Waterfall part 1/4

She dares me to pour myself out like a living waterfall. She dares me to enter the soul that is more than my own; she extinguishes fear in mere seconds. She lets light come through.
Virginia Woolf

Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and foams all the way to the sea.

Mikhail Lermontov

Heiligenstadt in Oberfranken - Summer, 2868

They'd flown in the night before, arriving at the spaceport in Bayreuth and taking the overland train to Bamberg. A flyer from the castle met them at the station, but sleepy and jet-lagged from the journey from Mars, she'd been bundled into her seat and dozed through the journey. Likewise arriving at the castle was a blur of movement by silent, efficient servants bustling around moving luggage, and her father's arm on hers guiding her up a staircase that seemed to go on forever, until she tumbled into bed at last, helped by a quiet, but friendly young girl about her own age.

The same maid was there in the morning at an ungodly hour, tugging curtains aside to let in a too-bright sun. When she sat up blinking away tears in the unfamiliar yellow light, the girl - Annelise - quickly apologised.

'Sorry miss - I forgot.' She drew the curtains again, to her relief. 'We don't tend to get many visitors from Mars. Is it really red?'

The chatter washed over her and she answered it almost automatically. Yes, the sands were red, where the terraforming hadn't extended, outside the domes and the Capitol. Yes, the sun was dimmer, the atmosphere still thin. No, this wasn't her first visit to Earth. Yes, the gravity was painful, but she'd travelled all over the galaxy with her father so she was used to having to get acclimatised to different gravity wells.

'Sorry your first visit's for a funeral, miss.' Annelise brushed out her long golden hair with firm but gentle strokes. 'The Graf's death was a big shock to everyone, especially the young Master. You're a cousin, aren't you?'

'Father and the Count grew up together,' she murmured politely. 'They were cousins - the previous Graf took father in when his parents died. And I've been here before - we used to visit, when I was little - not so much recently.' Three years, if she had Mars and Earth years aligned correctly.

'Ah. Well, there's not many of the family left now, on any branch. The young master's head of the family now. He'll be wanting to meet you.' In the mirror the red-haired girl dimpled at her over her shoulder as she arranged her curls neatly over one shoulder with a ribbon so they cascaded over the black silk of her dress. 'He's a quiet one, but kind. Came rushing back from his posting and only arrived back just before you got here.' In the mirror her reflected face bore a dreamy smile.

'Handsome, is he, these days?' she asked, smiling at a memory. She remembered a gawky, lanky boy with hair perpetually falling into his eyes. Quiet and laconic to the point of rudeness at times, but he'd sometimes hovered around, though with a tendency to vanish like a ghost if she'd tried to make conversation.

'Oh miss… wait till you see him! Always was a pretty lad as a boy - long curls, and the loveliest eyes… and his smile - it would light up a room. A quiet lad though - especially after his mother died, God bless her.'

She let the chatter wash over her with an inward snort at the perfection of young manhood being described. No man was that perfect…

She didn't even have a chance to evaluate this paragon of manhood first hand over breakfast, however, since her father informed her he'd risen early and gone out for a ride in the woods outside the castle. 'The seneschal tells me he wanted to work a few kinks out after the journey from Proxima. Came back on a fast courier with a friend - the pair of them were up and out before I got up.' He kissed the top of her head and held her chair out for her. 'Did you sleep well, Maya, m'dear? I know it was a tiring journey.'

She smiled and replied, the easy to and fro of the morning conversation second nature and not requiring a great deal of thought..

The pleasantries exchanged, fast broken, she took the opportunity to explore, changing into something a little more sensible. Black leggings and a black silk shirt, in deference to the mourning crepe strung up around the open rooms.

There were few of the latter, she quickly realised. The castle was old, and most of it was uninhabited. She remembered it a little less lonely, and a lot warmer. Even in the height of summer, it was cold inside.

The servants outnumbered the guests so far, since only her father and herself - and the new Graf and his friend - were the only ones in residence. And even they numbered only six - the maid, Annelise - hired in from the town for her assistance, she learned; a cook, the senescal, one cleaner, a groom and the Graf's valet, who was staying on only until the funeral, since with the new Graf serving in the Gaia Fleet, he wouldn't be needed.

