They make the hike in a comfortable silence, the conversation taking place between his slightly labored breathing (he's got to make time to get to the gym more often) and her occasional soft giggle (she feels him watching her backside as they negotiate the rocky terrain, and she knows the skirt she's wearing adds a bit more flourish to her gait). When he stops to take a few deep breaths she pauses from her spot a few paces ahead of him, and can't help but throw him a playful glare (come on Old Man, we're wasting daylight), that he reciprocates with a bit of mock indignation (I'm coming, I'm coming, just relax- you told me we were going for a little walk, not a hike up a frakking mountain).

At last she reaches the crest, and stops to gaze out over the view. With a final effort he comes to rest next to her, and takes in the magnificent vista she has brought them to. The spot is exactly as advertised- cradled in the valley between two low mountain ranges the lake shimmers in the afternoon sun, perfectly reflecting the surrounding scenery on its surface. (Like glass indeed.) He looks over to her, and is momentarily stunned by the look of sheer contentment on her face, her expression as unguarded and peaceful as he has ever seen it. After a moment she turns her head to meet his gaze, and gives him a satisfied smile. (Told you.)

She clears her throat, and nods her head to the right; she slips her hand in his, and it is the first time they've touched each other since waking up this morning fully clothed but spooned together on the sandbags behind the school tent; a shiver runs though his spine at the contact. She looks back to throw him a little smile, and he knows she's felt it too. She leads him to the shade of a tall, broad tree, and kneels down next to the basket she has brought along with them, unfolding a blanket on the ground before setting out their lunch. She settles herself down with her back against the tree, and after pouring them both a glass of New Caprica's finest from the bottle she squirreled away from the party, he sits down next to her. The clink their glasses together before each taking a sip, eyes meeting in a loaded gaze before she looks back out at the lake again.

"When I was a little girl, my father used to take my sisters and I camping at Lake Delphi every summer. I loved it there- and I always told myself that one day I'd have a house there, so I could go back whenever I wanted." Her voice is soft and it carries a wistful tone he's only heard a few times, on those rare occasions she's spoken about the family she lost. (He knows too well the forever ache a loss like that brings; it never really diminishes with time, only becomes more familiar, until it's hard to remember a time when it wasn't there at all.)

"So this is the spot then? For your cabin?"

Her response is a wordless hum, that lyrical tone that only she makes, the one that always makes him ache to touch her, to press his lips to hers. He gives into the urge, and it is only the feel of her willingly meeting his yearning with her own that surpasses the joy of finally being able to act on his desire.

(It is.)