A/N: They don't belong to me. Please review. Please. :)
It's an extension of my soul, if there is such a thing ~~~ Max, 411 on the DL
It isn't just a motorcycle, although they could never understand that. To understand, you'd have to be considered not real: not human, a machine.
When she'd first met it, she knew it was a kindred spirit. Because somewhere beneath the glossy black surface, all the chrome and parts, it had something that she'd wondered if she even had. A soul.
She could feel it when they were speeding together down the pitted roadways of broken Seattle. The motorcycle responded to her movements, not just when she revved it up or leaned to make a turn. Something in the engine of the black bike, down to the very vibrations that raced through it, through her, seemed to respond and say, Let's go a little faster. A little more speed, a little more distance and we can escape from it all. Together.
When she'd gotten it, she didn't know its history, its life story. All she knew was that it was like her -- abused and alone. She had found it in a scrap heap somewhere -- doesn't matter where. But as soon as she'd seen it, she knew they belonged to each other. Running her hands all over its body, she could feel every scrape, every dent, from someone who didn't know what it really was, and didn't care how it felt. The first owner had used it for whatever purpose he desired. And when the motorcycle couldn't take the abuse, the owner threw it out as useless.
But she knew. She knew that there was more than meets the eye there. It had taken her three long months, but it was worth it. She took care of it -- popped out the dents, filled in the scrapes, rebuilt the engine from the bottom up. She poured her heart into it, because it was the first thing she had ever chosen to love. And even though she knew that those scars were still buried beneath the beautiful dark surface, they existed to make it strong. In return, it made her strong, too.
In time, they had grown dependant upon each other. It needed her for fuel, oil and repairs. But she needed it, too. Before, she could only walk or run, but now she could fly. She could fly away from anything that was haunting her or hurting her. Where she had been alone, it became her companion. She could talk for hours, about anything, and it always listened. It was always there for her. It healed her pain by providing an escape from the madness of the world, just as she had healed it with her long hours of work.
The more time they spent together, the more their lives became entwined. And even though others came into her life, it knew that it was the first to ever discover that one important thing she hadn't known she had. Her own soul. Because if a motorcycle could have one, there was a very good chance she could, too.