'Even those will be leaving,' Annelise told her. The girl was at her disposal, so she quickly attached herself to the local and encouraged her friendship. 'It's such a shame, but with him being a serving officer and all, and there's no money really to keep the place going whilst he's away - even with opening some of the place up to tourists wanting to visit Old Earth.' She hesitated, stopping beside an old portrait of a man with his left eye covered by an eyepatch, wearing an ancient uniform with a cross-shaped device on a ribbon at the throat. 'Honestly, this place is old, and drafty, and there's no-one who really wants to live here - most of us prefer to live in the town when we're not needed. Even the title's more of a formality - and the last Graf preferred the Old Name for the Master of Schloss Greifenstein.'

When enlightenment didn't follow, she had to prompt for an answer.

'Oh! I thought most of the family knew?'

'They've had several,' she replied dryly. 'From what father tells me I'm amazed anyone can still keep them straight. But then - he also says the family has a tendency to need to re-invent itself every few generations, when they make things a little too hot for themselves.'

Annelise giggled. 'Funny you should mention that - we're standing next to one of the worst offenders - this one - from an old side-branch - tried to assassinate an evil ruler, over a thousand years ago, or so they say. Legend says the ruler was only saved because someone moved the bag containing the bomb behind a table-leg.'

She regarded the portrait more critically, wondering if the artist had captured any of that rebellious spirit in his subject. There was an air of quiet determination in the handsome face. Dark hair was cut short and swept back from a fine part profile. The nose was straight and long, the lips full, and there was a slight cleft in the firm chin.

'The name?' she prompted.

'Oh. Harlock. He found it in one of the old family histories.' She giggled. 'Actually, he confessed he thought it much less of a mouthful than Graf Schenk von…'

'Annelise!' The cook's bellow echoed around the gallery, interrupting the girl.

'Yes mother?' she called down.

'We've got twenty more arriving for the funeral tomorrow - get your lazy hide down here and start helping clear the rooms in the west wing!'

'Yes mother,' she replied with a less than enthusiastic tone. She winked at Maya, however. 'Sorry miss - duty calls. But maybe you'd like to take a ride out yourself? If you go over the bridge, take the road down the hill, and there's a gate to your right into the woods - go through there and there's a bridle path leads round through the woods, alongside the bach to the falls.' She grinned wickedly. 'You might enjoy the view,' she ended enigmatically, with a wink, as she scurried for the stairs.

Left to her own devices, Maya wandered the length of the gallery, looking for something very particular, prompted by Annelise's talk of an old, old family name. A plaque near the stairs proclaimed the picture gallery to be an addition to the castle when it had been re-built in 2205 by the Graf of the time. Not far from this her attention was caught by a painting that reached almost from floor to ceiling - encased, like the rest, in a protective environment behind a glass case, although this one appeared to have been painted on wood, not canvas. She remembered it well, since it had once hung in one of the guest rooms - the one that had been hers on their irregular visits.

It wasn't the size that had always held her attention, so much as the subject. Pictured life-size, kneeling on a flagstoned floor, was a knight in an ornate - and she assumed late mediaeval or renaissance - armour. A look at the legend below the case proclaimed it to be "Harlock I" painted in 1480 by "Leonardo" - whoever that was. A small engraved silver lozenge on the frame read: "Commissioned by Christine…". The rest was illegible. The portrait was exquisite, but then, the artist had had plenty to work with, she judged, looking at the picture of a man dead for fifteen hundred years or so.

Long dark hair brushed the top of the collar of his armour, which on a close examination bore the dents and chips of hard use - more so the skull-hilted sword he leaned on, held vertically in one hand as he knelt on one knee. The other hand clasped his opposite upper arm, as though protecting a wound.

