AN: I decided this story deserved a re-write. I happened to look at the reviews, and it seemed to have been taken fairly well. But, as I said, it deserved a re-write. Especially now with SSX3 and On Tour out. It might get into On Tour way way later, but for now, it should be compatible with SSX3. The characters are slightly revamped, Mars especially so, but they should still be the basic same freaky people/couple from before.

BL
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Competition

Chapter I

There weren't many things in the world that could make him happy. He sighed almost wistfully as he stared out the window, his hand resting on the sill. There was a slight dusting of snow on the ground, a gentle whirling of white drifting through the air. It wasn't even winter yet, but that didn't matter; snow came when it wanted and it always came early. Lingering light bathed the living room in shadow; he hadn't bothered to turn any lights on yet. He knew his way around the house with his eyes closed. It wasn't like it was a big home anyway. His eyes drifted down to the letter on the old end-table beside his new squishy leather couch. The couch had been the result of a sudden splurge, after receiving the letter of joy. He needed a new couch anyway. His old one had been threadbare and nearly falling apart.

Grabbing the letter desperately, his eyes raked it as a slow grin came to his face. Marshal was coming over. Finally. Taking a few steps back, he then turned and collapsed onto the couch. It had been so long since they had seen each other. SSX had taken up most of his life of late and he hadn't had time for anything but his work and his racing. Though they wrote, he had nearly given up on his friend; but now, the letter said, Marshal was signed up for SSX – it seemed his excitement and babbling on about it had finally stemmed the courage and recklessness in his friend that he had loved so very much.

With a grunt, Psymon pulled himself up into a sitting position, still gazing at the letter in his hands. His eyes rested on the arrival date Marshal had dictated; he froze, eyes widening. Leaping up, he ran to the kitchen and skidded to a halt, nearly falling over, as he studied the calendar on the wall. Shit.

Airports sucked. There were "no smoking" signs everywhere, and what seemed even more invasive were the children and frazzled people screeching and bustling, not necessarily respectively. Fiddling with the pack of smokes in his hand, Psymon chanced a glance around. A kid, no more than four, was standing a couple metres away. The young boy was absolutely gawking at the piercings and tattoos on the funny but scary man across from him.

"Did those hurt?" the boy wondered with a slight lisp.

Psymon smirked and gave a shrug. "Nah," he responded, stuffing the smokes into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Really?" squeaked the kid, his eyes showing utter disbelief. As Psymon was about to answer that expletive (what was he going to do? Tell the kid they hurt like bloody hell?) the boy's mother happened to turn around. When she saw who – or what – her darling son was talking to, she gasped and quickly grabbed him away, making Psymon scowl. He was a freak, true, but not that kind of freak. He found that kids were in many ways much more intelligent than their adult counterparts. The kid had asked honest questions and just wanted to know, whereas an adult was snide and judgemental.

Oh how he hated airports. Too many people for him. Way too many people. Glancing around, he tried to find his friend. He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Marshal. He would do anything for Marshal; even withstand the jeers and stares and parents worriedly steering their children away from him, because no one looking like he did could be a good person. Okay, well, he might not be a good person, but he certainly wasn't bad. And he was infinitely better to children than he was to the idiots and fools who spawned them.

There was bustle as a large group of people suddenly materialised; some moved with purpose, used to this sort of travel. Others were casual and relaxed, lingering with family or friends. And the rest . . . the rest were as uneasy as Psymon himself. At least he wasn't the only one. Also, he didn't have to do the actual flying. He could only imagine what it would be like to fly alone. That thought was quickly shaken away. No, he wouldn't imagine it; his mind couldn't take the paranoia and fear. To be cooped up with strangers for so long was . . . unnerving.

Wandering, but not too far from the terminal, he found an empty plastic chair and sat himself down. After five minutes, he realised why the chair was empty. Shifting his weight slightly to ease the cramp starting in his thigh, he scratched the back of his head. Damn this was annoying. Why the hell couldn't planes just be on time? Trying to relax, letting out a little groan as he tipped his head back and slouched, he felt the smokes give a bit under his weight. Shit, he always did that. Damage done, he just sat in that position for awhile, until his back started screaming at him. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands, bored out of his skull. At least with SSX, he had flown with people he knew; didn't like, but knew, and they had always been swept off to their destination in good time. Sometimes they had to wait to board the plane, but it hadn't been like this. With the others around, he had people to annoy and scare and make fun of. Business men walked by and glanced at him, giving him as wide a berth as they could manage with everyone else mulling about.

Okay, well, he could still scare people with one tired glance. That was not only pathetic, but it just wasn't the same. It was so much more satisfying to see Kaori's eyes go wide as she shrieked when he would take one casual step in her direction. There was nothing to gain in scaring strangers just by looking as he did. At least Marshal never judged him. Never did Psymon have to fear shivers or frightened glances.

