Disclaimer: The Rachel Morgan series is not mine.

A/N: Please don't point out the gaping plotholes that remind me of Swiss cheese. This was written on the spur of the moment and is the product of boredom and the need for humor. Bad.

And for the fuzzy-wuzzies.

I write because I can.

The Roadtrip

chapter 1.

In Which an Elf and a Witch are Stranded in the Middle of Nowhere

Hot, heavy pants filled the silence of the night.

The moist skin of her arm was taut as Rachel strained against the pressure. Grunting as she pushed, the red-headed witch managed to bite out between thrusts, "Need…to push…harder…damnit!"

Beside her, the blond head of Trent Kalamack rose, his face a mixture of annoyance and weariness. His usual shiny platinum hair was now matted against his forehead, strangely giving him an attractive, messy appearance. Which annoyed Rachel even further.

Damn him and his effortless ability to look nice anywhere, no matter what he does! She thought, twitching in irritation. I probably look like…ugh, let's not go there.

"We've been at this…for more than…two hours," the elf replied, managing to avoid sounding half-dead. He raked a slender hand through his hair, disregarding his inner need to look presentable. He was too tired to care.

"We should take a break," he said, already settling himself on the ground, his back against the side and his head touching the car door.

Pausing to pin him with a glare, Rachel's menacing look slid into a sly grin despite the current predicament. "What's this? The Great Kalamack is tired after three measly hours? I expected more from you." Flipping her hair for extra measure, she scoffed, "You've dropped down a notch in my book."

"And such a loss that is." Came the dry reply. Trent didn't bother pointing out that three hours spent pushing a car was a feat in itself.

Rachel resisted the urge to smack him. He must really be nearing his limit if he no longer cared about pretenses. Then again, he wasn't exactly being helpful at the moment.

"Remind me to kill you after this is over," the witch said, her voice sugar-coated with acid.

"Confident, aren't we?" A neat eyebrow arched mockingly.

"Aggravating, aren't we?" she shot back just as tartly.

"I call it 'keeping my head in times of stress.'"

Growling helplessly, Rachel threw her hands up into the air, "This is all your fault!" She winced as her arm muscles screamed in protest, but she no longer had the energy to massage them.

"...Please tell me you're not insinuating that I am the reason we're stuck?" Trent's voice drifted to her ears, a hint of flat annoyance evident in the tone.

Exasperation spurring her rage despite her tired state, Rachel shrieked, stabbing a finger in his direction, "It's your car!"

"Good for you, acknowledging ownership," Trent drawled, his lips twisting in displeasure at the attack on his sensitive hearing. "But how does that make me the culprit? If I remember correctly – and if I don't, it probably has something to do with the verbal damage to my ears – wasn't it you who was driving said vehicle?"

Fatigue nipping at her limbs, Rachel wracked her brain for a suitable retaliation but instead found her mind begging for comfortable pillows and endless dreams. "But it's your car!" she repeated, knowing she sounded whiny but not caring all the same.

Releasing his frustrations in the form of a long sigh, the elf shook his head as if dealing with a petulant child. "Stop screaming like a banshee; it's unbecoming of you."

"My god - you and your...your..." she shook with pent-up rage. She was tired, she was smelly, she probably looked like Hell's Granny, she wanted a shower, and his stupid, pompous...

"My composure annoys you?" he asked innocently, deliberately adding fuel to the fire. Trent kept the smirk off of his face, though he was inwardly enjoying it. Though he'd rather resign his councilman position, change his drug lord ways, give up his life's mission and hug demons than admit it aloud.

Rachel nearly screamed. She was losing her mind, she was sure of it! If she had to stomach his infuriatingly cool façade, his quick remarks, his damnably handsome features…

She would kill him.

Seriously.

To hell with her morals.

She would seriously kill him.

Defeated, she collapsed onto the ground beside him, mirroring his position. Rachel began plotting ways to assassinate a certain businessman. I'm sure I can dig up a neat spell… Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line. She sighed, releasing her rushing emotions. She craned her neck to look at the clear night sky, her brusque thoughts melting in contemplation.

Ah… Breathing in the crisp air, the witch gazed wistfully at the carefree stars. At least it's getting cooler… A funny chuckle escaped her lips at a second thought. At least Trent's stopped talking.

Trent closed his eyes, relishing the peaceful silence that had blanketed over them. Finally… He could feel a mild headache thrumming incessantly at his temples; most likely due to a certain red-headed woman. His breathing having settled into a normal rate, he reopened his forest green eyes.

It had just become apparent to him how odd the situation was.

There he was, a Kalamack – Trent Kalamack – lounging on the dirt-ridden ground, resting against a broken down black BMW, the hood of which was propped open for examination. His black Armani jacket had been tossed carelessly into the passenger's seat, where it laid forgotten after Rachel declared that they would try pushing the car. His black slacks were no doubt smudged with dirt, and his casual shirt clung to his torso, a factor from nearly baking in the sun.

Tch. "Let's try pushing the car," she says. He thought, scoffing softly. Wonderful idea, absolutely brilliant. A stroke of genius, might I add.

He tilted his head to catch the silver stars winking at him, as if they found his position laughable.

Which it sort of was.

The elf snuck a side glance at the preoccupied witch sitting a few centimeters away from him. She had a pensive expression on her face; he could see the obvious look of wonder as she continued to stare at the sky, enamored by the majestic heavens. All vestiges of former weary annoyance was gone, overtaken by a childhood awe he knew he shared.

Trent's lips twitched into a bemused smirk.

Yes...quite odd indeed.