The sword hardly had an edge left, it was so battered by battle - a suggestion given more weight by the tattered brown cloak pinned to the pauldrons, that swept down to the man's feet. He was young - painfully so, she thought - and handsome, with delicate features at odds with the trappings of war he wore. And the artist had caught something in the face that tugged at her heart as she regarded the painted eyes - a haunted, sorrowful expression of someone who had known great pain and loss. For all that, however, the pose was not one of defeat - although he leaned on the sword, the impression was of a man who would not yield - there was a stubborn set to the jaw and a sense that the resting pose was just a temporary respite before battle resumed. Behind him flew a banner, tattered and torn itself, bearing a skull and crossbones.

She'd reached out to touch that lost face before she realised, and her hand rested on the cool surface of the protective glass for a moment, before she pulled it away, embarrassed lest someone had seen the gesture.

She'd been more than a little in love with the knight as a child, wondering what it would take to make him smile.

There was more of a legend beneath the portrait, and she stooped to read it. But it held little information about the man - or youth, rather, since he looked about her own age - in the picture, save that the picture had been found in storage in a cellar dating back to the old Gothic castle that had once stood on the site since 1172, which had been sacked and looted in the Peasants' War of 1524 when the Seventeenth Century reconstruction had itself been rebuilt in the twenty-third century.

'Poor man - if you made a home here, it didn't last long, did it?' she whispered. 'I still wonder what your story was...'

Brushing what felt like a thousand years of dust off her black trousers, Maya sneezed - far too energetically to be ladylike, she bemoaned inwardly, glad there was no-one around to hear - and decided to head for the stables. If they had a decent off-road bike, she might even take the girl up on her suggestion.

'Bikes? Motorbikes? Oh no miss - nothing like that here.' The groom laughed through his nose, a harsh braying snort which had her gritting her teeth. 'Whatever gave you that idea? No - we've got horses, miss.'

His expansive arm gesture took in a block of narrow half-doors, most with a large head poking over the bottom half, staring placidly at her.

'Horses,' she repeated flatly, staring at the offending articles. She hadn't ridden one since her family had left Earth for Mars when she'd been ten.

'Yes miss. The Graf - and his son - are - were - enthusiastic riders - liked to do things the old-fashioned way, if you know what I mean. The Graf taught his son to ride, fence, shoot, fish… hours they used to spend together, before… well, you know…' his hand gestures were a little less emphatic this time, vaguely gesturing skywards. 'The War.'

'Hardly a war, yet,' she corrected automatically, her father's daughter to the core. Years following him around diplomatic functions had rubbed off. 'A few outer worlds rebelling and the occasional terrorist attack isn't a war - that gives these people far too much legitimacy.'

'If it ain't a war yet, then begging your pardon miss, it soon will be. They say all they want to do is come home, but there's no room on Earth for everyone, now is there?

'I'm sure it will all blow over,' she assured him. 'My father's part of the delegation trying to find a peaceful solution to the problem. We're travelling out to one of the bigger colonies after the funeral for a conference - he has high hopes for a resolution.'

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded politely. 'As you say, miss. Ain't my place to comment.'

She opened her mouth to protest at this, wondering what kind of feudal hell-hole she'd wandered into, when he snapped his fingers. 'Now - I do remember something after all, young lady - there is a bike - an old dirt bike the young master used to ride as a boy - hasn't seen daylight in nigh on five years, but I think I can uncover it for you.'

She smiled her thanks, and dutifully followed as he led the way to a cobwebbed outbuilding next to the barn, where, languishing under a straw-covered tarp was a sleek black and red trail bike in pristine condition, complete with helmet. A little help getting it juiced up and the tyres pumped back up, and to her delight, it started first time. Waving her thanks again, she set off to explore.

She loved the sensation - the freedom the bike gave her. She'd grown up with three much older brothers who'd taught her to ride, and only with her mother's early death two years ago had she needed to put aside her own pursuits and become the hostess her father needed. Demure, ladylike, serene.

There were times when it made her want to scream with frustration.

But not today. With the too-bright sun shaded behind a tinted visor, she allowed the bike to idle along the path she'd found - broad, well maintained and surprisingly clear of pot-holes - and kept stopping to admire the views when the path meandered near to the edge of the woods, allowing her views clear across the fields to the town.