The chair was really getting on his nerves. Hoisting himself up and out of it, he wandered around, mostly in a little circle, wondering how much of this mind-numbing tedium he would have to endure. Pulling the letter from his pocket, he double-checked the date and time. Yeah, he was right. This was the right day. He was in the right spot. Damn freaking planes. Stupid airports and their happy, scared people.

Another burst of people filled his vision. Folding the letter up, he stuffed it back into his pocket and examined the crowd. He couldn't see anyone of interest yet. A knot of Goths passed him by, eying him on their way. He returned the look, though his was more studious. Nope . . . none of them were Marshal. Giving the crowd of newcomers one more cursory glance, he turned back to the chair he had vacated. Which was now occupied. Suppressing a sigh, Psymon turned to go back to his wanderings.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Scowling at the light but persistent touch, he turned about and drew in a sharp breath. There Marshal stood before him, a grin plastered on her face. She arched a brow then was in his arms, giving him a big hug. Psymon was distinctly aware of her body pressing against his; holy crap, had it been that long since they'd seen each other in the flesh?

"Hey Psy-guy," she quipped as she pulled back, raking a hand through her spiked red hair, messing up the already messy gel-job.

"Mars," he returned, taking her in as he stepped back to hold her at arms' length. "Holy crap . . ."

Laughing, she shrugged and squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. "What?"

What indeed? Psymon just continued to stare, unable to form the exact words to describe what he was seeing. Her once brutally firm and harshly lined body had smoothed and become more rounded. The hips that had seemed as if they would always be boyishly slim had filled out giving her womanly curves that were only accentuated by the way she was holding her body. Her legs were still strong and well defined, as were her tattooed arms, but as his eyes travelled her arms, he gulped slightly. Damn. She had really filled out . . .

"You grew up," he finally grunted, giving her a lop-sided, somewhat awkward smile.

"Yeah," she breathed nonchalantly as she headed off to grab her luggage, "I supposed it had to happen sometime." She watched as Psymon fell into lockstep with her and grinned up at his somewhat intimidating visage. "It's not an imposition for me to stay with you before we head off, is it?"

He let out a laugh and hugged her tight to his side with one arm. "Never. We have catching up to do, Mars." Pausing as she picked out her luggage with a throng of worrying people, he cocked his head slightly to the side. "Why would you ask?"

Grabbing her things, Marshal handed off the heavier suitcase to Psymon and he took it without argue. Though his shoulder drooped considerably as he grabbed it from her, making her chuckle.

"The muscles all for show, or do they have some practical use?" she wondered teasingly as they set off, making Psymon shake his head ruefully.

"I was just surprised by the weight."

"Yeah, sure," she mocked, walking backwards to fix him with a relentless stare. "You say that."

It took a lot of will to not allow his eyes to focus below her chin, to watch her body move under that tight black shirt of hers. He couldn't understand what was going through his head. True, he couldn't understand much of what went through his head, but for fucks sakes, this was Marshal. His friend. One of his best friends. And suddenly he was ogling her like some chick in a bar? It had to be the sudden shock of a woman's body before him, rather than that somewhat self-conscious teen. Sure, she had still been an adult last time they met, but she hadn't shed the trappings of her youth. Seemingly now she had, and that one constant in his life had completely imploded before him. He had been expecting . . . well, he didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. This wasn't Mars.

She fixed him with a worried look as she slowed her pace then stopped altogether. Reaching up, her handbag slipping down her arm, she placed her palm on his stubbly cheek. Oh damn, that's what he had forgot to do.

"Something wrong, Psymon?" she murmured, one of the only voices that he had heard apprehensive without being condescending.

"Nah." A shrug, her luggage tugging at his arm. "Just thinking."

"About what?" They made their way outside and blinked at the bright sunlight, only made brighter by the layer of snow on the ground. Setting the bags down, they both reached for their smokes and lit up a Player's each, in tandem. Psymon's eyes alighted on Marshal's form as she tucked her pack back into her handbag. Some things never changed, he realised. Her green eyes fixed on his blue and with that, he realised she was still Mars. This time, he allowed his gaze to wander. A much improved Mars.

"Nothing," he grunted as he took a drag then stabbed the smoke back between his lips, causing Marshal to break out into sudden peals of laughter, nearly doubling over. "What?" he growled as she crossed her arms, resulting in pushing her breasts up a bit higher.

"You're male," she returned, lifting her brows. "What, do you think I'm stupid? I saw your face when you first looked at me." Twirling with her arms out, she halted and shrugged. "I know, I look different. You're right; I grew up."

