They'd been making eyes at each other all through dinner. Fortunately, it didn't seem to have been noticed.

He'd done his best to flirt with her subtly, prove he could be useful around the place. He'd bring her firewood, clean what he could, just - try to draw her eye. He hadn't been sure it was working, alas; she seemed more interested in the machines than in him, but he had to try.

And, having failed to find out any other way, he decided, girding his metaphorical loins, that he would simply have to ask her.

Gathering his courage, Armstrong knocked.

"It's open," Pinako's husky voice called, creakily.

The door swung open, and he stared, eyes wide in his studly face. It seems she had noticed him after all, and her diminuitive form was naked on the blankets, age strong in her form, a badge of all she'd survived.

"Pinako," Armstrong gasped.

"Come to me," Pinako ordered, crankily, "my studmuffin of LOVE."

As Armstrong moved to take her in his arms, the door swung shut, hiding the rapture they took in each other's bodies from then until morning.