But soon the path headed into the heart of the woodlands, and upwards. A gushing mountain stream wandered close to the path, tumbling down over the rocks to join a river below. When the path finally ended at a small wooden bridge with no side rails, she stopped the bike, letting the engine note fade from its electrical purr into silence, and tugging off the helmet. As she took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, she heard voices.

Curious, she dismounted and left the bike on the side stand, hanging the helmet on a handlebar by the chin strap. From the continuous low roar she could hear, a small waterfall lay ahead. And judging from the splashing sounds, presumably a pool of some sort at its foot, since a masculine squeal about the cold water reached her ears. Cautiously, she walked over the bridge and through a gap in the hedgerow beyond.

She almost walked straight out into the open, stopping herself at the last minute when she saw the two horses grazing in the small open meadow. A massive dark bay gelding with a white patch over one blue eye glared balefully at her, before lowering its head again to eat. A chestnut mare a good three hands shorter kept it company. Both wore headcollars with long leadropes tied around a nearby branch, allowing them to graze. Their saddles rested up against the tree trunk, the bridles hanging from the cantles. A pile of clothing lay untidily nearby, a pair of spectacles on top, another neater pile next to it - the dark green of Engineering, and the navy blue of the main Fleet command.

Their owners were about twenty feet away, laughing and cavorting in the plunge pool of a twenty-foot waterfall which cascaded over the small cliff that dominated the end of the clearing.

'It's fucking freezing, Harlock! You said there was a warm spot!' The speaker was a young man with a wide, plain face - short and stocky, and a little pasty-skinned as though he didn't spend much time outdoors. He peered short-sightedly at his comrade and pulled a face.

'I lied. You'd never have jumped in otherwise,' drawled his companion.

'Bastard! I should jump out, grab your gear and leave you in there until your dick drops off or shrivels up completely in the cold!' But he was laughing as he spoke, and she judged the threat to be an idle one.

But her attention was now on the other young man - and as he rose out of the water underneath the waterfall, she felt her mouth go dry.

He was tall, that much was clear - there was a raw-boned look to his frame that suggested he couldn't have been less than six four, maybe taller. Long limbed, broad shouldered, but still with the slender lack of definition of youth. He looked a year or two older than her own eighteen - twenty-two at most. Up to his waist in the water, he pushed unfashionably long dark hair out of his eyes and laughed at his spluttering companion. From here, she couldn't make out their colour, but they were dark, and even partly hidden by spray, there was a fire in them she couldn't miss. His chest was mostly hairless and well defined, but her eyes were drawn to the dark hair under his arms when he raised them to push his errant hair out of the way again. There was something salacious about such an innocent gesture, and such a prosaic location.

He moved, stretching up and then walked out from under the waterfall.

She forgot to breathe.

Saints preserve us… he's totally naked…

She should look away, she told herself sternly. Really, she should. And it wasn't as though (three brothers) that she didn't know what men's bodies looked like, and her brothers always drew eyes wherever they went… but.

Breathe. Dear God, girl… breathe.

He moved through the water with a grace she'd never seen. The pressure from the falls had to be hard to move through, and the current she could see swirling around the tops of those long, lean, well muscled thighs was obviously strong, but he strode through it as though it didn't have the audacity to dare to hold onto that tall form.

And yes, the water was cold… she he turned away back to say something to the shorter youth who was moving away out of sight, and she could feast her eyes on the rear of the object of her gaze. Again drawn to the sweep of those shoulders, the breadth of his torso tapering to a narrow waist, and the curve of the tightest ass she'd ever set eyes on.