A blush creeped up Psymon's cheeks. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, she gathered her things back up. "Don't be. It was a shock and it couldn't be helped."

Staring openly at her chest now, Psymon took another casual drag from his smoke and licked his lips. "They're uh, certainly bigger." His ease with the playful banter was only slightly betrayed by the deepening shade of his cheeks.

"How astute of you to notice," Mars stated softly with a slight jeer in her tone. "Are you quite finished?" she sighed as she rolled her eyes.

Going up on his toes and looking down her shirt, Psymon bestowed her with a brilliant grin. "Okay, done now."

"Alright then. Now, you still own that piece of shit car?"

It turned out that he did, in fact, still own his piece of shit car. Psymon had led her through the maze of a parking lot, their muscles straining as they approached a beat-up, mostly pale blue jetta. Her brow quirking yet again, Marshal just set her lips in a firm line and shook her head woefully.

"What?" Psymon demanded as he opened the trunk and tossed her bags inside.

"Oh, nothing," she commented idly as she rounded to the passenger side. "But I would have thought . . . by now . . ."

Grunting as he opened his door, he leaned against his as he fixed her with a glower. "Yes, my car is still a piece of shit, and yes, my home is still a run down dump." His voice had been a tad harsher than he had wanted and he winced as Marshal's eyes first glinted with steel, then softened with sympathy.

"I didn't mean it like that, Psyborg."

A shake of his head and he slipped into the car. It wasn't that bad inside, forgiving the fast-food wrappers, ancient Timmies bags and scattering of empty cigarette packs.

"I know. Money's just been tight, even with the racing."

Marshal brushed aside a crumpled coffee cup and some cigarette butts. "You need to clean the ashtray out," she commented after peering over at it, deciding not to take her suggestions any further.

"Yes mom."

In some ways it felt weird. He had been expecting the sullen, withdrawn teenager to have been in that airport. Instead a grown woman had attacked him in a bear hug. And he had really, really enjoyed it. Sure they had communicated over the years, unable to ever stay out of touch; they had always meant too much to each other, had helped each other in so many ways. But now she seemed so different. Chancing a glance in her direction, a slight smile settled on his lips. Perhaps that was a good thing. He could very nearly feel the vitality and exuberance flowing from her, even as she did something as simple as stare out the window with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The silence that should have been filled with jibes and happy cries of being back together felt more natural than the giggling and poking fun would have. There was catching up to be done, that was true, but it felt almost nice to bask in this quiet sharing, knowing that they could just be around each other and not have to worry about saying the right things. Or tripping over their tongues.

At the moment as he watched her inhale deeply, he knew he was at risk of that. Though she had been his friend for so very long, it was as if his mind and body were tugging him in two different directions. As friends, they were compatible and could stand to be around each other and even co-habitate for long periods of time. But also as friends, there couldn't be anything more.

Shaking his head, Psymon returned his attention to the road. Which was a good thing, as there was on-coming traffic. Half-way through the ride home, Mars turned as she flicked her second smoke out the window and gripped his arm with a little squeeze.

"It really is good to see you again, Psy-guy," she whispered.

"Ditto."

She fidgeted with her pack of smokes for a moment and frowned. "Why are you so quiet?"

He shrugged. "I liked the silence."

"So did I. But I mean now. Why aren't you more up to talking?"

"Driving."

Leaning her head back against the headrest with a dramatic sigh, she punched his bicep. "What's wrong Psymon? I know something is, I can tell."

Damn her. When didn't she know? "Well," he started as he eased the car down a gear, "you're just so . . . different. I'm still in shock."

Her voice was firm as her forehead furrowed. "Growing tits doesn't make me different."

He shook his head most seriously. "Hips too."

"Psymon!" she cried, attempting to sound scandalised as she attacked him playfully. "Is there something wrong?"

"No." He turned his head to face her at the red light as they got off the highway. "Nothing is wrong. I was just surprised. You seem slightly different too."

She shrugged offhandedly. "It's been what, three years? Did you really think I would stay a little girl forever? Hell, last time we hung out I had already been maturing. You didn't notice then." Something in her voice sounded almost hurt.

"Angel," he whispered, cupping her cheek and stroking her with his thumb, "c'mon. Give a crazy man a break. More than your body has changed. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself. Your . . . carriage. You've changed. For the better," he tacked on with a little grin. "Really. I like it. It suits you. You deserve to feel however you're feeling. Because I can tell its good."

