Author's note: A couple of years ago, I had a similar fanfic posted that I never finished. I recently revisited the Gone books, and my passion for this very garbage, unlikely pairing is still there. This is a re imagining of that. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it this time round. This takes place between Gone and Hunger.

Drake blinked, and she was there: pigtails, bowie knife, smirk and all. He didn't know if he was annoyed or excited to see her.

"Found you!"

"What a pleasant surprise." He unfurled his whip arm. She narrowed her eyes.

"Aw, didn't mean to catch you off guard, Drake-y!" She vanished, and he cracked his whip arm. "Over here, big guy." He turned to see her grinning proudly, one hand on her hip, the other casually flicking hair off her shoulder-he didn't think she would be so proud when he had her on her stomach, flesh exposed. He would teach her a lesson for her arrogance.

"You're a little far from Perdido Beach, Breeze."

"Well," she started, tapping her foot so fast it looked like she was missing it, "it was getting boring. There's nothing to do. No one to fight. I'm sure you're bored on Caine's leash." Drake flinched as if he'd been hit at the mention of Caine-and Brianna saw it, her eyes flashing. But he swallowed his pride to not give her the satisfaction.

"Part of me thinks you're not supposed to be here-that Sam'll get upset if he finds out you've been visiting Coates. That could throw off the little peace we've got going on. I don't think you want to do that… " The red spreading across her cheeks was all sorts of amusing. She stepped closer, leaned in ever-so-slightly as if to scrutinize him further. His whip arm twitched more. Get closer, he thought. I dare you.

"I'm not going to do anything…" She said with a mocking pout.

"And that's why you brought the knife? I thought we'd have some fun."

Brianna rolled her eyes, unsheathing her knife in the blink of an eye. She was in whip-arm's reach, now. "I think we've got very different ideas of fun." Drake grinned his shark's grin.

"We're Coates kids at heart, Breeze," he said, half-sarcastic, half-not, "you're thinking what I'm thinking. I want to whip you bloody, and you want to cut me up. Even-steven. Just about square." Her fists clenched. Her ears turned red. He thought that she might be the most impulsive, uncontrolled person he knew-and he knew himself pretty well. It felt only natural to push further. She wanted a reaction, but so did he. "I don't think we're too different."

It was like clockwork. The second (perhaps even the half, third, quarter, millisecond) that left his mouth, she was right there before him, glaring up, furious, the tip of her knife pressed delicately against his dirty shirt. Drake was almost nervous to breathe: she could be stupid enough to try something, and he was completely certain she was fast enough to make it happen.

"I'm nothing like you, and I never will be!" She snarled, her lip curling in contempt. "Even if I do want to cut you up and feed you to the coyotes before I kill them too. You make me sick. It's what you deserve." The knife went deep enough so that he could feel the tip through his shirt. There was determination, resolve, hate in those eyes. A thrill traveled through his spine, and the hairs on his neck stood straight.

"You think you're so righteous. How naive." Drake lashed out his whip arm, fast enough to catch her off guard, fast enough to catch her wrist. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened ever-so-slightly as if she wanted to cry out… But, to his disappointment, she didn't make a sound. "I know you won't kill me, Breeze. Not today."

She began to squirm, rolling her wrist as fast as she could to escape from his grip. It was nothing but a mere annoyance to him. "Let me go." His grin got wider, his grip got tighter.

"You've got such a dainty little wrist. If I squeezed hard enough…"

Suddenly, he felt something sharp against his cheek. Her other hand, he realized. She slapped him. "I'm sorry, did my dainty little wrist and my daintier hand do that?"

"You insolent little bitch."

Drake pulled her closer, his grip on her wrist so tight that the pain forced her to release the knife. She used her other hand to try and pry the whip off, shouting curses, but to no avail. He would laugh at her feeble attempts if he weren't so mad. Why was she so smug? Why wasn't she cowering?

He used his free hand to wrap around her throat. She did her best to look aloof, unintimidated, but there was something in those dangerous eyes of hers-a flash of fear, excitement. It might've been imagined, it might've been real. Drake felt his heart pounding as he squeezed gently. He could kill her. He could do whatever he wanted. And yet…

Against every fiber of his being, against his every desire, he let go of her. Brianna, to his surprise, didn't dash away from him. She merely caught her breath.

"Today isn't my day either, Drake-y. But we can still play."

He raised an eyebrow, and she looked up at him to smile that stupid, proud, dazzling smile of hers that he would have ruined, he could have ruined if he just let himself. You'd be bored, a voice in the back of his head went.

Not today.

"Same time tomorrow. I won't bring a knife so we can be just about-" Brianna paused and drew out a square with her fingers, just like he'd seen in some movie, "-square."

"See you, Breeze."

And just as quickly as she came, she was gone.

Drake picked up her forgotten knife and wondered what he had gotten himself into.