She shifted slightly, suddenly all too aware of the shifting sensation of fabric on skin that was far too sensitive, and an ache in the lowest part of her stomach that she'd only ever felt late at night, when letting her fingers…

There was a sharp crack under her foot, and he whirled round so quickly to stare directly at her hiding place that she was sure he could see her standing there, hardly daring to let out the sharp intake of breath she'd taken. But he couldn't, could he? She was screened by a bush…

'You know, instead of hiding in there, maybe you should come and join us,' drawled a voice that ran from her ears down through the deepest, most secretive parts of her body, and down to her feet, making her toes curl. 'For one thing, you'd get a better look…'

She had to let her breath out and it did so in an explosive squeak. That voice was behind her, and it actually came from the young man who stood peering at her through thick glasses, a towel wrapped around his waist. She had to dip her head to look him in the eye, as he stood a few inches shorter than her own five-ten. His brown eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as he looked her up and down appraisingly, then gave her an appreciative grin that lit up his homely face. He winked at her and she found herself returning the smile, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

'What did you find, Tochiro?' The godlike form in the water called out, in a voice she found only slightly less seductive than his friend's - and that, she suspected, only because she'd heard the other first.

'We have a voyeur!' the shorter man - Tochiro? called back. 'A very pretty one though!' He gave her a little push, and she stumbled into the meadow, arms flailing to keep her balance. 'Oops - sorry 'bout that, I… oops!'

The second oops, she quickly realised, was him dropping the towel. Blushing furiously, he picked the offending article up as fast as he could, wrapping it back round a surprisingly firm stomach and tucking it back into place.

And either he'd found the warmer water, or some girls were in for a fine time if they overlooked the otherwise unprepossessing facade… though that voice alone was enough to give a girl ideas - it was the audio equivalent of being licked from head to toe whilst being covered in warm honey…

'Tochiro! Stop showing off.' The tall youth strode out of the water utterly unconcerned that he made an even more impressive display than his friend. He didn't even bother reaching for the towel hanging from a nearby branch, and stood dripping water from every surface. And try as she might she couldn't take her eyes off the droplets that rolled down the skin of his - Saints! That water had been cold… and dripped from the head down to the ground.

As if aware of her scrutiny, the item in question twitched slightly. 'See anything in your size?' he drawled lazily.

Blushing furiously, she lifted her gaze to meet two very brown eyes, which stared at her in undisguised amusement, and not a little interest. But she'd held her own in diplomatic circles in five systems in the past two years. She schooled her features into the studied disinterest she used when crossing a hostile ballroom, and gave him her best bored smile. 'Actually, I did - but he's standing behind me.'

She had to fight not to laugh at the way his jaw dropped slightly, and his lips - wide, full, and sinful - opened and closed a few times as if he were struggling to find something witty in reply. With a practiced sway of her hips, she turned on her heel and walked past the equally astonished Tochiro, who gave her a rueful smile, seemingly well aware of her ruse.

Despite the temptation, she didn't look back over her shoulder until she reached the bike.

Tochiro couldn't resist laughing at his friend's obvious frustration as the girl in black sauntered out of the glade, wiggling an arse to die for. 'Was that her?'

'Her?'

The confusion was laugh out loud funny, but doing so earned him a furious glare.

'Try engaging your other brain, Harlock - that's the girl you never stop talking about, right? That distant cousin you've been head over heels in love with since you were ten?'

'Eleven,' Harlock corrected absently, still staring at the gap in the hedge where she'd disappeared as though she'd left a trail of afterimages in her wake. 'Although I was seven when we first met.'

Watching his friend standing in the middle of a woodland glade stark bollock naked, dripping from head to foot and sporting goosebumps in the chilly late afternoon air, Tochiro convulsed again, hooting with laughter.

'What's so damn funny?'

The question was forced through gritted teeth. Tochiro sauntered over to his clothes and started to dress.

'You. Never thought I'd see the day. I mean - you don't usually have any problems picking up birds - they practically fall over themselves to impale themselves on that pathetic excuse for a cock… but you're standing there with your jaw on the floor and let that one just walk right over you. Pitiful, my friend. Pitiful.'

Harlock ignored him and strode over to pick his pants up, proceeding to put them on, with his back telling his friend exactly where he could stick his observations.

