desk."

Joe insisted on getting her some grapes from the garden, hoping the potassium would help her aching muscles. He went out and picked them himself. They may well have been the sweetest grapes Sierra had ever tasted.

Joe's cabin in Sleuth was a far cry from the Governor's mansion. It was a tiny, studio home with a couple chairs, some books, a small eat in kitchen, and a soft queen sized bed topped with a handmade quilt. There was a potbelly stove in the kitchen that kept the place cozy warm. The attached bath had an old fashioned claw footed tub and shower that really wasn't sufficiently sized for two, though they had managed it somehow last night anyway.

Sierra jokingly asked him why there wasn't an "Alpha's Mansion." Joe told her, quite sensibly, that he lived there alone, and only part of the time. It was simply a waste of town resources for him to take up any more space.

After lunch Sierra stepped out into the brisk November air and did yoga on the porch, trying to work to rest of the kinks out of her body. Joe watched her hungrily from the window, before finally scooping her up and carrying her back inside to the bed.

They stayed in bed for hours. Joe broke out those photographs he had promised to show her. Sierra stared at them in fascination as Joe told her stories about the last hundred years of his life. Her favorite was a snapshot of Joe circa 1944, posed with some army buddies working their way through a few pitchers of beer at a French burlesque show.

They finally emerged from bed in the evening to have dinner with the other towns' people. Someone had voiced that Eric being banished, and the factions in Sleuth reuniting, was cause enough for celebration. After dozens of other people had taken up the call, an impromptu party was thrown together. Kitchen tables were hauled outside so everyone had somewhere to sit and eat. They roasted venison on a massive grill.

Almost immediately upon stepping out the door someone thrust a jar of moonshine into Sierra's hand. It was more smooth than it had any right to be. Better than any liquor she could afford to buy in a store. It was cut with peach schnapps and had a whole peach sunk in the bottom of the jar. Sierra felt it going to her head after just a few sips.

Men jostled to invite them to sit at their table.

Joe smiled at their effort and whispered in her ear, "They're campaigning."

"For what?"

"To replace Eric as my second-in-command."

Chairs were pulled out for them, compliments were lavished on Sierra, and their drinks were never empty.

They sat with a tall, striking man named Brian and his wife and son. Brain was a bit younger than Joe, but still old enough to remember drinking an entire bottle of Jameson as he watched the stock market crash. His son was a bright and talkative nine-year-old who wanted Sierra to tell him what it was like being a real reporter. Joe later confided in Sierra that he wanted to pick someone with children this time, in the hopes that it would make them more vested in the town's wellbeing. And having someone with some financial savvy couldn't hurt either.

They ate venison tacos with grilled corn and tomatoes, washed down with more peach shine. Zeke stopped by their table to tell her proudly that he had killed this deer himself, and it took her a moment to realize he didn't mean with a hunting rifle.

After dinner, Sierra got a chance to watch the fights ring side this time. Joe declined several invitations to participate himself, preferring, this time, to watch. There were no shortage of men lining up for Joe to watch them fight.

"Is this campaigning too?" Sierra asked him as they watched one bear fling another to the other side of the pit.

"Most assuredly, yes," Joe told her as he observed them with keen eyes.

Sierra found herself quite pleasantly drunk by the time they headed back to Joe's cabin. She stumbled through the door and into bed, nibbling on the last of the moonshine soaked peach. She nuzzled Joe's chest as he climbed into bed with her. She found herself wishing it could be like this forever as she drifted off to sleep.