Disclaimer - I don't own Big Guy and Rusty, unfortunately. I think Sony still does and they're being jerks about not putting it out on DVD. Jerks.

AN - I wonder if there's anybody still in here? Poor neglected BG&R section...

As always, reviews are much appreciated. I need constructive criticism.

Enjoy!

All he knew was that it was warm, it was on a beach, and it the sun was setting behind them. The sand slightly cool now, but she was...definitely not.

"Dwayne," she whispered playfully in his ear. He smiled against her lips, feeling her hands leisurely make their way down his back and kissed her again, harder, trying to coax her mouth open. She smirked instead, teasing, and so he moved to graze his teeth against the soft flesh of her neck, grinning wickedly at her sharp intake of breath.

"Dwayne..."

Not quite so playful now, huh? he thought, smug. She sounded urgent. Slightly desperate. Serves her right, teasing like that. When he kissed her this time, there was no resistance. Her tongue met his and a new, hot little spark added itself to the deluge of sensation settling in his belly.

"Dwayne!"

Something nagged at him as he gently massaged her breasts and listened to her wanton moaning, something he concluded as very unimportant because her hands had reached some very interesting places. He hissed breath through clenched teeth at her touch and became quite determined to get even; however, that plan suddenly vanished at the feel of her moist lips on his stomach as she softly kissed him there...moving steadily lower. He groaned, utterly powerless as she slowly made her way--

"DWAYNE!"

Lieutenant Dwayne Hunter snapped open his eyes immediately and came to the abrupt conclusion that he was in an extreme amount of pain, so much that he had to concentrate for several moments to keep himself breathing.

"I'm up," he blearily tried to reassure the voice of Dr. Erika Slate, the owner of which had starred in several embarrassing dreams similar to the one he had been thoroughly enjoying before he woke up in hell. He guessed that this most recent one was probably induced by whatever the hell had almost cracked open his skull. And done something to his leg. It felt numb. Shock, he hoped. He didn't want to try and move it just in case it wasn't there.

His vision had mostly returned, with a few gray spots here and there, but it was more than enough to gather the important details of his situation. Big Guy's cockpit. Red emergency lights. Silent snow on all his feeds.

He heard Dr. Slate heave a strangled sort of relieved sob. "Thank God...are you all right?"

"No," he replied honestly. He did not mention that he was contemplating banging his head repeatedly against the dead systems board so he could pass out.

"I - we thought we lost you," she whispered, and he felt guilty on top of his nausea.

"Yeah," he said vaguely, wondering what he had manage to do this time. He caught a stray wisp of memory – a large, brutal 'bot swinging steel-hammer fists. Fascinating, really, but ultimately useless. He beat up robots much more vicious with far less trouble.

"Someone's coming to get you now," Slate told him. Her voice was taught. Worried.

That was good. The people coming to get him part, not her being worried. Or maybe that was good too. He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe he didn't have to bang his head against anything to reach some much needed oblivion.

"You've got to stay awake, Lieutenant."

He frowned but did not open his eyes. Not that she could see it anyway, he realized, with all the feeds out. Then he tried to figure out why his name had suddenly transformed into "Lieutenant".

"I'm fine," he lied. Maybe he could get back to that dream.

"You sound like you have a concussion."

Yeah, he probably did. That would make a lot of sense. He sighed again, this time in resignation. Oh well.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Slate asked quickly.

"Sister's," he muttered. "To turkey." He hoped that made enough sense for her to leave him alone.

"Ah. Uh, do you always go to your sister's?"

"Ever since mom and dad died." There. That should end her ruthless interrogation.

She hesitated just long enough for him to feel relieved before blurting, "You know Rusty drew you a picture? He wanted to give it to you today."

Aw. He tried to smile a little. Rusty was a good kid.

"Rusty okay?" he asked suddenly, a stale spike of adrenaline shooting through tired muscles.

"He's fine." She paused. "He'll be better when he knows Big Guy's okay."

He snorted lightly in amusement. "I trashed it, huh?"

She didn't say anything and he thought that was absolutely hilarious. But then she didn't say anything for a long while and the comedic factor quickly wore off.

"Erika?" he called, before mentally kicking himself over using her first name. She didn't like that.

No answer.

He sat alone in silence.

Some time later he noted the massive pain in his skull had become more of a dull throb, but that might've been because his whole body was becoming pleasantly numb. He could almost feel himself floating outside his broken frame. Neat.

One eternity slipped by, and there was a horrible sound coming from behind him, metal grinding against metal, but he was too tired to care what it might be. He heard people talking, somebody was shouting, and there was a roar of a nearby helicopter. Vaguely aware of some jostling and moving, he watched as his surroundings changed to outside of Big Guy's cockpit. A forest, somewhere. There were lots of pieces of flaming debris.

Bye old fella, he thought, and felt strangely sad. Being outside let him see that he had trashed it - magnificently, in fact. If he hadn't spent a good portion of his life inside of it, Dwayne realized he never would've recognized that charred, mangled lump of titanium as a part of Big Guy.

Someone familiar filled his vision, looking absolutely terrified. Which was mildly amusing. He felt a weak smile tug at his lips.

"Hi Garth," he said pleasantly, and then passed out.