Tochiro got another fit of the giggles, watching those shoulders bunch and tighten as his lanky companion tried to keep his temper under control. 'Awww… c'mon. Cheer up - you've got a long ride back to the castle to work out what to say to the chit. How hard can it be? Just flash that knicker-elastic snapping smile at her and flex a few muscles - the way she was eying you up like a lollipop, your total lack of conversational skills won't be an issue.' He paused in the act of tugging a light sweater over his head. 'You know she was just yanking your chain about me, right? I mean, the look she gave me when she turned round was pure, unadulterated disappointment. Trust me on this, she's not the type to look beneath the surface. Not at that age, at least. The young ones are always blinded by the packaging. I prefer older women.. and red heads… and great legs...'

'What the hell would you know about women?' The question was forced out through gritted teeth.

Baiting an almost legendary lack of self-control was insane at best, but that had never stopped him. 'A lot more than you. Maybe because I get them coming back for seconds, but for all those pretty boy good looks you just can't find one who'll settle down for the long haul? You know, it does help if you actually talk to them occasionally…'

'I talk to women.'

'My friend, you talk at them. It isn't the same thing at all. Though I do wonder if part of you doesn't want to get to know the women you screw that well. Perish the thought you might have to make a commitment…' His chestnut mare tacked up he bounced a couple of times on one leg with the other in the stirrup, the mare turning a heartfelt look at him as he hauled himself awkwardly into the saddle with an ungainly scramble. He gave her a pat on the neck to thank her for putting up with him. 'If you ever got stuck with only one woman for company for any length of time, God only knows what the hell you'd find to talk about. I'd piss myself laughing watching that.'

'Fuck off.' Harlock vaulted with effortless ease into his tall bay, ignoring the gelding's irritated attempt to close his teeth on a muscular thigh.

'Ooh… such language from a good Catholic boy… between that and your lustful thoughts about that blonde, someone's going to be spending some time on his ass in confession later.'

Harlock shrugged. 'I came back to bury my father and sort out the family affairs. If the good bishop wants more of me than that, he's fresh out of luck. I've never been one to apologise for my actions. I don't see the point of asking forgiveness for making a decision.' He nudged the bay into a walk, turning him towards the path back to the road.

'Even the ones that go totally tits up?' Tochiro asked cheekily, asking his little mare to trot to keep up with the bay's longer stride. He bounced awkwardly in the saddle as he tried to post.

Harlock grinned at him. 'Especially those…' He looked over his friend's technique and gave a long suffering sigh. 'Why is it a man with the reflexes of a cat when piloting anything mechanical can't manage to get himself in synch with a horse?'

'Because spaceships don't have minds of their own,' Tochiro replied testily. Butterfly-like his mind skipped back to an earlier conversation and he leaned over to prod his companion on the arm. 'You know, thinking about it, you don't talk much to anyone, do you?'

'I talk to you,' Harlock muttered. 'When I can get a word in edgeways.'

'I do not talk too much! Well… maybe a bit. But anyway, it's no really bad thing. I mean, if you hadn't washed out of OTC dad wouldn't have been able to snag you for our testing programme for those new ships, and we might never have become such a great team - my brains, your piloting...'

'I didn't "wash out",' was the ground out reply. 'I graduated, and I aced tactics, flight, strategy, navigation…'

'But… not so much on actually taking - or, what really stops you in your tracks - giving orders…' Tochiro, oblivious, pointed out. 'You do kind of just back out of any kind of confrontation.' A pause. 'Well, unless you can solve them with your sabre or fists, that is. I thought they were gonna expel you for sure after you flattened that twat who broke my arm…'

'He was lucky. I would have done a lot more that break his nose and jaw if you hadn't pulled me off him. And that intervention was your father. Mine told them to throw the book at me, given the prick was one of the sons of this new Council they are creating to replace the old Earth Alliance.' Harlock muttered. 'Just drop it, already. The next few months are going to be tough enough without more reminders of how the Graf's only legitimate heir is a total disappointment.'

They reached the road and headed for the bridge that fronted the entrance to the Schloss. Tochiro nudged his mare a little closer to Harlock's bay. 'You don't disappoint me, you know. I mean - we've known each other how long now? Ten years? Since dad inherited the major share of the company anyway. I was over the moon when he said the Fleet had assigned you as liaison to the prototypes section. Once we get the Yukikaze out of dock for her test flights, I can't imagine anyone better to put her through her paces.'

