From what I've read, the first thing to do is disclaim that I own no one and nothing, which is true. Characters are Vinnie Mac's, people are their own. Anything else is delusional.

This is my very first fan fic; I hope you enjoy. I have thick skin, so let me know what you think either way...

Since the divorce, he had mostly been alone. Sure, some nights on the road, he gave in to the unsubtle charms of a ring rat, but for the most part, after shows, he had simply retreated to the isolation of his hotel room. At home however, he dealt with a different beast. Even with his wife…his ex-wife, long gone with all her stuff, the house still smelled of her; his bed sheets stubbornly refused to give up her scent. Her favorite perfume still lingered in the closets. He could see her, feel her presence. He could still hear her footfall in the stairs and the way the kitchen came to life when they entertained. Now it was all too quiet. She was gone for good.

He shuffled to the garage; some air would do him good. He'd always been a brooder, but the crisp Texas breeze always helped settle his mind and his heart. He backed his massive bike out, revved it up, and took off down a lonely back road.

The wind had picked up; he hadn't noticed at first, but the low grumbling of the sky over the horizon had finally caught his attention. He'd been riding for a while, at good speed; he frowned, knowing he wouldn't outrun the storm. Besides, not even Mother Nature could drive him home just yet. He came upon a highway overpass just as the sky ripped apart, and the first sheet of rain touched down hard. He pulled up his bike and walked up the embankment, to sit in the shadows and wait out the downpour. As far as shelters went, this was good; he liked the shadows, he always had.

Never mind Fridays, thank god it was Saturday. Saturday was her perfect day, the only day that not only was her own, but even offered the promise of a tomorrow without work. She hated her job; she wondered how she had ever gotten caught up in the rat race, and whether it would eventually swallow her soul. But bills needed to be paid, and so she struggled through her weeks, only to escape, as far and as fast as she could, on the weekends.

She straddled Betty, the old beater bike she had fixed up with her dad. Gosh, that felt so, so long ago. The name had come from Pink Lady Rizzo in Grease; the otherwise plain black paint job featured her very own shaky pinstriping work, in cotton candy pink. Betty wasn't perfect, nor was her owner; but they were faithful companions, and the road was theirs.

Today, she didn't want to think about anything: her mind sometimes drifted off to her cubicle, or her last boyfriend, both of whom stifled her silly. She shook her head, and let the wind clear her mind. She'd already been gone for a few hours, and was out in the middle of nowhere by now; turning around just yet, however, felt like an admission of defeat. She pushed on, oblivious to the approaching storm.

By the time she noticed it, it was right on top of her and beginning to growl loudly. Great, she thought. Betty, hope you feel like a shower, 'cause we're gonna get wet. As she finished her thought, the first drops hit her forehead. She sped on, looking for any shelter she could find. She really was out in the middle of nowhere, that kind of postcard stereotype of Texas' wide open spaces and great big sky. As the rain came down, so did her mood; she liked the rain, but not on outings with Betty. Then, low on the horizon, she spotted the highway overpass. Thank you, she whispered, and bore down.

She slowed and saw there was another bike; she approached warily and looked up in the shadows up the embankment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She made out a hulking figure, sitting quietly. She sighed inwardly; she didn't really feel like company, but in case they were there for a while, she'd better make friends.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Mind if I join you?"

He shifted a bit and grunted, like he'd just noticed her. Yet even as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could feel his eyes on her. Of course, she must be quite a sight; she was soaking wet, her clothes clung to her petite frame and her red hair fell limply down her back. She met his gaze; his green eyes drifted away from her, back into space. She made her way up the embankment, to get away from the wind that was now howling. She sat a ways from the man, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own world. A new sound intruded on his thoughts; the girl's teeth were chattering. He glanced at her again: she was so tiny, and pretty, regardless of her current drenched state. He sighed; this day was certainly not turning out the way it was supposed to. He stood, and took off his shirt; his t-shirt revealed massive, sleeved arms. Crouched over, he walked over to where she sat and draped his shirt over her slender shoulders. She startled, and looked up into his eyes; in that instant, he flashed back to hunting season, when does would catch sight of him in the woods. That same look.

"It's alright, darlin', I'm not a bad guy; I just play one on TV.

- Uh-huh…suuure. Thank you", she replied. Who is this guy?

Nonetheless, she was happy to accept his offer; she could barely feel her hands, and she was covered in goose bumps. She seemed to disappear beneath his ample shirt; she pulled it tight around her, her small hands completely hidden inside its sleeves. She rocked back and forth, and pulled the shirt over her cheeks and nose, breathing down. She inhaled slowly, catching herself enjoying the smell of his cologne.

He sat by her side and put his massive arm around her, pulling her close. He had caught her by surprise, and she shrank from his touch; ring rats aside, he'd met few women who didn't find him intimidating, to the say the least. He sighed, and began to pull back. But the warmth he radiated was too welcome to pass up. She reached up and wrapped her hand as far around his as she could reach, drawing his arm around her. She sighed and settled into his massive chest. Part of her wondered what the hell she was doing, but her rebellious streak always told her to go with the flow, especially on weekends. You never know where the road may take you, and sometimes it's best to just sit back and enjoy the ride. Besides, this big burly man didn't scare her, for some reason: between his gentlemanly offer, the smell of his cologne, the surprising gentleness of his touch, and the southern drawl that still made this mid-westerner swoon, she thought this was one occasion where over-thinking the situation would prevent her from fully enjoying it. Saturdays were meant to be enjoyed, dammit, even under an overpass in the pouring rain.

As she leaned in, he set his chin on top of her head and sighed, a low growl. They sat in silence some more, each lost in their own world. For the time being, each concluded this overpass was a great place to spend the day, after all; it was so much simpler. No work, no exes, no soul-searching: just him, her, and the rain. He didn't notice when she started tracing the outline of his tattoos with a slender finger. He didn't mind, but he hid the small shiver she sent down his back. He hadn't felt that in a long time. They sat quietly, for what felt like eternity: right here, right now, they found shelter from the world, with each other, in each other.

A realization crept up on him: it was quiet. The wind had fallen and the rain was finally letting up. She looked around and pulled away half-heartedly, straightening up. They exchanged glances, suddenly self-conscious. The moment was over. They stood and began to make their way down to their bikes; he led the way, and she caught himself reaching out for him. He turned, catching her in mid-gesture, and took her tiny hand, still wrapped in the end of his shirt sleeve. He took a step back up; with the sharp incline of the embankment, she still stood a few inches above him, a soaking wet biker Juliet on her balcony to his grizzled old self, who had nothing of a Romeo. She led his hand to her waist and freed both her hands; she cupped his face and bent down, brushing her lips to his. He pulled her gently to him, deepening the kiss; she melted into him, lingering on his lips for a moment longer. They pulled back, gazing into each other's eyes. Taking her hand, he led her down to her bike.

"Betty?" he asked, fingering the lettering on the side of the gas tank and glancing back at the redhead.

- No, that's her. I'm Christy.

- Mark." He hesitated. "I'd…like to see you again.

- Yeah…"

He fished out a business card and handed it to her. She put it in her back pocket, straddled Betty and revved her up. As she pulled a U-turn, he strode to his bike. They took off in opposite directions, back to their oh-so-different, but equally brutal, worlds.

- FIN -