Fuego

There was no other word for it: thrilling.

O.k, so she hadn't expected...THIS. You know, clinging to her former enemy's shoulders while flying through Atmos, keeping above the clouds where the air was so thin, her pupils dilated.

In hindsight, it hadn't taken much intuition to come up with her plan.

And yet, after all her care, she still could only weasel out a few vague answers from him.

Where are we going?

Somewhere special.

Her grave?

I have to stop somewhere first. Take care of some business. You don't have to go.

I want to.

Suit yourself.

So here she was, hair flying around her face, pupils the size of pinpricks, cold air battering her face. She felt alive, for the first time in years. The only minor flaw in this wonderful painting of a moment was the man she was sharing the ride with.

He smelled of dust and desert, of sun and stars, and yet, he also smelled of betrayal and secrets. She couldn't stand secrets; probably why she kept so many of her own. He hadn't slept under a roof in a while, she figures. She eyes the fuel gauge on his skimmer, it's close to empty. He hasn't bothered to make any stops. Something drove him to her, and it can't have just been the necklace.

"One more time: Where the hell are we going?"

Her voice is muffled by the wind, but she's sure he heard her. And yet, he's silent.

"HEY!" She's pissed now. "Idiot! Where are we-"

"Don't distract the driver," he hisses.

His voice chills her. It was so quiet. But even through all the wind's howling and the engine's chugging, she could hear every word, clear as a bell. She has no answer to how he does it.

And her having no answer is as wrong as a snake with no slither.

Finally, they slow down, and he turns to face her. Red eyes glint with something that looks like excitement.

"We're going...to the Terra of Fire."

"You mean Terra Fuego?"

"I MEAN...the Terra of Fire." And he smirks. "I have an old friend I need to visit. We'll be staying the night."

Secretly, she's thinking, Christ help me, not anther desert piss-hole of a terra. But she doesn't show it. The fuel gauge's needle is pressed flat against the empty side; they need to land, and soon. And then, like some kind of hellish miracle, a flat, reddish terra pops up through the clouds. She lets go of his shoulders and realizes she's been sweating like a pig; her hands have left small imprints on his shirt.

They land jumpily, the skimmer reluctant to become a bike. He jumps down, turns off the engine, and starts for another dusty looking building, with a flashing neon sign that's lost its glimmer. It merely flickers on every few minutes, shows the one word on it: Vacancy.

She slides off the bike, takes out the key, and puts it in her pocket. She still has...some sense.

It's a motel.

She marches in after him, and before he can go up to the desk, grabs his arm again.

"Don't you think someone will recognize you?"

"So?"

"So, we'll be kicked out, you ignoramus!"

"Language!"

"Fuck you. Go park the skimmer."

He raises an eyebrow. She's the last person he'd expect to curse. But he complies. He decides to humor her.

What's the worst that can happen?