'Thanks - but that would mean more if your dad's translation of that wasn't "if Phantom can't break it, we've got a winner…"'

'He still on about that?' Tochiro snorted. 'I warned him the wing area wasn't right on that fighter. It was off by only a fraction, but at those speeds, no-one could have held that plane together as long as you did. You almost got yourself killed holding it on course to avoid that space station…'

'The Mirage?'

'Engine failure, a major design flaw, my bad, and I still have the scars, right above my joy department. And he can't blame you for the Death's Head coz that was totally down to me getting the mix wrong on that new ore we were testing. And it was just a little hole in the hull,' he added defensively.

Harlock snorted at that, startling his horse. 'A 'little hole'? In a spaceship? You sound like that idiot from Zone Industries who keeps trying to undercut your dad's tenders.'

Tochiro pouted. 'You know… you can go off people…' he sniffed, but as usual, couldn't hold a grudge for long. 'So, were you going to ask what's her name out?'

'We're all here for a bloody funeral… I'm supposed to be in mourning. It's hardly appropriate.'

'Oh. You have a point. But you could maybe practice your conversation skills while you're here. Captive audience an' all… even you couldn't screw that up beyond all hope, surely?' he asked chirpily. Harlock just glared at him as they rode into the main yard through the gateway, the massive oak panels shutting silently behind them on automatic.

The courtyard was occupied by the best ass Harlock could remember seeing, bent over, its owner dipping a sponge in a bucket of soapy water. He stared at the red and black bike, being lovingly hand washed by a svelte, nicely shaped blonde vision in a wet black shirt which clung suggestively to every curve. Then the object of her attentions registered. 'Who the fuck said you could ride my bike?' he snapped, without thinking.

Tochiro sighed, spotting the tell-tale signs of trouble brewing as she straightened up and narrowed lovely blue eyes at his friend. 'Spoke too soon…' he muttered, watching his best friend slide gracefully off his horse and march to his certain doom.

Maya stared at the belligerent young asshole blocking out the light, and had to bite her tongue to avoid her tendency to let him have both barrels. Her temper had often gotten the better of her as a girl. Young ladies, her simpering classmates advised her, did not pick fights with gentlemen…

Funny they didn't say how you were supposed to deal with six and a half feet of attitude getting in your face for the second time in the space of an hour… Although at least this time he had some clothes on...

She took her time looking him over with the same disdainful regard she'd learned very early on after puberty could keep randy lieutenants at arm's length. 'Your bike?'

He nodded, a confused look creeping over that beautiful face as she watched. Whatever answer or response he'd expected, he clearly wasn't getting it from her, and seeing his large fists clenching impotently at his sides, she suspected going off script wasn't something he was comfortable with. 'The one that was lovingly mothballed in a rundown outbuilding under a filthy tarp covered by straw from a harvest lost in the mists of time?' she added sweetly. 'That bike?'

She heard, rather than saw, his companion struggle to contain a burst of laughter.

'I was at the Academy for five years,' he growled out eventually. He took a step towards her and she had to fight a natural urge to step back. Dear God, he was tall. At five ten and in boots, she could look most men in the eye, but not this one. She had to look up to stare into those gold flecked brown eyes instead of at a firm, clean shaven chin.

There was, for all the attitude on display, a curiously defensive look in those eyes. They flashed with anger, yes - a childish petulance at someone daring to touch his toys. But there was something else behind there as well, strangely vulnerable. She softened her tone. 'Well, it's been refuelled, given a good run in and now I'm cleaning it for you.' She smiled at him, gratified by the way he deflated almost immediately in the face of her best weapon. 'What me to put it away for you? There is a proper garage, isn't there?'