"Psymon," she breathed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I missed you so much. I wanted to go dirt biking with you every time you wrote about being drenched in mud; wanted to shred powder beside you whenever you spoke of bombing down hills and crashing into trees." Pulling back slightly, she fixed him with a wary eye. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

He responded in the negative as he turned around in his seat, the light going green as he did so. She smiled at him and toyed with his hair. It was somewhat coarse, but that was good with how he liked to style it. Unlike herself, he hadn't seemed to have changed. He still had the piercings, the tattoos, that fire in his pale eyes. His demeanour was pretty much the same as well, though he seemed to carry himself with a much more quiet danger, rather than being a screaming, raving lunatic. Perhaps he had changed after all. They had both grown up.

His eyes flickered to hers as she continued to play with his spikes. Grinning at her, he butted his head against her hand. She rewarded him with a smack on the shoulder.

"Careful, you'll poke my eyes out with those things."

Snorting with laughter, he leered at her. "These are nothing compared to what I could poke your eye out with."

Laughing, Marshal relaxed in her seat, pulling her hand away from him. "Whip it out little man."

"I'm not little," he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes turning into slits.

"Right. Psymon, I'm what, an inch shorter than you? You're short. Just admit it and you can move on with your life," she said, adding a "moving on" gesture with her hands.

"I'm still not little," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to what you may believe, I'm not speaking of your penis. Furthermore, I don't care if you're 'little' down there, because it just doesn't matter." Her eyes sparked as she shifted to face him. "Much," she finished to taunt, making him reach out and mock strangle her.

"I kill you!" he cried as he chuckled, letting her go. Okay, well, that hurdle was over with. She still had no shame and felt comfortable enough with him to speak like that. Perhaps what he had been feeling wasn't such a big deal after all. He could definitely get used to this new Mars; or, this improved Mars. She was as easy-going and scathing with him as she had ever been. And it seemed from her earlier comments, as much a daredevil. They sat in silence for the rest of the drive, Psymon humming tunelessly as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Marshal just watched him with an amused expression on her face. He was always entertaining; you had to give him that.

Turning abruptly and braking hard just before he crashed into his decrepit garage, he howled with laughter as Marshal gasped, gripping the seat, then lunged at him, punching wherever she could.

"You bastard!" she shouted, trying not to laugh even as she felt her heart pound as surely as she was pounding his shoulders and chest, "you could have killed us!"

Still laughing as he opened his door and delicately extracted himself from her faux-fury, he went to the trunk as she burst out of the car and ran at him. Just as he opened the trunk, he found himself suddenly heavier, his arms wrapping around her waist as she leapt on him, giving him another hug.

"I really did miss you."

He grunted into her hair. It smelt of shampoo. "I know Angel." Letting her down gently, not seeing the flash in her eyes, he reached into the trunk and started dragging her things out. "Next time, could you pack a little less of your house?"

"Never," she scowled, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. "Get my stuff in the house, slave-boy."

With a roll of his eyes, Psymon hefted her things up and struggled with them to the front door. Marshal rushed ahead of him and opened the unlocked doors so he could make his way inside. She followed him to the livingroom and gasped slightly.

"Nice couch," she said under her breath as she went over to the large black leather sofa and ran her hand over it. Gingerly sitting herself down, she then curled up on it experimentally. Then she stretched out, kicking off her shoes and flexing her toes.

"Glad you like it. You'll be sleeping there. Er, in my excitement for leather, I kinda forgot to get a pull-out. Hope that's not a problem."

A short, mischievous giggle escaped her as she swung her legs around, perching on the edge of the couch. "Your excitement for leather? Psymon!"

"Oh shut up," he grunted with a smirk, dropping her things. "This is your room. I'll only claim it for myself when I want TV."

Wondering in a dry voice, Mars asked, "I don't have to mark my territory, do I?"

He shook his head, then shrugged. "Nah. But I mean, it couldn't hurt." As she rose up and started beating him with a pillow, he took off in the direction of his room, laughing as she followed, "And besides, it'd be amusing!" he finished, turning around and getting pillow in the face.

"Charming as ever, Psy-guy," she drawled, allowing her arm to drop. "I'm having a shower." Handing the pillow over, she headed for the washroom, leaving him alone in the hallway. Going back into the living room, Psymon tossed the pillow onto a chair and returned to his room. Relaxing on his bed as he put his hands behind his head, he smirked to himself. Well, that had certainly been an interesting couple hours.

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An con't: I just wrote this, but I wanted to post it. So this is just a warning that the rest of the story may take awhile to start getting posted. Especially since I have another fic that needs my attention. On top of that, I have work and Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion is coming out on Tusday and I have it pre-ordered, so my time will be taken up completely. I will be a slave to my 360 (and my Chef as usual -.-). But do not fret, I will work on it. That is, if people want to read it. Because if no one does, I really do not have time to be rehashing an old story. If you want it, please review. At least then I'll know. And yes, it does seem like a cheap way to garner reviews, but c'est la vie, its still true.

BL