He just stood there, the reins of his impatient horse looped over one arm, and a look on his face stuck somewhere between confusion and frustration. She smiled inwardly. The big lunk had backed himself into a corner, and wasn't the type to back down - even from a girl. And even though she maintained eye contact, she couldn't shake the feeling he was as close to knocking her head off her shoulders as he was to kissing her…

Wait - where had that image come from? Dry mouthed, she tried to swallow, and brazen out the increasing tension. 'This way, wasn't it?' She flicked the bike off its stand with her foot and started to wheel it past him. 'Oh - and try not to stand there with your mouth wide open - something might fly into it…'

Like my tongue… She pushed the bike past him before the blush hit her ears. She hoped.

'Like your tongue?' His friend called out, with mock innocence on his cheeky face, as she walked the bike past him. He scrambled off the mare awkwardly and landed next to her, grinning like a lunatic. 'Just keep walking,' he advised her softly. 'And whatever you do, don't look back…'

'Why - is he really mad?' she whispered back. The small youth sniggered quietly.

'Well if you were a guy he'd probably have decked you - but right now he's just had his balls handed to him on a platter by a girl for the first time I can remember, and I'm having way too much fun at his expense to let you spoil it by being nice to him now…' He patted her on the arm. 'Word of advice - ahhah - don't look back! If you fancy him, make him work for it a bit. He never really appreciates anything that just lands in his lap.'

'Are you supposed to be his friend?' she sniffed. 'And I wasn't planning on landing in his lap.'

'Tochiro Oyama. And if you're not planning on throwing yourself at him, you might want to lay off licking him from head to toe with your eyeballs.'

She halted, and without looking at him, pulled the bike onto its side stand. She had to push past the mare he was leading to get past him, and smirked a little when she heard him swear as the horse trod on his foot and he hopped around, cursing under his breath. 'Serves you right,' she hissed into his ear as she passed him. Before she could change her mind she walked up to her young host - still standing where she'd left him, fiddling with the reins as though there was something important he meant to do with them.

She came to a stop a few feet in front of him, and stuck her hand out. 'I'm sorry. I was rude. I didn't know it was still your bike, and don't blame your staff- they thought it was just left around and abandoned. But it's a really great machine - would you mind if I borrowed it whilst I'm here to get around? I'm rusty on horseback. Oh - I'm Maya, by the way.' She was babbling. She knew she was babbling, but it all sort of bubbled out without a care for her dignity.

He looked at her outstretched hand as though it had a live grenade in it, she sighed. 'I don't bite,' she continued.

When he finally reached out his gloved hand and took her fingers in his, she just couldn't resist adding: 'much.'

Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed over it with impeccable precision, and raised it to his lips, brushing the back of it with a feather light touch. From the restrained irritation there was a shift to amusement in those sherry-dark eyes. 'I don't think I'd mind if you did,' he murmured, as he straightened. He didn't even seem to mind her hands being utterly unsuitable for kissing. She remembered only after he reluctantly released her hand that only a few minutes earlier she'd been up to her elbows in soapy water. 'I was just out of sorts - please - use the bike by all means. But it'd be a shame to roughen these hands… Next time, use a hosepipe,' he continued.

'On you?' she blurted, taken unawares by the sea change in his mood. She wondered if her toes were blushing, because she was pretty damn sure everywhere else was.

He smiled, the first genuine smile she'd seen on his face so far, and her heart decided a somersault was in order. 'Well, I don't think I'd object…' he drawled lazily. He bowed again with a smart click of his heels. 'Fraulein Rosenbach.' An errant lock of his dark hair fell over his right eye as he stood straight, and she ached to push it out of the way. It looked soft, though still slightly damp from the waterfall.

Trying to remember her manners, she dragged her wayward brain back to the matter at hand. She couldn't very well curtsey in trousers, so she had to settle for a slight incline of her head. 'Graf von…'

He raised a hand to silence her. 'Harlock, fraulein. Just Harlock. I never did like titles.'

'Harlock…' she tried the name out under her breath as he walked his horse away to join his laughing friend. 'Harlock…' As he walked through the archway to the stable block she shouted after him 'It's Maya, by the way! Just Maya!'

'I know,' came the reply. He looked back over one shoulder and smiled again, a tantalising quirk of the left corner of his mouth causing her toes to curl. 'I've never forgotten.'